“I already have.”
He reached the hallway and detected movement. He pushed away the pain but struggled. There was too much agony. The Captain had hurt him, and that was after he’d been stabbed. That pain was nothing right now.
Gavin limped toward the stairs.
A guard appeared.
“A little warning would’ve been nice,” he whispered to Gaspar.
“A warning about what?”
“How many guards have you let past?”
“There haven’t been any.”
Which meant they were somewhere else.
Gavin shook his head. He focused on the guard and kicked. At least he had enough strength remaining to drive the guard back. The man bent over, and Gavin twisted, dropping his elbow down. It caught the guard on the back of his head, and he collapsed.
Gavin stepped forward, but the pain in his leg became too intense.
He called upon the core strength again, using the energy within him, and he took another step. He whipped his leg around and kicked the guard in the side of the head. It was much more rewarding to kick someone who didn’t have enchantments of stone protection.
He headed down the stairs, pausing at the landing to see if there was any sign of any movement. Gaspar hadn’t been able to give him any word of guards coming. They probably should have had him wait on one of the upper levels rather than on the lower levels. They’d made the mistake of being more concerned about somebody coming through the main level of the fortress.
There was no one around. Gavin staggered down the stairs. The pain still throbbed, but he held it at bay, keeping it at the back of his mind. When he reached the bottom level, Gaspar was waiting for him.
“You got him?”
“I got him,” Gavin said.
“What happened to you? You’re bleeding.”
Gavin looked down. He hadn’t noticed. “The Captain. Or the guard. Don’t know.”
“We were supposed to do this without stirring the Captain.”
“I didn’t stir him.” Gavin nodded toward the door. “Can we do this outside? I don’t want to stay here any longer than I need to. Besides, I’m hurting a little bit.”
“I didn’t think the great Gavin Lorren got hurt.”
“He does when he kicks people enchanted with stone.”
Gaspar frowned. They reached the door, and noise behind them picked up. Gaspar waved Gavin ahead. He didn’t argue.
He limped into the garden and reached the wall. Gaspar grabbed the boy and carried him over. Climbing took all of Gavin’s strength and concentration, and he landed on his good leg as he dropped to the other side. He bore the weight of it, but it hurt.
“What happened to you?” Gaspar said. “It’s more than just the bleeding.”
“I got attacked by a sorcerer,” he said, taking the boy back from Gaspar.
Gaspar frowned. “A sorcerer?” He looked back at the Captain’s fortress. “In Yoran? What happened to him?”
“I’m carrying him.”
Chapter Ten
The tavern was quiet, and Gavin stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the irritation within him. Pain lingered, but it wasn’t the kind of pain he would have a hard time pushing away. Rather, it was everything else that was difficult for him to ignore. He hadn’t been nearly as injured as he’d thought. The knife in his back had hurt, but even that had started to heal. Maybe not normal, but functional. That was enough.
He looked over at Gaspar. He was talking quietly to Imogen at a table nearby and had muted the enchantment. Gavin couldn’t hear much of what he said, but Gaspar stood and waved his hands in an animated way, suggesting he was irritated.
This was supposed to have been a straightforward job. Go in, grab the boy, and then return him to Erica. But a sorcerer? That added a wrinkle none of them wanted.
Wrenlow returned from the back room. His eyes were red, and he had a look of uncertainty. He shook his head, frowning at Gavin as he took a seat across from him. “You sure about this?” Wrenlow asked.
“At this point, I’m not really sure about anything.”
“But are you sure the boy is the sorcerer?”
Gaspar paused in his conversation and turned, looking over at Gavin.
Gavin ignored him and watched Wrenlow. “I know what I felt.”
“Magic takes time to manifest. It’s what I’ve always read,” Wrenlow said. “It requires training. Concentration. It requires somebody to have the time to perfect the necessary skills.”
“Sorcerers use spells and other natural items to accentuate power they draw from themselves.” That was how Tristan had explained it for him, at least. “Their power is different than enchanters who have a similar power.”
“The magic not quite the same. They have to place power into something.”
Gavin touched the enchantment he wore. “Either way, it’s more than I understand.”
Wrenlow watched him, saying nothing, though the brightness in his gaze said more than enough. If Gavin were part El’aras, what kind of magic might he have? Their power was different than that of sorcerers and enchanters.
“So the boy?” Wrenlow asked.
“I know what I felt.”
“How? I mean, how?” Wrenlow leaned back, rubbing his eyes again. It was late, and they were all tired, but probably Wrenlow most of all. He wasn’t accustomed to staying up as late as the rest of them. Gavin didn’t need much sleep, so staying awake like this wasn’t all that difficult for him. He suspected Gaspar had an easy time as well. The old thief struck him as a consummate professional, and they never really needed much sleep. He didn’t know about Imogen though. Gavin looked over toward her and the deep frown on her face.
He returned his gaze to Wrenlow. “I don’t know how. When I was in the room with them, I was under attack. I could feel the blows striking me.” Gaspar turned and watched him. “I thought there was a sorcerer in the room with me. I ignored the pain.”
“If he was responsible, there couldn’t have been all that much pain,” Gaspar said.
“You’d be surprised,” Gavin said. “It’s not the size of the sorcerer but the source of their
