Read Online Gathering Of The God-Touched (Book 4) by Ron Collins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ron Collins
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god-touched mages if
they
could have.
But all the planewalkers had stayed away.
All of them.
Garrick wished he had paid more attention to Braxidane when the planewalker described his connections, but then, Garrick had never really listened to anyone with power before. At best, he had only taken the pieces he wanted to hear and used them to support his own point of view. But seeing Afarat J’ravi work, then Suni, and then Darien had changed that—or had at least rattled that practice hard enough that he was seeing things differently.
And the way he saw things now said this battle was not done.
Braxidane said pacts existed among the planewalkers, and they each paid prices for meddling in places like Adruin. Garrick didn’t understand the depths of planewalker politics, but the fact that neither Braxidane nor the others had come meant there was something deeper here than he could see—something bigger, something that could well entail the whole of Existence as the planewalkers knew it.
He knew Braxidane would not have been happy to lose him, so it wasn’t hard to guess that the planewalkers who lost Parathay and Jormar el’Mor would not be happy, either. If he understood power as well as he thought he did, the planewalkers would not stand such a defeat for long, nor would the orders themselves.
It all added up to say that the price paid on this battlefield, great though it was, was just one installment of what might well be many, many more.
Epilogue
It was evening time when Garrick returned from the mountain. The grounds had been tended, the dead buried or burned. Those still wounded had been made ready to travel. Garrick came to the camp having decided his future would entail traveling on his own. He could not stay in the city. He knew better than to think the orders would stop hunting him, and anywhere he went would become a target. No one around him would be safe. So he would see the army back to its home town, but then he would set out to face the orders on his own.
And as for Braxidane and the rest of the planewalkers, well … what could he do?
He was just a man. He would deal with those issues in whatever manner he could, and leave the rest for those who could handle them.
He was ready for this, though. He felt it.
The prey would finally become the predator.
Braxidane had once said there was no fairness in this world, no justice. But Garrick knew better. He would see to it that the orders paid for Alistair, and for Arianna, and for Sunathri.
He would remember.
As for what Braxidane would pay, he didn’t know.
But justice
did
exist.
It existed because he said it did.
This life he was choosing would allow him to deal with the orders in quieter ways, and in fashions he couldn’t manage if he were in a group such as the Freeborn. The idea of being on his own—of being a vigilante, of sorts—had been of great comfort as it settled over him, and now, as he made his way toward Darien’s tent, it felt even more solid.
He arrived there to find his friend engaged in heated discussions with Reynard, a gawky mage who was well-liked among the Freeborn. Mages and members of the guard were gathered around them.
“I don’t care what you think,” Darien said. “We’re not going to start for home without the horses properly healthy. We need them curried and fed before evening is out.”
“Which we will accomplish through our magic,” Reynard replied.
Garrick’s appearance brought a hush to the field.
“Garrick,” Darien said. “It’s good to see you.”
Garrick nodded. “What’s wrong?”
“Lord Garrick,” Reynard said. “The men are tired, and Commander J’ravi is commanding us to expend energy we do not need to give.”
“The horses need to be curried by hand,” Darien said. “There is more to this than cleanliness, and the horses know the difference.”
Every gaze fell upon Garrick.
“The horses prefer to be curried by hand,” he said. “And a wise traveler takes care of
they
could have.
But all the planewalkers had stayed away.
All of them.
Garrick wished he had paid more attention to Braxidane when the planewalker described his connections, but then, Garrick had never really listened to anyone with power before. At best, he had only taken the pieces he wanted to hear and used them to support his own point of view. But seeing Afarat J’ravi work, then Suni, and then Darien had changed that—or had at least rattled that practice hard enough that he was seeing things differently.
And the way he saw things now said this battle was not done.
Braxidane said pacts existed among the planewalkers, and they each paid prices for meddling in places like Adruin. Garrick didn’t understand the depths of planewalker politics, but the fact that neither Braxidane nor the others had come meant there was something deeper here than he could see—something bigger, something that could well entail the whole of Existence as the planewalkers knew it.
He knew Braxidane would not have been happy to lose him, so it wasn’t hard to guess that the planewalkers who lost Parathay and Jormar el’Mor would not be happy, either. If he understood power as well as he thought he did, the planewalkers would not stand such a defeat for long, nor would the orders themselves.
It all added up to say that the price paid on this battlefield, great though it was, was just one installment of what might well be many, many more.
Epilogue
It was evening time when Garrick returned from the mountain. The grounds had been tended, the dead buried or burned. Those still wounded had been made ready to travel. Garrick came to the camp having decided his future would entail traveling on his own. He could not stay in the city. He knew better than to think the orders would stop hunting him, and anywhere he went would become a target. No one around him would be safe. So he would see the army back to its home town, but then he would set out to face the orders on his own.
And as for Braxidane and the rest of the planewalkers, well … what could he do?
He was just a man. He would deal with those issues in whatever manner he could, and leave the rest for those who could handle them.
He was ready for this, though. He felt it.
The prey would finally become the predator.
Braxidane had once said there was no fairness in this world, no justice. But Garrick knew better. He would see to it that the orders paid for Alistair, and for Arianna, and for Sunathri.
He would remember.
As for what Braxidane would pay, he didn’t know.
But justice
did
exist.
It existed because he said it did.
This life he was choosing would allow him to deal with the orders in quieter ways, and in fashions he couldn’t manage if he were in a group such as the Freeborn. The idea of being on his own—of being a vigilante, of sorts—had been of great comfort as it settled over him, and now, as he made his way toward Darien’s tent, it felt even more solid.
He arrived there to find his friend engaged in heated discussions with Reynard, a gawky mage who was well-liked among the Freeborn. Mages and members of the guard were gathered around them.
“I don’t care what you think,” Darien said. “We’re not going to start for home without the horses properly healthy. We need them curried and fed before evening is out.”
“Which we will accomplish through our magic,” Reynard replied.
Garrick’s appearance brought a hush to the field.
“Garrick,” Darien said. “It’s good to see you.”
Garrick nodded. “What’s wrong?”
“Lord Garrick,” Reynard said. “The men are tired, and Commander J’ravi is commanding us to expend energy we do not need to give.”
“The horses need to be curried by hand,” Darien said. “There is more to this than cleanliness, and the horses know the difference.”
Every gaze fell upon Garrick.
“The horses prefer to be curried by hand,” he said. “And a wise traveler takes care of
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