Path of Fire (Saga of The Wolf Book 3)

by Kris A Hiatt

  “You too,” she told him, offering a slight smile.

  “Thanks for the visit,” Wren said. “But my wife and I have things to do.”

  “You’re married?” Treace asked. He was unsuccessful in keeping the incredulity from his voice.

  “Oh yes, last year. Isn’t that just wonderful news?” Wren asked, leaning over to give Emiah a kiss.

  Treace was going to say no, but didn’t think it was in his best interest to say so. He was in love with Kiril. He didn’t doubt that in the least, but just hearing that Emiah married that filth made his skin crawl. He knew he was infatuated with her when he was younger. It wasn’t real, he knew it wasn’t love, but he thought she deserved better than Wren.

  “I’ve got a beautiful wife, a beautiful sword, it’s just beautiful being me,” Wren said, stepping away from Emiah to pull his sword from its scabbard.

  Treace wasn’t going to respond to those statements either. Especially so after seeing that it was the sword he made for Jensen. He wondered if Wren knew who crafted the sword. If Treace was wearing his armor, the wolf paw exactly like the one on the sword would probably make it an easy guess.

  “Have you heard of The Wolf?” Wren asked. “I hear he’s about to pay us a visit.”

  “I have,” Treace confirmed. He wondered if Wren knew he was The Wolf. From the way Wren spoke, he doubted it. And little did Wren know, he wasn’t about to pay them a visit; he was already here.

  “As dangerous as any man with a blade they say,” Wren said, giving Treace a quick look. “I think someone made this for him. I was told there was only one other like it.”

  “If it was his, wouldn’t he want it back?” Treace asked. Perhaps Wren did know the truth. There was something about the way he looked at him.

  “If it was his, why wouldn’t he just take it?”

  Treace thought about doing just that, but he couldn’t yet. As much as he wanted the sword, the journal came first. He could make another sword, he couldn’t replace the journal. “I want to buy the journal back from you,” Treace told him.

  “Can’t do that,” Wren said, not bothering to look in Treace’s direction. Instead he appeared to be concentrating on the sword that he was twisting to and fro about him.

  “Feel free to copy out of it what you want first, I don’t care. Just give the journal back,” Treace told him.

  “I said I can’t do that.”

  “Don’t be an ass, just sell it back.”

  “He can’t, Treace,” Emiah blurted out. She paused before saying in much calmer tones, “he can’t because—”

  “Even if I could sell it back,” Wren cut in, silencing Emiah with a raised hand. “I wouldn’t. But I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Treace asked.

  “Because I burned it,” Wren told him, stopping his twisting of the sword to peer over its blade.

  “Burned it? That was my father’s journal!”

  “Why do you think I burned it?” Wren asked, giving Treace a wry smile.

  Treace didn’t know what to say. He instinctively looked to Emiah. She used to break up their arguments when they were younger. Not this time. Now she simply rolled her eyes. He felt anger rise from within him. Why would Wren destroy the journal? Simply because Treace’s father wrote it? He realized that Wren was still the same bully that he used to be. “You haven’t changed one bit,” Treace told Wren.

  “And why would I? As I’ve said before, it’s beautiful being me.”

  Treace had to get that smug look off of Wren’s face. He didn’t know if what he was about to say would work out for him in the end or not, but he hoped it would at least sour Wren’s mood. It would also have the added benefit of answering the question of whether or not Wren knew if he was The Wolf, not that that truly mattered. “That sword truly is beautiful.”

  “It is,” Wren said, sheathing it once more. “Come on, dear. You’ve wifely duties to attend to.”

  “I’d like to buy it,” Treace informed him. He’d really like to punch him in the face, but he knew that wasn’t going to get the sword back.

  “When I say no are you going to try to buy my wife too?”

  “So are you going to sell me the sword or not?” Treace asked, ignoring the absurd question regarding Emiah. If she was bothered by Wren’s words, she didn’t show it. He, again, wondered briefly what had happened to make her change so drastically.

  “No,” Wren replied. He grabbed his wife’s hand and started to walk away.

  If Wren wasn’t going to sell the sword because he thought it may belong to The Wolf, maybe if Treace told him the truth behind the sword he’d be willing to give it up. He couldn’t come up empty on both the sword and the journal.

  “Do you know who crafted it?” Treace asked, making Wren stop. He wasn’t used to bartering and having to do so with the infuriating man was getting under his skin.

  “He didn’t say,” Wren said, offering a sigh before turning to face him. “But being as there is only one other like it, I don’t think it matters.”

  “Exodin has the other,” Treace told him. He doubted this line of dialogue would work either, but if there was any decency left in the man, perhaps Wren would see that the sword meant something to Treace and would give it back. “Because I’m the one that gave it to him.”

  “Odd that he’s never mentioned it,” Wren said. “Unless he didn’t mention it because you’re a liar.”

  “I’m not lying. I gave him the sword right after I crafted it and another just like it. The other sword I gave to Jensen, which you now have.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s not,” Treace told him. He knew he shouldn’t have been so naïve. Wren hadn’t grown up at all. In fact, Treace thought by admitting he was the crafter of the sword just ensured that Wren would never let him have it.

  Wren seemed to weigh the possibility that his words were true. He scrunched up his face for a moment then shrugged his shoulders.

  “Get out of my town,” Wren told him before walking away again.

  Treace watched as Emiah slowly followed Wren back inside the manor and close the door. He knew his face was red. He could feel how hot it was.

  “Old friends indeed,” the familiar guard said.

  “Maybe I exaggerated,” Treace admitted.

  “Just a little.”

  “Where are all the men?” Treace asked, looking around. He wanted to think of something other than punching Wren in the face.

  “Most of them were sent to Haven to fight with Liernin,” the man replied.

  “More work for you then,” Treace told him.

  “Yeah, they aren’t even hiring replacements. It’s a good thing folks around here don’t make much trouble. With the people we have left, we couldn’t keep them all in line.”

  Treace knew what he was talking about. Haven was a much larger city and there were more incidences a day there than there were in a month here. He was confident just the few men that remained would be able to patrol and investigate the few crimes that were committed. “You’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah,” the man said without much confidence.

  “Take care,” Treace told him and walked away. Though, in truth, he planned on returning very shortly.

  Wren didn’t know it, but during their conversation the pain in the ass had actually given him an idea.

  Chapter 2

  “It’s obvious now why he picked you,” Kint said, giving him a quiet applause.

  Drevic let his barrier over Brother Baros fall. He turned to regard the older man. He knew full well that Kint was speaking of Nimbril. It wasn’t the first time his former mentor’s name had come up in the last few days. “It has less to do with my skill than it does your teaching.”

  “Precisely what I thought you’d say. Modest, talented, a true leader, according to all the men and women that follow you. I see it myself. So again, I say it’s obvious,” Kint told him.

  “You forgot that he’s a prude with his head either stuck in a book or u
p his own ass,” Baros proclaimed in obvious jest.

  “You could pick better friends, though,” the old man said.

  “There are none better, I assure you,” Drevic replied. “Though he is a little rough around the edges.”

  “More than just the edges,” Kint offered.

  “You here to teach him something else now?” Baros asked, seeming to ignore the previous statements.

  Drevic smirked. He couldn’t help it. Baros was a fine friend but he didn’t understand the difficulty of what it was that Kint had already taught him. He’d barely been able to cast the barrier over Baros three times, and that was after repeated attempts over the past few days. He wasn’t ready for something new.

  “Soon,” Kint replied. “I was just checking on his progress, which it seems wasn’t needed.”

  “I’ve only been successful three times,” Drevic admitted. He didn’t want Kint to overestimate his abilities.

  “Then you’re already the second most accomplished magic user of the last thirty years,” Kint told him.

  Drevic knew full well that Kint was referring to himself as being the most accomplished, but it still didn’t make him feel any better. He’d need to be able to bring forth the barrier on command, not three times out of countless attempts.

  “It’s only been a few days,” Kint offered.

  The old man was adept at reading people. Drevic had been on the receiving end of more than one of Kint’s kind words of support recently. He wasn’t certain as to why, however. Previous to his arrival here, Kint was afraid that Drevic would stone-face him. Kint had erroneously believed that Drevic had the ability to remove all emotional capacity from someone, much like the rare chance that would happen to a magic user should they fail to use it correctly. Losing your emotional connections to the world meant that you’d die soon after. Drevic didn’t blame the man for not wanting to meet him. But, not only did Kint willingly show up, he seemed to have moved beyond that and was now helping progress magic and the entire order. When Drevic had asked him about his change of heart, Kint merely cited Kiril as his reason. When pressed, he said that since Treace had kept his daughter safe he felt that he could trust the current version of the College. Even though Kint had admitted that he trusted Drevic, there seemed to be trepidation where Nimbril, the former leader of the College, was concerned. Why or what it was, though, Drevic wasn’t sure. Kint’s explanation wasn’t exactly detailed.

  “So then you’re here to teach me?” Baros asked hopefully.

  Kint raised a brow in Drevic’s direction.

  “No,” Drevic said, shaking his head. It wasn’t that he wasn’t confident in Baros’s abilities, Drevic just didn’t want to risk anyone other than himself. Especially someone that was as good of a friend as Baros was. “I’ll not risk it yet.”

  “You risk yourself already,” Baros countered.

  Drevic didn’t really want to get into this debate again. He had already decided that he would be the only one to learn from Kint until he could fully understand the difficulty and dangers involved with the new magic. “Yes, and as the Archbishop, I get to do so. But I’ll not risk everyone in the order along with me. I’ve told you that.”

  “And as the Archbishop, you are the order. By risking yourself you risk the entire order. You are our leader. You should have let him teach me. If my brain fried, then the order lost a brother, not its leader,” Baros replied.

  “He’s not as stupid as I thought,” Kint stated.

  “The order wouldn’t just lose a brother,” Drevic told him. “I’d lose a friend.”

  “Stop protecting me and use me,” Baros pleaded. “I don’t need your protecting.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Drevic assured him. “I’m not protecting you because you are my friend. I was simply telling you that your life means something to me, that’s all.”

  “As does every life. When Shamir’s men do come, and they will, you can’t protect us all. Let us help.”

  “Did Edas put you up to this? Kelvrin?” The two older magisters had been vocal about their interest in learning whatever new magic Kint had to offer. They were convinced there was more to magic than what they’d known so far. Kint was a curiosity and the idea that he may know something that they didn’t bothered them. It wouldn’t surprise Drevic if the two older magisters used Baros to try to get to him.

  “Neither,” Bishop Yelsn called out from behind him.

  Drevic turned to look at his friend. He saw guilt on the man’s face. Yelsn had started this whole thing. Drevic couldn’t believe it. He could understand it if it came from the other two, but not from Yelsn. The man could barely find The Calm, let alone use stronger magic. Why would Yelsn get in the middle of this argument if he couldn’t even attempt to use the magic?

  “Now don’t you give me that look,” Yelsn told him. “We aren’t questioning your leadership.”

  “And yet I say it is,” Drevic replied. “Did I not say that I wanted to see the full extent of what Kint had to offer before I would risk the entirety of the order to his teaching methods?”

  “You did,” Yelsn conceded.

  “Tell me how all of you challenging that decision is not questioning my leadership?” Drevic asked. He didn’t like having this conversation in front of Kint, but he didn’t see a way to avoid it.

  “So you’re saying that the reason you haven’t allowed the others to listen and learn from him is because you don’t want to risk them with his methods?” Yelsn asked.

  “I said as much.”

  “I’m not going to hurt anyone,” Kint told them.

  “Because you believe his methods are risky?” Yelsn asked, patting his hand in Kint’s general direction though his eyes never left Drevic’s.

  “Yes,” Drevic agreed.

  “If I wanted to hurt you,” Kint put in. “I would have done it long ago and you couldn’t have stopped me.”

  Yelsn smiled broadly and his eyes gleamed. “So you’d willingly risk your life, the life of our leader, instead of the lives of those under you?”

  “That’s what a leader does,” Drevic pointed out.

  “That’s what a martyr does,” Yelsn argued.

  Drevic considered the bishop’s words.

  “We aren’t challenging your ability to lead. We are challenging your one decision to risk yourself without allowing others to do the same. Surely you see the difference. You can’t expect everyone to follow you blindly. We all want the same thing. We all want to be as prepared as possible for when Shamir’s men are wreaking havoc in the lands that are governed by our good Liernin,” Yelsn said.

  Drevic was yet again reminded of how wise the man before him was. What Yelsn had said was correct on all accounts. Drevic had been trying to keep the others from possible harm. Kint had shown interest and skill, but his motivations for helping were not completely evident. Yet, even with that, Drevic had put his own life at risk so the others wouldn’t have to. He thought he was saving them at the time, but now that Yelsn had pointed it out, he could see the argument from the other point of view.

  “You know he’s right,” Baros told him.

  “But you still don’t trust me,” Kint reasoned.

  “Not fully,” Drevic admitted. “Mostly because you haven’t given me a good enough reason as to why you’d like to help us.”

  “I told you why,” Kint argued.

  “No, you told me that since Treace had ensured Kiril’s safety that you felt you could trust us. You never said why you wanted to help us.”

  “Shamir is not a good man,” Kint told him.

  “Of that I’m fully aware,” Drevic replied.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Baros asked. “Shamir wants him dead, so to ensure he survives, he’s here to help make sure that we win.”

  “That’s not the reason,” Drevic assured him.

  “What is my reason then?” Kint asked.

  “That’s what I want you to tell me.”

  “I think you have one in your hea
d already, so tell me,” Kint bade him.

  Drevic looked around. The others were all looking at him, just waiting to hear his thoughts. He didn’t want to tell them what he thought just yet. He didn’t have a reason as to why he didn’t fully trust Kint, he just knew he didn’t. He couldn’t explain it, but something was off. Why would he help them? He decided it couldn’t hurt to voice his concerns. It seemed like Kint was aware that he held concerns, it may be better to just get them out in the open. “I get that you want us to win. As you said, Shamir is not a good man. However, you had to have known exactly the type of man Shamir was prior to returning here. You were scared to meet with me the last time you were in town. You thought I’d stone-face you for teaching others exactly what it was that you have just taught me. And yet now, even though I’ve done nor said anything to give you a reason to think differently, you now trust that I won’t do just that.”

  “Not that you won’t,” Kint corrected. “But that you can’t.”

  “Which still doesn’t explain why,” Drevic told him.

  “Just know that what I do, I do because I’m trying to help you. Until my daughter returns, I’ll leave it at that,” Kint told them, crossing his arms.

  “What does she have to do with this?” Yelsn asked.

  “Everything,” Kint said before turning to walk away.

  “Where are you going?” Drevic asked.

  “To get some pie.”

  Drevic watched the old man walk out. He had admitted to hiding something. Now Drevic just had to figure out what it was and how Kiril fit into it.

  “What is it with him and pie?” Baros asked, breaking the silence.

  “The man does like his pie,” Yelsn commented.

  “Do you see now why I don’t fully trust him?” Drevic asked.

  “I do,” Yelsn replied. “But I don’t believe it’s anything sinister. I could be wrong, but I feel like he’s just looking out for his daughter.”

  “Possibly,” Drevic admitted. “But until she returns and he tells us what he knows, no one else works with him. He’s free to come and go as he pleases, but we’ll wait until we know more before I risk us further.”