CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
All around their small camp, the team prepared to enter the Keep. The soldiers belted on their swords and affixed daggers to their persons. Ethenn strapped his quiver and bow across his back. An undercurrent of worry haunted their ranks. Each of them spoke in hushed, anxious tones.
Deckard felt this apprehension keenly, sure that he was the cause of it all. And why shouldn’t he be? Even after his work with Auden and Ilain, the thought of touching magic made him queasy. He didn’t want to experience the same jolt of power or feel the intense reaction it caused within him.
Over the past two days, the Calders took the time to teach Deckard how to connect with resources other than Night.
Though Auden was attempting to teach him something called the Path of Vieran, a meditative manner of focusing on the resource, it wasn’t working well, as they were attempting to subvert his primary, and that was really the whole point of the meditation.
Ilain suggested they try a different approach, evidently disapproving of the Path. While she claimed she wasn’t bothered by Deckard’s dark magic, she did what she could to alleviate his and Auden’s worries by teaching the principles of accessing the resources aside from your primary.
“There are two schools of thought amongst Mages,” Ilain said practically. “I subscribe to the first method: You should master all the resources at your disposal, granting you varied abilities.”
“And I agree with the second,” Auden added. “You should master your primary resource only, capturing its essence and harnessing the vastness of its power. Something impossible when you branch out into other resources.”
“Both are viable,” Ilain said, then smirked. “But mine is better.”
“That’s debatable,” Auden muttered.
“It is not.” She raised her brow and motioned to Deckard. “If I followed your example, I wouldn’t be able to help Jonn access magic other than Night.”
Deckard frowned at the two of them. “So Night is my primary resource, but I can ignore it?”
“Night is most likely your primary,” Ilain corrected.
“Regardless, there is a further hierarchy to the resources for every Mage. Fire is my primary, next comes Wind, then Water, and then Terrae. I’m horrible with Terrae.
I can’t quite get the slow steadiness of growth down.
I think I like to burn things too much.”
Without giving either man time to comment, Ilain continued, “In order to connect with other resources, you need to develop your relationship with them. We don’t have time to discover your hierarchy, but as Auden is especially connected to Day, we’ll focus on that.”
And though Deckard tried finding a relationship with Day magic, he found it immeasurably difficult, like grasping at the wind. To all of their chagrin, he managed one burst of dull, muddy-yellow light and nothing more.
“We could give him the Day Relic,” Ilain suggested when they determined the resource must be a low connection for Deckard. “That would help.”
Auden shook his head. “He’s too inexperienced,” he said, then turned to Deckard.
“Magic takes energy as well as focus. You can have the strongest connection in the world, but if you overexert yourself, your magic will falter. The Relics give you focus and power, but they don’t give you energy.
I fear putting it in your hands would burn you out too quickly. ”
“How will I know if my magical energy is waning?” Deckard asked warily.
“The same way you know when you’ve worked too hard and need a night’s rest,” he said. “If you push yourself too far, your body will begin to shut down to preserve itself. And blacking out mid-fight is never ideal.”
After that lesson, Deckard felt even less prepared.
He couldn’t say he’d experienced any signs of exhaustion after their time in Dunneshead, but he hadn’t used magic for more than a quarter of an hour.
Their time in the Keeps spanned at least eight times that length.
Since he didn’t know what his threshold for exhaustion was, that led him and the Calders to agree that Deckard shouldn’t tap into his magic until absolutely necessary.
Now, as Deckard secured the last of his weapons—sliding a small dagger into his boot—his eyes drifted to the empty trees around them.
He hadn’t summoned Hewitt’s ghost since he’d left for Dunneshead.
Not only had he not had the chance to slip away to talk with the man, but he also didn’t know what he’d say when he did.
How could he explain himself? How could he face the fact that he might be the greatest danger to Evylin now?
Thom appeared at his side, a nervous expression on his face. “Could I, uh—” He tipped his head toward the horses at the edge of camp. “Could I talk to you?”
The request placed Deckard instantly on edge.
The last time they’d spoken privately, they’d argued.
Deckard knew it was partially his fault.
His growing irritation toward his brother’s relationship with Evylin was causing animosity.
An emotion he rigorously quelled, knowing it rose only from his insecurity about the fragile state of his marriage.
The brothers moved to the far side of the clearing.
Thom shuffled his feet, eyes downcast as he spoke softly.
“Look, I—” he began stiltedly. “I’m worried about you.
” Deckard’s brows pinched together, but he let Thom continue, “With everything that’s happened, I—I’m concerned that this magic will hurt you. ”
Studying his brother, Deckard chose to delay his response. Thom wasn’t generally bothered about his well-being. He never asked after him or showed signs of worry—unless he wanted something.
“The Calders are working with me,” Deckard said at last, attempting to believe the best of his brother.
Thom nodded dismissively. “Yeah, I know,” he murmured. “I just—” He broke off then, glancing toward the camp.
Deckard followed his gaze, finding that it landed on Evylin. Instinctively, he tensed.
“If it’s none of my business, you can tell me,” Thom said, turning back to Deckard. “But as your brother . . . I feel I should ask. Is everything all right? Between you and Evylin, I mean.”
A muscle in Deckard’s jaw twitched. His baser instincts wanted to tell Thom that, no, it wasn’t his business. He chose to take the higher moral road. “It will be,” he said hopefully. “The last several weeks haven’t been kind to either of us, but we’re managing.”
Thom nodded again, the movement tighter this time. He stared at the dirt, scuffing his boot against the root of a tree. “Jonn . . .” He paused as his voice betrayed his tension. Then he lifted his gaze, gray-blue stare wary. “Do you love her?”
Deckard’s heart squeezed, and his jaw spasmed.
The question drew forth the irritation within him once more.
Of course, he loved Evylin. Little could be clearer given his actions.
How his brother or anyone else could fail to see that was incomprehensible.
And after watching Thom grow more and more possessive of Evylin over the course of their relationship, Deckard couldn’t shake the indignation that rankled within him.
“She’s my wife, Thom,” he said sharply. “It’s my job to love her, and I take that very seriously.”
Head dipped, Thom muttered, “Right,” then drew in a sharp breath through his nose. He met Deckard’s stare once more, a glimmer of annoyance within his gaze. “Glad to hear it,” he said and turned away to join the others.
Deckard stared after Thom, skeptical of the short conversation’s purpose. What had Thom intended? Why had he asked after Deckard and Evylin’s relationship? Was the fragmentation between them obvious to everyone?
Forcing himself to forget the confusing exchange, Deckard worked to settle his mind.
The troop was ready to go. They had a short walk to the Keep’s entrance, then they would enter and face another battle for a Relic.
Magic required total focus of thought. If he was going to tap into Day at the appropriate time, he couldn’t let his roiling emotions distract him.
Under Deckard’s command, the troop made its way out of camp toward the coastline.
They’d tied the horses within the copse of trees close to the Keep to make their exit from Sutterlund Reach as smooth as possible.
Though they were secure in their sweep of the area and no Wind Mages were loitering in the shadows to ambush them, they couldn’t remain within the Reach once they retrieved the Relic.
After their trek through the Keep was complete, they would hurry back to the camp, mount their horses, and ride until they passed back through the Reach’s gates and into Wauld proper.
The amber sunset peered from behind the gray-brown clouds.
On the cliffs surrounding the beach, only the faintest wash of slate ocean could be seen in the distance.
They followed Ilain’s lead down a steep incline before facing a narrow opening in the deep brown stone.
Ethenn went first, bow at the ready. Then the rest of them filed into the Wind Keep’s antechamber, prepared for whatever the next few hours would bring.
Like all the rest, a hallway of arched windows stretched out before them, smooth stone walls and columns granting the space a sacred air, almost like the kirks of Ephria.
Ashy light poured from the windows, swirling patterns in their wrought iron frames.
An iron door waited at the end, the same scrollwork etched in its face.
Rafferty stepped forward, Relics in hand. “Fire for the highlady,” he said, handing the ruby necklace to Ilain, then the yellow topaz to Auden. “Day for the highlord. And . . .” He paused, proffering the amethyst. “Who gets Night? Colonel? Evie?”
Auden spoke, giving Deckard a guarded look. “You shouldn’t carry it.“
“I agree,” Deckard said.
They all turned to Evylin.