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Authors: Mark Shane
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ride.
Touching the boy’s forehead, he looked at Baldwin with his typical smile. “You Baldwins can’t do anything halfway, can you?”
Mixing a powder with water, he poured it down Garen’s throat. “The trick to beating this fever is to let it think it’s won. Seems pretty confident at this point, but Garen’s not done fighting,” he said, placing his hand on the boy’s forehead. “We’ll know by morning.”
With the rising sun, the healer’s words had proven true. Garen had not been done fighting.
Baldwin felt he could never repay Max for saving his son. His feeling of debt made this situation difficult, but he could not stall any longer.
“Those...things, what were they?” he asked slowly, struggling to reconcile what his eyes had seen with what he believed to be true.
“Exactly what you fear they were,” Max replied. “Nightstalkers, hellhounds, black beasts, whatever name you wish to use they were the nightmare you’re having a hard time accepting.”
“How is that possible?” Baldwin appeared calm, but inside his mind reeled at the implications of hell running loose in the world of men. Could the prophecies be coming true?
“I’m afraid a rift between our realm and the underworld has been opened,” Max replied.
“Why? To what end? Has the End of Days begun?”
“All good questions, but I don’t think this is the start of Armageddon.”
Max replied much calmer than Baldwin appreciated. He had never seen Max lose his calm till tonight when he realized Michael was in peril. A small part of him wished the healer—no, wizard—would show the same concern for the fabric of the world being ripped open.
“You wielded magic tonight, correct?” It was an unnecessary question, but he wanted Max to admit it out loud.
“Yes,” Max replied calmly.
Baldwin wondered if the healer was as calm on the inside. The Creator knew he was not.
“Are you a wizard?” Another question he already knew the answer to, but he wanted to hear it from Max. Peculiar events through the years now made sense to him. It seemed obvious. He was not angry with Max for being a magichae, only for concealing it from him. An unnecessary lie. Did Max hold so little faith in their friendship?
“I was, many years ago.” Max’s eyes did not shift from Baldwin’s, but there was a hint of loss in his voice.
“Are you responsible for those creatures coming here?”
“Indirectly, I think so.”
“What do you mean ‘indirectly’?”
“It’s quite a long story.”
Baldwin glanced at Stren, who stood near the door. The burly man gave the thick wood bar a nudge, and it fell into place with a solid thud.
“No one is leaving anytime soon,” Baldwin said. “A story will do us some good.”
***
“Ah, yes, hmm, where to start.” Max glanced at Michael. “I suppose from the beginning would be best. My name is not Thorn. It’s Xan’thorne. I was once the highest ranked wizard in Shaladon, First Wizard as they call it, and chief advisor to King Tobias, Keeper of the Eye. But the same old Max you have known all these years.” Max hoped the last bit would ease the blow that he had been hiding his identity. If it had the desired effect, Baldwin’s eyes gave nothing away.
“Why are you here, then? Why aren’t you in Shaladon, advising?” Baldwin’s voice was sharp. Max feared all those years of friendship and service were now dissolved by a necessary lie.
“Seventeen years ago King Tobias was ambushed, his personal guard severely outnumbered. When it became clear they would not survive, Tobias and his wife gave all their power and their lives into the Eye to assure their son would survive. The blast wiped out every attacker to a man. As First Wizard, I shared a bond with the Eye, which told me where the keeper was and how he died.
“I rushed to the site but found only the baby boy alive. I believe Tobias concealed him in a spell of illusion to make it look as though he perished with everyone
Touching the boy’s forehead, he looked at Baldwin with his typical smile. “You Baldwins can’t do anything halfway, can you?”
Mixing a powder with water, he poured it down Garen’s throat. “The trick to beating this fever is to let it think it’s won. Seems pretty confident at this point, but Garen’s not done fighting,” he said, placing his hand on the boy’s forehead. “We’ll know by morning.”
With the rising sun, the healer’s words had proven true. Garen had not been done fighting.
Baldwin felt he could never repay Max for saving his son. His feeling of debt made this situation difficult, but he could not stall any longer.
“Those...things, what were they?” he asked slowly, struggling to reconcile what his eyes had seen with what he believed to be true.
“Exactly what you fear they were,” Max replied. “Nightstalkers, hellhounds, black beasts, whatever name you wish to use they were the nightmare you’re having a hard time accepting.”
“How is that possible?” Baldwin appeared calm, but inside his mind reeled at the implications of hell running loose in the world of men. Could the prophecies be coming true?
“I’m afraid a rift between our realm and the underworld has been opened,” Max replied.
“Why? To what end? Has the End of Days begun?”
“All good questions, but I don’t think this is the start of Armageddon.”
Max replied much calmer than Baldwin appreciated. He had never seen Max lose his calm till tonight when he realized Michael was in peril. A small part of him wished the healer—no, wizard—would show the same concern for the fabric of the world being ripped open.
“You wielded magic tonight, correct?” It was an unnecessary question, but he wanted Max to admit it out loud.
“Yes,” Max replied calmly.
Baldwin wondered if the healer was as calm on the inside. The Creator knew he was not.
“Are you a wizard?” Another question he already knew the answer to, but he wanted to hear it from Max. Peculiar events through the years now made sense to him. It seemed obvious. He was not angry with Max for being a magichae, only for concealing it from him. An unnecessary lie. Did Max hold so little faith in their friendship?
“I was, many years ago.” Max’s eyes did not shift from Baldwin’s, but there was a hint of loss in his voice.
“Are you responsible for those creatures coming here?”
“Indirectly, I think so.”
“What do you mean ‘indirectly’?”
“It’s quite a long story.”
Baldwin glanced at Stren, who stood near the door. The burly man gave the thick wood bar a nudge, and it fell into place with a solid thud.
“No one is leaving anytime soon,” Baldwin said. “A story will do us some good.”
***
“Ah, yes, hmm, where to start.” Max glanced at Michael. “I suppose from the beginning would be best. My name is not Thorn. It’s Xan’thorne. I was once the highest ranked wizard in Shaladon, First Wizard as they call it, and chief advisor to King Tobias, Keeper of the Eye. But the same old Max you have known all these years.” Max hoped the last bit would ease the blow that he had been hiding his identity. If it had the desired effect, Baldwin’s eyes gave nothing away.
“Why are you here, then? Why aren’t you in Shaladon, advising?” Baldwin’s voice was sharp. Max feared all those years of friendship and service were now dissolved by a necessary lie.
“Seventeen years ago King Tobias was ambushed, his personal guard severely outnumbered. When it became clear they would not survive, Tobias and his wife gave all their power and their lives into the Eye to assure their son would survive. The blast wiped out every attacker to a man. As First Wizard, I shared a bond with the Eye, which told me where the keeper was and how he died.
“I rushed to the site but found only the baby boy alive. I believe Tobias concealed him in a spell of illusion to make it look as though he perished with everyone
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