Page 34 of Path of the Dark
The morning’s training had felt endless. Instead of earning the trust of the enchanters of Veldoras, they now disliked him. Gael didn’t care about being unpopular. However, he did mind that they weren’t cooperating.
Slamming down his goblet, Gael poured himself another.
His jaw and temples ached, and he seethed with frustration. There had been moments this morning when he almost regretted the grand plan he’d embarked on and the boasts he’d made to the king of Anthor.
All morning he’d resisted the urge to whip up a tornado of Dark and smash the skulls of this rabble against the columns encircling the courtyard. But he couldn’t do that—he needed them.
Grasping his fresh goblet of wine, Gael stalked over to his desk in the opposite corner of the chamber. Then he reached under the collar of his leather tunic and pulled Shade out, placing her gently upon the desk.
“You were quiet this morning,” he accused.
The rat sat up on her haunches, those unnervingly sharp red eyes fixing upon him.I didn’t want to put you off.
“You could have offered some assistance. Do you know how close I was to losing my temper out there?”
Aye, but you didn’t. Have patience, Gael. It’ll take time to gain their trust.
“I don’t have time,” he muttered, reaching for the wooden box behind Shade. “Without the formula, all those enchanters put together are of no use to me.”
Gael produced a small iron key from his robes and opened the box, withdrawing a thick stack of parchments. Yellowed with age and crumbling around the edges, these pages were incredibly fragile. Over five-hundred years old, they needed delicate handling.
Massaging his tense jaw, Gael sat down at the desk. He set his goblet aside, produced a fresh piece of parchment, and began leafing through the ancient pages before him.
“Where did I get to yesterday?” he mused aloud.
Shade didn’t reply. Instead, she sprawled out on the desk and started to clean herself.
Gael let out a long sigh. Translating these pages from the ancient tongue was laborious and tedious work, especially since he was rusty in the language and had to constantly refer to the large leather-bound dictionary that sat on the corner of the desk.
He was slowly getting through the text, although the painstaking job was starting to wear at him.
Somewhere within it was the secret he sought.
Irana had sworn the answer lay amongst these pages—although the former High Enchanter of Rithmar’s House of Light and Darkness had died before being able to reveal it to him. He’d sent them to her to translate a couple of months earlier and had almost regretted doing so.
Gael closed his eyes, trying to will the throbbing in his temples to subside. Tension had turned his shoulders to stone. His mood was dark. The last thing he wanted was to work on these translations.
And yet Reoul would want a demonstration soon, would demand to see these enchanters and their enhanced abilities. Gael had boasted that they’d be stronger than those of Rithmar, that they’d even be a match for Ninia of Thûn.
But if he didn’t uncover the formula Irana had seen, the enchanters of Veldoras would make him a laughing stock.
Opening his eyes, Gael took in the small, dark chamber the High Enchanter had assigned him. It was windowless and smelled of damp. Shabby furniture lined the space, and the bed-linen was threadbare. Unlike Saskia and the other Anthor enchanters, Gael wasn’t welcome in The Swallow Keep.
Instead, he was forced to reside here—in squalor.
Just another thing that soured his mood.
Stop brooding, Shade chastised him,and get to work.
Forcing his attention away from his poor lodgings, Gael dipped his quill into the inkwell and started to translate. He was just looking up yet another word when a knock sounded on his door.
Gael lowered the dictionary and frowned. “Who is it?” he called out.
The door opened, and a big woman cloaked in white glided into the chamber. As always, Mysandra was impeccably made up and coiffed. Her expression, however, was thunderous.
“Marik has suffered a cranial fracture,” she greeted Gael without preamble.
Gael shrugged. “Will he live?”
