Scholar of Magic (Art of the Adept #3) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,30

Will. “I also have a much better idea how dangerous he is. If I’m going to remain unseen, I can’t have you with me. You should stay here in case Selene returns while I’m gone.”

Blake ground his teeth. “Fine.”

“Help me put my brigandine back on?” asked Will. It wasn’t so much a question as a polite order.

“Are you going to be silencing yourself with magic?”

He nodded.

“Then you’d be better with the mail and breastplate.”

“I might as well wear my greaves and helm too,” said Will sarcastically. “Who wears full armor to sneak around?”

“That chameleon spell hides you better than you could manage on your own. With the silence you don’t really have to worry about the armor.”

The man had a point. “What about flexibility? I may have to crawl around.”

“Crawling might be a chore, but you can handle it, and climbing isn’t a problem for you if it comes to that. Magic, right?”

Will finally agreed. “I bow before your superior wisdom, but no breastplate.”

“A compromise then,” said Blake with a grim smile.

Half an hour later Will left the house clad in mail, helm, and greaves, but he carried no weapons. He had gotten so used to using the limnthal that he kept such things stored within it now. With barely more than a thought he could summon his crossbow, shield, spear, and any of a variety of knives and swords. If he was spotted somehow, his opponent would likely underestimate how well he was armed.

With a chameleon spell masking his appearance and a silence spell on his attire, he would be nearly impossible to see or hear. He just needed to be sure he moved slowly when he might be observed. He still could only manage to keep one spell prepared at a time, so he debated whether he should have a wind-wall or a force-lance ready.

If he chose the wind-wall, he would still require several seconds to invest it with enough power for it to be deadly, but he could use a weaker version defensively to clear the ground around him if he got into trouble. The force-lance he could almost reflex cast. He had been practicing the simple spell almost daily, but it wasn’t quite there yet. If he needed one to attack with, it would take him a second to prepare on the fly, whereas if he kept it ready ahead of time it didn’t need the turyn that a wind-wall would. He could unleash it with just a thought.

But the force-lance is sure to kill anyone it hits, he reminded himself. He chose the wind-wall. He could use it defensively in an instant, or offensively if he took a few seconds to charge it up.

He wondered what had happened to Tailtiu as he slowly made his way from the campus to the city streets and on toward the Nerrow house. It was unusual for her not to return promptly, but the fae woman was too formidable for anything bad to have happened to her.

“Tailtiu, Tailtiu, Tailtiu,” he whispered to himself. “Thrice called, I summon thee.” Ordinarily saying her name three times would establish a channel between them. Not enough for true communication, it would allow her to let him know if she would answer the call or not at a minimum.

He felt nothing. There was no response at all.

Chapter 8

He stood still on one side of the street for several long minutes, trying to figure out what Tailtiu’s lack of response meant. No, it was more than being ignored, he told himself. It was as if her name didn’t connect at all. Could she be dead? Will shook his head. His aunt was immortal, and while it was possible to kill her, he couldn’t imagine a situation that would lead to her dying.

“She was just watching the Nerrow home,” he muttered to himself. “Surely the assassin couldn’t have killed her.” Anyone that wanted to kill one of the fae would have to be both skilled and knowledgeable. Will wasn’t even entirely certain what it would take. His grandfather had once mentioned the subject while discussing his enemy Elthas. At the time he had mentioned that trapping