“Gotcha. So, what are you going to tackle first?”
Why did his question feel like a test?
Milo held up one finger, asking for a second, finished the bite in his mouth, and washed it down with some tea before answering. “The ward. From what Rowan tells me, people only patched it and didn’t do a proper overhaul. It’ll be dangerous to take it down at the beginning of breeding season, of course, but it needs to be done. I don’t want it failing or letting something through in the middle of the night.”
Rowan had nightmares about that very thing happening, so he was heartily glad Milo understood the problem.
“After I’m done with the ward, I’ll tackle the sigils on the watchtowers.” Milo sat back, grey eyes narrowed. “Rowan, you said the sigils are glitchy. They sometimes work, sometimes don’t.”
“Right.”
“Are the sigils painted inside or outside of the watchtower?”
“Inside, but it’s not a fully enclosed space. Open windows.”
“So it’s open to weather? Huh. I’ll bet you they’re malfunctioning because the paint on the sigils has faded. Thathas to stay intact for the sigil to work.” Milo shot Rowan a look as he picked up a potato crisp. “Anyone ever go in and renew those sigils? Just paint the same pattern to renew the design?”
“I didn’t know we could,” Rowan admitted with a shrug.
“Same,” Ruben seconded, jaw clenched with aggravation. “No one told us. I thought a mage would have to renew them.”
Milo let out a long, drawn out, dramatic groan. “I wish mages would actuallyexplainshit to their clients. I’m not saying sigils last forever—you need to wipe them clean and renew them every three years or so—but renewing the paint on them keeps the signal strong. The paint itself has a spell placed on it, but if you leave the spelled paint behind, the client can at least renew the sigils until it’s time for an overhaul. It’s like…uh, hold on. I’m thinking of a good metaphor here. It’s like… Ah. Got it. It’s rather like a handle on a bag. If the handle’s seam is coming undone, it still works to hold up the bag, right? But you know it’s going to fail at some point. Which would you rather do, re-sew that seam or make a whole new bag?”
Put like that, it made perfect sense. Following through on his logic… “Then you’ll have to redo the sigils? Because they weren’t maintained?”
“How did I get so lucky to get a boyfriend with both beauty and brains?” Milo shot him a mischievous grin, making Rowan’s heart flip-flop in his chest. “That’s it precisely. Which will take longer, but it’ll be worth it, as the sigils will work as they should.”
“I’m all for that. I’ll guard and guide you to each watchtower.”
“You’d better.” Milo shot him a wink and resumed eating.
Ruben seemed satisfied with this answer and didn’t ask anything more.
They finished up lunch, stretched, and then loaded back up for the last push of the day.
The steep mountain road was rough in some places and, as Rowan had predicted, washed out by the recent rain, so it wasn’ta smooth journey. That was really the main reason why it took so long. They had to slow down and sometimes patch the road before they could continue up it. Milo’s magic came in handy during those moments as he was able to create dirt or gravel to patch the holes with nothing more than a spoken word and wave of his wand. It wasn’t grand or flashy magic, but the confident, casual way Milo cast highlighted his skills. Watching him work, Rowan felt a spark of pride, which was ridiculous, granted, but he was still very proud.
Rowan kept an eye on him, though. Milo was quite strong as a Second Circle Mage, but his power wasn’t limitless. Rowan didn’t want his boyfriend to overdo it.
The day waned. The sun was fading overhead, made all the dimmer by the trees around them, which meant they’d need to make camp fairly soon. Rowan nudged Stan closer to the cart to speak more easily. “Milo, there’s a spot up ahead we normally camp at—”
He heard them first, the rustle of brush being shoved aside by quick movements. Rowan’s sword practically leapt into his hand as he twisted sharply in the saddle, instinct putting him on guard. Not a moment too soon, either, as several bandits rushed out of the woods, weapons raised and greed on their haggard faces.
Bastards.
Milo was just as quick to move, standing on the bench and whipping his wand out of the waist pocket he kept it in. “Assandra’s Shield!”
Two translucent barriers slammed into being, one over their cart, the other over Ruben’s, his donkeys braying in alarm. Thank the gods for Milo’s quick thinking. Rowan had almost reminded him to do that, but Milo had clearly remembered. Having a barrier over the carts made this fight much easier.
Reassured Milo would be fine, it was time for Rowan to get his head in the fight. He turned, trusting his back to Milo, and focused on the men leaping out of the shadows. His adrenaline had already kicked in, bloodlust surging, but his mind stayed clear and focused.
Rowan had fought alongside their late mage many times in his formative years and knew this barrier well, so he didn’t hesitate. He threw himself off Stan, as there was no room to maneuver the stallion on this narrow mountain road, and quickly darted outside of the shimmering barrier and engaged with the nearest bandit. He could hear Ruben doing the same, a war cry on his brother’s lips, but Rowan wasn’t worried. Ruben was a strong fighter.
And at his back, he heard Milo casting offensive spell after offensive spell. Just how many offensive spells did he know, anyway…?
Rowan shoved the thought aside and focused on the fight. It wasn’t much of one. Bandits normally resorted to this life because they weren’t good at anything else. Not good enough to be soldiers, at least. He dispatched one in two moves, whirled, and aimed for the next one.
“Flame Arrow!”
