“Just renewing the ward on the fortress,” Rowan confirmed. Well, there were other things needing to be done, but so far the Council’s mages either hadn’t stayed on long enough to help with such tasks or they’d whined about additional work. Milo didn’t seem particularly concerned about the Drachifel, but Rowan didn’t want to scare him away just yet.
Milo didn’t seem ready to let the topic go and pouted. “But I’m stationed up there for a year. Wards don’t take a year.”
Rowan capitulated. “Fine. You’re also acting as healer for those of us who fight against the Drachifel.”
“Ah. I mean, I do have a wide array of potions, located in the blue trunk, for reference. I’m quite good at healing. Huh, okay, my appointment up there makes more sense now. I can fight, too, though. Do keep that in mind.”
Despite his desperate hope that Milo’s words were true, Rowan really, truly could not see this wisp of a man as a fighter. He didn’t mean to challenge Milo, but he had to ask, “What are your offensive spells?”
“Sacred Flame, Array of Darkness”—Milo ticked things off on one hand, closing each finger as he went—“and Lance of Light, to name a few. I also have support spells. Augment spells, for instance, or barriers I can throw down so people can retreat to somewhere safe if they’re injured.”
Rowan stared. Milo could…what?
Seriously?
Rowan wasn’t a mage—he didn’t have a magical fiber in his being—but he knew the attack spells. Mostly because he foughtalongside mages on the regular. Well, he had growing up. The mage who had lived with his family had been a good one. Not very powerful, as Mage Harold had only been a Fifth Circle Mage, but he’d been willing to fight alongside them. When Harold passed, he’d left quite the hole in his wake. As a native of Gravegarde, he’d been willing to live up there full time and had been like an uncle to Rowan and his siblings. In the seven years since Harold’s death, they’d struggled to find his replacement, as the Council mages sent to replace him were quick to run.
But because of Rowan’s experience with a truly competent mage, he knew something about attack spells. Sacred Flame was one of the hardest spells because it took amazing control and an insane amount of magical power. This waiflike being housed that kind of firepower?
“How many times can you use Sacred Flame?”
“Uhh…is this a trick question? I mean, I can use it until I run out of juice.” Milo seemed to think on the question, eyes on the fluffy white clouds overhead. “Probably a good fifty times before I have to stop for a breather. Not that I’ve counted? That’s just a guess.”
Fifty times.
Fifty times?!
Holy shit. He was far stronger than he looked, which relieved Rowan. He’d been worried about Milo because Gravegarde wasn’t an easy place to live. The attacks from the Drachifel could be nonstop in the spring months, so a mage with stamina fared better. Rowan suspected the previous mages’ lack of stamina had led to them being so adamant about leaving. Few had the fighting prowess to comfortably face down constant threats. Well, that and the weather. Gravegarde stood proud on her cliffside perch, but she became downright inhospitable in the winter months. Many a mage sent to them didn’t last six months before fleeing back south again.
Milo seemed to read Rowan’s disbelief because he grinned, all cocky and somehow cute. “I can pull my weight, don’t worry.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” Rowan surveyed the flat terrain and trees around him as he tacked on, “We’re likely to see bandits on this road, but they normally don’t bother me.”
Milo nodded. “You do have afuck with me, that’ll be funkinda face.”
“But you’re not afraid of me.” Which now made more sense, if Milo was so battle ready.
“Eh, no, not really. You’re too sexy to trigger flight instincts.”
He was, uh, what?
Rowan had never in hislifebeen accused of being sexy. Maybe the Council really had sent this mage because he was crazy. That would explain a lot.
Shaking his head, Rowan focused on what he meant to say. “If we’re attacked, throw down a barrier first. I don’t want the cart stolen.”
“Oh. Yeah, great idea. I’ll ward our campsite at night too.”
“Appreciated.”
“So aside from the Drachifel and healing, anything else? Oh, and I meant to ask earlier, but can I call you Rowan? People down here are such sticklers for formality and titles, but I’m not sure how you northerners do things.”
Rowan fought to keep his expression neutral but felt pleased as he answered. “Just Rowan is fine. Yes, healing and warding are the main problems. Another is the weather. The ward currently helps mitigate some of the damage, to an extent, but there’s not much else you can do there.”
“Eh, maybe yes, maybe no. Kinda depends.”
Now that made even less sense. Rowan turned in the saddle to squarely face Milo. “You can do weather magic too?”
“Uh, not like you mean it, but I have spells to mitigate storm damage. Assuming I can prep ahead of time and cover the rightarea, y’know. I could bolster the magic already woven into the ward.”
