Scholar of Magic (Art of the Adept #3) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,80

puffy, but there was a spark of positivity in her that refused to be dampened by circumstances.

She squinted at the sunlight that was beginning to peak over the rooftops. “Sun’s up. You should come inside and rest.” Then she grinned. “Unless you’d prefer to cook breakfast first?”

Tabitha and Sammy would make great friends, thought Will. They’re so similar. He shook his head, though he wished he could accept her offer. “No, I need to get back home. I have lots to do. Here.” He held out five blood-cleanse potions he had summoned from the limnthal before knocking. “Take these, in case anyone else gets injured.”

“What if you need them?” she asked.

The door opened wider then, as Mark Nerrow stepped up behind his daughter. “Take them in and put them in the kitchen, Tabitha.” He waited until the young woman was gone before addressing Will directly. “Thank you for the gift, though I can’t help wondering. You haven’t left and I’m certain you only had the one potion last night.”

“Perhaps if sorcerers spent more time studying magic and less time looking down on wizards, they’d still know how such things are done,” Will retorted, his irritation coming fully to the surface.

The baron ignored his tone. “I’ve known and studied with quite a few wizards. I was a student at Wurthaven myself once upon a time.”

“And yet you’re still wrong. I’m the first you’ve ever met.” Turning away, he looked at Tiny. “Let’s go.”

“William, I know I was a little harsh last time we spoke, but—” began the baron.

Will cut him off. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back tonight, when it’s dark and no one will see me. That way you won’t be embarrassed.”

As he started walking, he heard Tabitha’s voice from inside. “He’s leaving? What were you talking about? Did he say embarrassed?”

***

Tiny was silent most of the way back, lost in his own thoughts, but eventually he spoke. “You were very rude to the baron.”

“I get stupid when I’m tired,” said Will. “He deserved it, though.”

“It’s never wise to make enemies out of noblemen, Will.”

Half a chuckle escaped before Will replied, “Did you notice he didn’t respond? He just let me walk away. There’s a reason for that. You don’t need to worry. He may not be a friend, but he’ll never be an enemy.” Silently he added, I hope.

“Does this have anything to do with the count you killed? Are they afraid of you?”

“You heard the rumors?”

“I’m pretty sure that even the wild men of Barsta have heard about it by now.”

Will stopped. “I didn’t kill Lord Spry, I killed his son. Selene killed the earl—at their wedding.”

The squire gaped at him, then finally closed his mouth. “I heard a version like that, but I dismissed it as unbelievable.”

Will nodded. “I’m sure none of the tales come close to the full absurdity of that day.”

“Some of them claim you died, and the high priest prayed until Temarah interceded and raised you from the dead,” said Tiny tentatively.

They were finally home, and Will laughed as they walked through the door. “No, that one is completely wrong.”

Tiny laughed along with him, releasing his hidden tension. “That would be impossible, right?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say impossible,” said Will carefully. “I did die, for a little while. But it wasn’t the priest or Temarah that brought me back. I took care of that myself. I may have met the Mother, though. I had a weird vision while I was being whipped the other day, but I’m not sure. I might have been hallucinating from the pain.”

Tiny stared at him quietly, then replied, “We need to have a long talk.”

Will nodded in agreement. “We do, but can we wait until after we’ve bathed and slept?”

Blake stepped through the door at the end of the hall. “Would you like me to heat some water for you, squire? We have a large tub in the back.”

The big warrior nodded at his host. “After your master has bathed. I wouldn’t dream