Scholar of Magic (Art of the Adept #3) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,143

have a safe way to stop them without hurting them. He backed up until he felt the nearest building brush against his shoulders. He was cornered.

“Give it up,” said one of the men.

“Listen, I’m not coming with you and I’m running out of safe ways to end this without hurting you,” responded Will, trying to put as much sincerity as possible into his voice. Looking over the man’s shoulder, he saw the elemental was on the verge of throwing a massive fireball in his direction. That will probably set the building on fire and might kill these men, he realized.

The sorcerer was still conscious, and Will locked eyes with the man. “Call your elemental off or you won’t see the sunrise.” Since the man was unable to touch his source, Will wasn’t entirely sure if he could still communicate with the elemental, so he released the man’s throat muscles and vocal cords. “Tell the men to back off too,” ordered Will.

“Let him go,” said the sorcerer, his voice weak. Without conscious control of his breathing, it was difficult for the man to control the volume of his voice. Will corrected the problem quickly when he understood. The sorcerer repeated his order, and the watchmen stepped back. “You won’t get far,” he warned. “The Driven are out in force tonight. They’ll find you.”

“Good,” Will agreed. “They’re keeping the vampires in check, I hope.”

The sorcerer stared at him thoughtfully. “How do you know about that?”

“I’m the king’s son-in-law, William Cartwright. I know a lot more than most.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

Will winked at the man. “I do. Do you see an elemental with me?” The man said nothing, so Will continued, “And yet you’re lying on the ground, helpless. Have you heard of any other wizards who could manage that?”

“He’s lying!” sputtered one of the other men. “He’s dressed like a beggar.”

“The clothes I wear are none of your concern, patroller,” said Will, affecting a condescending tone. He quietly began constructing a sleep spell to replace the wind-wall he had used, but he didn’t intend to use it. He addressed the sorcerer, “I’ll need you and your squad to escort me the rest of the way. As you can see, my leg was injured, and it has put my mission in jeopardy.”

“Mission?”

Will had him. Taking a chance, he released the source-links, allowing the men to regain control of their bodies. “I’ve told you who I am, which has already violated the secrecy of my task. I can’t say any more.”

Getting to his feet, the sorcerer in charge stared at him suspiciously. “You expect me to believe anything that comes out of your mouth?”

“The way I see it, you’ve got two choices,” began Will, “either you escort me to my destination, or you try to stop me. If you try to stop me, I won’t pull my punches the second time around. Your men might manage to apprehend me, but you, sir, probably won’t be there to congratulate them. Finally, even if things go perfectly and you drag me in to the magistrate, I promise you’ll wind up tied to a flogging post for interfering with me.”

“Assuming you live to see the magistrate,” suggested the sorcerer, but his voice was more speculative than hostile.

“In that case the king will see you all hanged,” said Will confidently, lacing his words with an air of indomitable superiority. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the sorcerer, giving the impression the others didn’t matter at all.

A tense silence ensued, then unexpectedly the sorcerer lowered his eyes. “As you wish, milord. We are yours to command.”

Will let out his breath slowly, trying to hide his relief and surprise. I didn’t really think that was going to work. Keeping his chin elevated, he asked, “What’s your name and rank?”

The sorcerer stiffened, coming to attention. “Lieutenant Dan Ramfeld, milord.

“I assume you’re not part of the City Watch.”

“Detached duty, from the King’s Special Service.”

Will narrowed his eyes. The Driven all had more than one elemental.

“I’m still in training, milord. His Majesty has every able man out on