Tentatively, the boy reached his palm up to Tomaaz’s face and cupped his cheek.
Lovina sucked her breath in. “That’s the first time he’s done that,” she said.
“You know you’re safe with us, don’t you?” Tomaaz asked. The memory of the boy’s beaten and bloody back flashed to mind. He’d been so frail and light, lifting him had been less effort than carrying a small sack of carrots as Tomaaz had smuggled him out of the slave’s sleeping quarters, past tharuks, to the cave where Maazini had been held captive. And now he had to rescue another dragon. “You know how we saved the orange dragon, Maazini?”
The boy nodded.
“Well, there’s a blue dragon, Erob, who’s been injured by tharuks, just like you were. I know I’ve just returned, but I need to help save him, so I’ll be leaving again soon.”
The boy shook his head, his hands clutching at Tomaaz’s clothes.
Tomaaz hugged him tight again, gazing at Lovina over the boy’s head. “I’m sorry, buddy. I have to go again, but I’ll be back.”
His whole life had become one long series of farewells and danger.
Wizardry
The chill seeped through Fenni’s breeches, slowly making his backside numb. He’d thought his folded cloak would combat the cold, but he’d been here so long the snow had penetrated the thick layers. Trying again, he held his hands a body-width apart, green sparks flitting between them. His brow furrowed in concentration as he drew his palms apart. Bright green sparks flew from hand to hand. Fenni smiled. Just a little wider now. He pulled his hands further apart. With a fizzle, the sparks died, leaving him with nothing but air between his palms—and cold air at that.
Dragon’s manky breath! What would it take to get this right? He kicked a clump of snow onto the thin layer of ice coating the stream below. The ice broke with a satisfying crack. He held up his hands again.
Snow or no snow, he would not give in. He was never going to pass wizard training and be able to battle tharuks if he couldn’t master fire. His uncle’s dead face haunted him—he’d been mauled by tharuks and his death had been ugly. Fenni had vowed to become a mage and avenge him, but the last wizard trials had been a catastrophe. Every other first-year wizard had conjured fireballs except him. Sure, he’d been good with other elements, like wind and water, but he had to control flames too—and real green wizard flames, not just lousy sparks. Wind and water wouldn’t kill a tharuk.
Hands apart, he tried again. Sweat rolled off his brow as a thick cord of sparks flowed between his palms. This was much better. He willed the sparks to grow, focusing his mind as his wizard master had taught, although that never usually worked for him. When his hands were as wide as he could hold them, he pushed them inward, trying to compress the sparks into a flame.
He let out a gasp as a burst of fire shot out of his fingers, forming a fireball that roiled between his hands, tongues of green wizard flame licking hungrily at the chilly winter air.
“Ha, ha. I’ve done it!” Fenni crowed. “Now, Master Giddi will be proud of me.”
“Will I?” came the austere voice of his master.
The fireball shrunk and zipped over Fenni’s shoulder, shooting into the master mage’s outstretched hand. Master Giddi extinguished it with his long bony fingers.
Fenni gulped. His secret was out. “That wasn’t me, was it?” he asked.
“No, that wasn’t you, Fenni.” Master Giddi raised one of his bushy eyebrows—the ones everyone likened to hairy caterpillars. “But you’re close.”
No closer than he was nine moons ago. Fenni hadn’t deliberately told any lies, just left out the details, and always insisted on practicing alone. He rose to his feet, shaking off his cloak, and kicked some snow at a tree trunk.
Those hairy caterpillars now pulled down into a thunderous scowl. Master Giddi’s voice was deadly quiet, almost sinister. “So, all these moons when you’ve been practicing fire, you haven’t even made a flame?”
“A tiny burst or two.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Giddi thundered. “I could’ve helped you. Fool. Now the mage trials are upon us in a few days and you’re not ready.”
“A few days? But spring equinox is three months away.”
Master Giddi pursed his lips, the familiar sign that a lecture was coming. “Not any more. I just got a messenger bird, so I was coming to tell you the news. With war looming, the Wizard Council’s moved the trials to winter solstice. We need everyone qualified to fight tharuks. We’re leaving for Mage Gate at first light tomorrow.” Master Giddi pointed at Fenni, sparks dripping from his fingers. “You’ve wasted nine moons of your training. You led me to believe your fire skills were fine.” He spat in the snow. “I thought by now you’d be conjuring up walls of flame, or even a fire dragon. That you’d have something worthwhile to show for all those hours.” Master Giddi’s sparks coalesced into a plume of flame. “Do you know what your biggest weakness is?”
“My fire skills.” Fenni sighed. It was out now. Soon, everyone would know.
“No, it’s your pride. You worry too much about what others think.”
Shame washed over Fenni. He’d been embarrassed about his lack of skills, but it was nothing to how he felt now.
“So, now that you’re ready to learn, hold your hands out and close your eyes. Cast out your consciousness. Sense the forest around you,” Master Giddi said, as if Fenni
