Son of a Dark Wizard by Sean Patrick Hannifin Page B

and
powerless without Sorren’s power coursing through it. Sage was
strapped in his seat, clutching at the helm, but Thale floated
before the windows, twisting and flailing and grabbing at air.
Beyond the window, the world was nothing but a blur of the forest
trees below, turning, spinning, growing.
    And then the windows shattered and all was
darkness.

THIRTEEN

    The light was blinding. Sorren realized it
was the sun flashing through the trees. What happened? Where was
he? How long had he been unconscious?
    He tried to sit up, but couldn’t. His entire
body was numb, stiff. He felt like a floating thought trapped in
one place.
    A blurry face appeared before him, looking
down. Sorren tried to bring the vision into focus. It was a woman’s
face. An older woman, wrinkles beginning to form at the edges of
her eyes and mouth. Perhaps it was a trick of the morning light,
but the woman’s pale skin almost seemed a faint shade of magenta.
Her eyes were the deep blue of the Nyrish moon and, like the moon,
they seemed to glow. A bundle of worn out wooden necklaces hung
from her neck, clacking against one another. Thick strands of hair
hung from her head, black with random strands of dark red and
purple, long enough that they almost touched Sorren’s face. They
smelled of dirt and smoke.
    The woman’s voice was warm, smooth, peaceful
as a summer sunrise over calm waters. “I am Maewyn,” she said.
“Welcome to Owl’s Grave.”
    Sorren tried to respond, but could not find
the strength. A darkness rose over him like a blanket, a warm
welcoming darkness, and he let it swallow him.

FOURTEEN

    “Sorren,” a voice whispered. It was faint and
hard to hear, like something echoing from deep inside a cavern.
    “Mordock,” Sorren whispered into the
shadows.
    “Sorren,” the voice repeated.
    No , Sorren thought, it’s
Kovola . He struggled to find his way back to reality. “Kovola,”
he said, his voice weak.
    “Sorren, are you there?”
    “I’m here.”
    “Sorren? Are you awake?”
    Sorren opened his eyes. A low ceiling made of
sticks hovered above, lit by the flickering glow of a torch’s
flame. Sorren turned his head, relieved to have some ability to
move again. Sage was kneeling beside him, squinting at him through
his narrow spectacles like a scholar studying a rare book.
    “Sage?” Sorren said.
    “Awake now?” Sage asked. “Can you move yet?
They gave you some powerful medicines. Ankridge root and mirkglen
powder. Rare ingredients. Even I don’t work with those.”
    Sorren brought his mechanical hand before his
face and tested the movement of his fingers. All seemed to function
normally. Then he tested his flesh-and-blood hand, breathing warmth
into his palm, making sure he could feel it. His flesh-and-blood
hand trembled slightly, but it was hardly noticeable. A thin smell
of incense was on the air.
    Sorren noticed his coat draped over the
footboard. Quove stood perched on it, staring back at him like a
curious child. He tried to sit up, but his right leg was numb.
    “You broke it,” Sage said. “You should’ve
seen it. It was twisted in a shape I didn’t know was possible. It
should heal though.”
    “Where’s Thale?” Sorren asked.
    “In another hut,” Sage said. “He didn’t fare
so well. Broken arm, fractured ribs, internal injuries. Nasty. But
he should heal too. At least, I hope so.”
    “Hope so?” Sorren pushed himself up with his
arms and studied his leg. Part of his pants had been torn off below
the knee and his lower leg had been wrapped in thick brown bandages
that looked like some sort of animal skin.
    “I wouldn’t worry,” Sage said. “I think they
know how to treat him.”
    “They?” Sorren said. “Where are we? What
happened?” All he knew was that he was sitting on a small cot on a
small bed in a small wooden hut. Other than the bed, there was not
much in the room. A torch, a few smoking incense sticks, and some
small plants growing in wooden bowls. The place was clearly