CHAPTER FIVE #2
Then, suddenly, he stood in the Night Chamber once again. His fingers brushed the pitch-dark pedestal where the Relic lay, veins of silver glowing in its marble. The amethyst pendant beamed with power. Its facets and golden setting were warm as his fingers brushed the necklace.
He’d had this dream before, after the Day Keep. It made sense, he supposed. The chaos of the fight, the heart-pounding sprint to freedom, the worry for Evylin’s life—his brain needed some means of processing it all.
Deckard’s eyes drifted up to the metalwork on the door behind the dais. The sun and moons glowed bright yellow and deep purple. The door began to open . . .
33RD OF GALATAE, 1574
Deckard woke with each changing of the watch.
As Thom and Auden took Ethenn and Ilain’s places, he immediately checked the trees, again spotting the figment that haunted him.
He drifted back to sleep, assuring himself for the hundredth time that it wasn’t a problem.
So he was seeing things? It wasn’t altogether surprising when one was grieving.
In his years with the Ephrian Army, Deckard had experienced far too many deaths. Ones with seemingly little purpose too. And while he’d never had this reaction before, he could honestly say that, except for his first kill, no death had ever rattled him as much as Hewitt’s.
Seeing visions of his mentor and Evylin’s beloved uncle made some semblance of sense even when he wasn’t exhausted.
When Thom woke Deckard for the final shift, the sky remained deep gray. Rain splattered on the large ferns and pine branches around them. With Evylin tucked against him, he stayed warm, but he knew that would change in moments.
Rousing both Evylin and Rafferty was more difficult than Deckard had anticipated, but eventually, they took their place at the front of their camp.
Since Evylin tended to be in a groggy and silent mood in the morning, she didn’t take to Rafferty’s low chatter like she normally would.
Instead, she sat on Deckard’s other side while he conversed with the weasel.
“I’ve had a thought,” Rafferty began quietly.
Deckard raised an eyebrow at him. “You were asleep two minutes ago,” he commented in a whisper.
“I’ve a quick mind, Colonel. Try to keep up.” Rafferty angled toward him, but his eyes continually scanned the forest. “You’re a reasonable swordsman these days, what with your secretive training. By the way, I am impressed that you managed to hide that from me. No one hides anything from me.”
Tucking his hands underneath his cloak, Deckard settled in for an ambling discussion. “What’s your point?”
“My point,” Rafferty continued, “is that despite your improved skills, you’re still not that great on the battlefield. Would you concur, Colonel?”
Deckard dipped his head in a nod, causing a droplet of rain to drip from his hood onto his cheek. He wiped it away as he admitted, “I would.”
“Right. So that brings me to my thought—” Rafferty’s silver-gray gaze landed on Deckard for half a second before drifting toward Evylin. “How’s it possible you’re so much better at fighting in the Keeps?”
At that, Evylin looked over, and Deckard furrowed his brow. “Pardon?” he asked.
Shifting their direction, Evylin held out her hand to stall Deckard. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. You saved my life with a precise knife throw in the Day Keep. If you had been off by an inch, it would have killed me instead of the Shade.”
Rafferty took over for her. “Then, yesterday, in the Night Keep, you saved Ethenn from the Guardian’s attack. Moving impossibly fast, if the kid’s account is to be believed.”
With a glance back and forth between them, Deckard returned to his inspection of the forest. “If you’ll recall, I also wound up with a near-fatal injury in the Day Keep, a dislocated shoulder in the Water Keep, and yesterday, the Guardian knocked me flat on my back with that hit I took.
” He gave a self-derisive grin. “Should you be keeping count, my track record is currently three-to-one in favor of poor performance.”
With a low chuckle, Evylin leaned against his side, yet again surprising him with her sudden comfort with their physical contact.
“Don’t you want to hear my theory?” Rafferty lamented.
Distracted by Evylin’s nearness, Deckard lamely replied, “What?”
“My theory,” Rafferty repeated. “On why you’re better in the Keeps.”
Deckard scratched at his beard, grown thick from their weeks of travel. He wished he’d taken the opportunity to shave before they left Ephria. “What is your theory?”
With a happy waggle to his white-blond eyebrows, Rafferty grinned at the couple. “You’re feeding off of Evylin.”
The odd terminology made Deckard’s face scrunch up in confusion while Evylin adjusted her seating to peer around him at the weasel. “Excuse me?” she protested.
“Think about it,” Rafferty went on, his voice excited though still low enough not to disturb those sleeping in the camp.
“Eve’s a Warrior, which makes her magically inclined to be good at battle.
Warriors seem to be in short supply these days, and the Calders aren’t exactly experts on the subject, so we don’t know what all that involves.
But if we consider the legends and the concept of a master fighter, what does that suggest?
A person who’s not only skilled in combat but also a great tactician and leader as well. ”
The assessment brought the immediate thought of Euon Sergus to Deckard’s mind.
The King’s Knight was a legend that he’d looked up to since his childhood.
Sergus was the man Deckard always wished he could be.
Hewitt had once said that there were old tales that marked Sergus as a Warrior, but he’d never heard them.
Evylin crossed her arms, a dubious lift to her brow. “What does that have to do with Jonn?”
“Nothing, directly,” Rafferty said. “The idea is, maybe you give your teammates some sort of magical boost. You know, enhancing their skills with your magic.”
Deckard continued to run a hand along his jaw, considering the possibility. But Evylin scoffed. “That isn’t what’s happening,” she objected.
“How do you know?” Rafferty returned. “You just learned that you’re a Warrior thirteen days ago.”
“It’s a good theory,” Deckard said, then shook his head. “But is anyone else doing abnormal feats within the Keeps?”
“Ethenn is,” Rafferty said. “He could see just as fine as both of you and the Calders yesterday. And I’m pretty sure he was doing better in the Day and Water Keeps as well; we just didn’t notice because he’s always a badass killer.”
Evylin snorted at the description.
Deckard tried to stay on track. “So it’s just me and Ethenn?”
“Seems like it.”
“Which proves your theory wrong,” Evylin concluded.
“Not at all.” Rafferty’s face lit up with excitement at the opportunity to explain his idea.
“You’re new to your Warrior powers. So new, in fact, you weren’t even aware that you were tapping into them.
But we know now that you were even before you knew anything about being a Warrior.
And if that’s the case, maybe you’re tapping into other magical abilities yet unknown to you.
Such as siphoning off your magic to your comrades. ”
“But why just Ethenn and me?” Deckard asked.
Rafferty cocked an eyebrow as though it should be obvious.
“Loxley is our best fighter. Of course, she’s gonna give him a boost. That’s just reasonable.
As for you, Colonel—” He flashed a wily grin.
“You are her husband. Could it be she has some stake in you staying alive? It seems you need all the help you can get in that arena.”
Turning back to the trees, Deckard let the concept sink in.
It made a surprising amount of sense. Not even the Calders knew what a Warrior was fully capable of.
When the Auldan Mages eradicated them from the continent centuries ago, they also destroyed all documentation of them.
Auden and Ilain had suggested that the Mages never valued the records of the Warriors, which meant that whatever little information the Mages’ Orders held offered only vague descriptions.
The rest of the information was supposedly held in the libraries of the old capital, Aulton, which Ephren razed at the start of his reign.
There was a viable chance that Rafferty’s theory was correct. And while they might never have the chance to study the original texts on Warriors for confirmation, they could test it.
“You should try it,” Deckard told Evylin.
Her expression pulled down dubiously, but he pressed the notion.
“I think he might be right. It’s the only thing that makes sense.
Heavens know I’m not magical, and Ethenn isn’t either.
But you are. So next time you practice, you should try .
. . siphoning off that magic to those around you. ”
Evylin pulled at one of the leather clasps on her coat. “I wouldn’t even know how to begin,” she whispered.
“If you’re already doing it subconsciously,” he offered, “then I’d imagine it’s as simple as making a conscious effort to control it.”
Though Evylin didn’t respond to the suggestion directly, she did turn to Rafferty and tip her head toward the forest around them. “Should we give it a go?”
His pale eyes grew wide. “What, now?”
“Why not?”
“Though I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Deckard interrupted with a low chuckle, “we are supposed to be on watch. And others are sleeping.”
“I’m not suggesting we spar,” Evylin said. “There isn’t room here for that anyway. I’m simply thinking that if I can pass my power to others, then perhaps I don’t have to be in a fight to do it.”
“What do you mean?”