Ritathan had stiffened, taking a formal pose, his hands folded in front of him, ignoring the bugs.“Kara’s child is the true monarch.”
“Ah, my old friend,” Foreterran said sadly, “that’s not how people work.People are drawn to power, to what it can do for them.That’s true even for the good people of this world.
I have to assume that Satia will somehow ‘acquire’ mages.Ours, or someone else’s.”Forterran looked off into the trees and let the silence between them grow.
“You are afraid,” Ritathan accused.
“I am.”Foreterran allowed himself to sigh.“For the Guild.For Mother.”
One of Ritathan’s bushy eyebrows rose.
“Mother and Xyrath have a history,” Forterran admitted.
Both eyebrows rose.
“Not that kind of history, you idiot,” Forterran snapped.“They worked together, many years ago.”He huffed out a breath.“I am hoping he thinks she’s dead.I am hoping—” he paused and looked Ritathan in the eye.“I am hoping a lot of things.”
“You’re hoping I will abandon the last of the Blood,” Ritathan said, his voice brittle.“Abandon the search for the holder of my key.”
“Abandon a broken contract,” Foretrran nodded in confirmation.“Be safe in the Tower, sheltered from the world.Teach your apprentice, refine your own skills.In the meantime, I will walk a neutral path as best I can.At some point, the child may emerge from the Wastes to claim the throne and you can return from the dead, but until then—”
“No,” Ritathan said firmly.
The word seemed to echo against the trees.Foreterran knew his friend, knew him well, and knew when it was pointless to argue.“Fine,” he said, and headed back up the path.“I’ll ask Mother to open a portal to Waerington.It’s west of here, so you’ll reach it before dark.”
Ritathan said nothing, just followed, slapping at bugs.
Halithe rose fromthe table as Forterran and Ritathan approached.They had the look of decisions made.She glanced at Aramal, who was talking to the horses’ grooms.
Foreterran stopped at the table.“Ritathan wishes to go on,” he said shortly.“Mother, if you would open a portal.To Waerington, in the Black Hills.”
“Waerington!”Ila perked up, her eyes bright.“There’s an inn there, with a famous bed.”
“Is this a good idea?”Obeda asked, rising from her chair.
“Yes,” Ritathan said.
“No,” Foreterran growled.“But it’s his and try to talk a cow out of milk.”
“The Great Bed of Waerington,” Ila exclaimed as she struggled to stand.Halithe reached for one frail arm and Obeda took the other.Ila came to her feet, grasped her cane, and smiled.“I remember it well.”
“Mother,” Foreterran groaned.
“What a grand time that was, rolling naked on—”
Halithe felt heat flood her cheeks.
“Mother,” Forterran sputtered.
“Pfft,” she cackled.“You didn’t spring fully grown from my forehead, you know.”
“I really don’t want to know,” Forterran sighed.“Portal?”
“Certainly.”Ila beamed.“Where is that rascal?”
“Here.”Ritathan leaned down and kissed her cheek.
“No, no, the other one,” Ila cackled again as she waved Aramal over with her cane.“You should be sure to toss him down on it, eh?”she said, giving him a sly look.
