When he stopped and looked over, the other shook his head and smiled ruefully. “You make it look so easy. But I know it isn’t.”

Paxon rolled his shoulders and stretched. “It helps if you do it about a million times. Besides, I’m still learning.”

“You don’t look like you need to learn anything more.” Keratrix paused. He brushed at his mop of dark hair. “Sorry to bother you, but the Ard Rhys would like to see you. When you’re finished here.”

Isaturin. Paxon walked over to the battered old scabbard that had protected his sword’s blade for so many generations and sheathed the weapon carefully. “I’m finished,” he said. “Let me wash up and I’ll come up right away.”

He went inside the building to his quarters and bathed and changed his clothing. He was wondering what Isaturin might want of him. He had not been asked to undertake anything since his return from Portlow. No further missions had been assigned, and no reports had come in on Arcannen or the boy with the wishsong. Avelene had recovered from the trauma she had suffered at the sorcerer’s hands and had gone back to her studies. Since the night she had asked Paxon to stay with her, she had barely spoken to him. He thought she might be embarrassed at what she perceived to be a display of weakness, or perhaps she simply didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. He had not pressed her about any of it, leaving her alone except to exchange pleasantries when they encountered each other, letting her work her way through her feelings, not presuming anything from what had happened and how she had reacted.

In truth, he didn’t know quite what to make of her. She had shown no interest in him before they had set out in search of the source of the magic that approximated the wishsong. Even then, her feelings had appeared mixed. And her response to him after being freed from the black cylinder appeared to have been generated mostly out of fear and desperation. He was reluctant to read anything more into it.

When he reached the Ard Rhys’s quarters, Isaturin was waiting in the doorway. “I got tired of reading documents and decided to give my eyes a rest,” he offered, leading the way back inside. “I needed to look at something besides symbols on paper. Are you well?”

Paxon nodded. “As well as ever. Is there any news?”

They sat on opposite sides of Isaturin’s desk—the one that had belonged earlier to Aphenglow Elessedil and which, to Paxon’s way of thinking, always would. But he forced himself to shove the image of her still sitting at it out of his mind.

“A rumor has reached us of Arcannen’s whereabouts,” Isaturin said. “He was spotted somewhere near the ruins of Arbrox, a coastal town that was a haven for pirates and their families until it was completely destroyed by Federation forces about six weeks ago.”

Paxon was confused. “What would he be doing there?”

Isaturin shrugged. “With Arcannen, you can never be sure about anything. Even the rumor is suspect. There is no clear reason for it. Arbrox is miles up the coast from the nearest inhabited village. All that remains are its ruins. How is it that not only has the sorcerer decided to inhabit these ruins but also foolishly allowed himself to be seen? Word got back to the Federation, so they are sending a contingent of soldiers to find out if it’s true. But the Prime Minister wants us to look into this, as well.”

“That’s odd, isn’t it? Why would he want us involved if the Federation army is already doing so?”

“I’m not sure. But the Prime Minister was fond of Aphenglow. They were friends, so I don’t want to dismiss his request out of hand. He works hard to maintain a delicate balance with the various ministerial offices within the Coalition Council, and even with Aphenglow gone he has managed to maintain a close relationship with the Druids.”

Isaturin pursed his lips. “I think he is curious about the Federation army’s reasons for undertaking this investigation. There were rumors of a massacre when the Red Slash went into Arbrox six weeks ago. In any case, I have decided to respond to his request. You are to go to Arishaig to speak with him directly and determine the real reason for our involvement.”

Paxon was caught by surprise. “You’re sending me?”

“He asked for you specifically. He has something he wants to say to you. It seems he believes your previous encounters with Arcannen might prove valuable. If what he tells you persuades you to go on to Arbrox for a closer look, then I want you to do so.”

Paxon shook his head. “I hope he’s not putting too much faith in what I know about Arcannen.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t be alone in deciding what needs doing. Avelene will be going, too. I want you to act as her escort and protector.”

“Avelene?” The Highlander hesitated. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Is she … well enough?”

“If you are asking me if she is physically well enough, I am assured by our healers that she is. If you mean emotionally, we’ll have to wait and find out. Are you worried?”

“For her, I am, yes. She underwent a great deal of trauma. I don’t know if she can handle any more just yet.”

“I don’t, either, so I want you to find out. If she is to serve in the field—as I think she should—we have to test her at some point. This seems as good a time as any. But she will be in command, Paxon. As a member of the Druid Order, she will lead.”

“I wouldn’t expect it to be any other way.” Paxon hesitated. “Do you mind if I speak to her about this before we leave?”

Isaturin rose, and Paxon stood with him. “Speak to her all you like. But you should know before you do that I didn’t ask her if she wanted to go. She asked me if she could.”

The men stared at each other until Isaturin gave Paxon an amused smile. “You never know, do you?”

Then he gestured him out the door.

Arcannen took his young charges from his living quarters, down the hallway, and out into the open air. He led them past the debris and the remains of the dead to a section of the fallen village that featured neither. There, in a mostly sheltered courtyard, away from the wind and the sudden spats of rain, standing beneath a sky of perpetual gloom and clouds, he faced them.

“When you respond to threats like the ones you faced from the Fortrens, do you consciously think about what you are going to do?” he asked Reyn, standing close enough to be heard about the howl of the wind. “Or do you just react spontaneously without thinking at all?”

The boy shook his head. “I just act. If I get pushed too far, everything just breaks free.”

“When this happens, you are enraged and maybe afraid, too, aren’t you?”

Reyn nodded, exchanging a quick glance with Lariana. The wind was whipping strands of hair about her alabaster skin, giving her face a veiled look. She smiled encouragingly and nodded an unspoken understanding.

“What are you asking me to do?” he demanded of Arcannen, suddenly frightened.

“What you need to do! To learn to think before you act. To not be so easily pushed into reacting in ways you don’t want to. Don’t you understand what is happening? Don’t you see what is being done to you?”

He seemed angry now, almost threatening. Reyn took a step back in spite of himself. But Arcannen seemed to realize he had overstepped himself and held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“I’m just trying to make myself clear. I want to help you. If you take time now to learn how to master your magic—when it doesn’t matter and there is no danger—you will be able to exercise more control when you need it. That’s the task I’ve set you. Practice using your magic in specific ways. Think it through first. Here.”

He came over to Reyn, turned him toward what remained of one wall, and bent close, standing behind the boy, his mouth at Reyn’s ear. “To control magic, you have to imagine what it is you want it to do. You have to visualize it happening. You have to form the image in your mind and do so in a clear, concise way. Don’t think about anything else. Don’t let your mind wander. Keep the image at the forefront of your thoughts. Then sing it to life.”