Scholar of Magic (Art of the Adept #3) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,136

to ambulate out of the chieftain’s rotting home and back into the dappled sunlight of the village center. Once there, he stored the emptied and newly refilled butt cask in the limnthal and replaced it with the second butt of ale. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he told Clegg slowly, attempting to sound sincere.

The chief barked out a series of orders, and two trolls came over to stand on either side of him. “They walk with you. Keep safe.”

An escort? Considering the thing they had hauled in to eat before he had passed out, he wouldn’t turn his nose up at the idea. After a few minutes of walking, the trolls grew tired of waiting on him, since he was too debilitated to jog. One of the trolls reached down and picked him up, and he found himself riding on the troll’s shoulders.

Things went much quicker after that, though the swaying motion made it difficult for him to control his nausea. He was glad beyond belief when they finally reached the lake and he was once again placed on his own two feet. Will activated the limnthal. “I’m about to leave, and I want to thank the troll who carried me to the congruence point,” he told the ring.

“Tell him, ‘brak gall,’” said Arrogan. “That’s troll for thank you. It’s about time you start learning troll anyway. You won’t be a very good ambassador if you don’t speak the tongue.”

“Ambassador?”

“I’m dead, so you’ll have to take the job.”

“There’s no longer a council of wizards,” Will pointed out.

“How does it feel to be head of the council too? My, what lofty positions you hold for one so young,” said the ring dryly.

Will faced the two trolls and loudly repeated what he’d been told, “Brak gall.” Then he bowed and moved to the congruence point. Seconds later, he was home. With a sigh of relief, he slid down the wall of the laboratory and sat on the cool stone floor. He wasn’t quite ready to go up the ladder and face his mother again.

He needed to clean up first.

Casting Selene’s Solution turned out to be much harder than he expected. His mind was fuzzy, and combined with the pain of his throbbing headache, it was extremely difficult to focus. It took him ten minutes and three tries to finally assemble the spell. He drew in more turyn than was necessary and set the spell boundaries to take in the entire room. Might as well do some spring cleaning while I’m at it, he told himself.

The feeling of being clean once more was indescribable, and he silently thanked his absent wife for the genius of her magnum opus. It wasn’t enough to make him forget the misery of his hangover, but it was a step in the right direction. Will started to rise to his feet—and promptly dropped to the floor, a half-choked scream emerging from his throat.

The muscle in his leg felt as though it was on fire. Looking at it again, he saw that the swelling had increased. I took a blood-cleanse potion, he reminded himself. Surely the wound can’t be turning sour.

He activated the limnthal and described his swollen leg to Arrogan, ending with, “It’s like some giant mosquito bit me, but the lump is almost the size of a small turnip now.”

A long laugh came from the ring, rising into a maniacal cackle at the end. “You must have really enjoyed the party. Did you pass completely out?”

“It was awful,” lamented Will. “Passing out was the best part of the whole experience.”

“Did you make any close friends before you blacked out?” asked Arrogan, his voice tinged with hidden mirth.

Will frowned. “What are you hinting at?”

“Just that you need to learn moderation. Obviously, you can’t handle your drink, and just as obviously, one of the trolls took advantage of you.”

“Took advantage? What does that mean?”

“You’re pregnant.”

“What?” Will shrieked.

“Don’t be such a baby! Most women experience pregnancy at least once and you don’t hear them screaming about it. Well, some do, but usually at the end.”

“I’m not a woman!”