Age of War (The Legends of the First Empire #3)

There was a knock on the door, and Sebek reached for his swords.

“Who is it?” Nyphron called out. Sebek’s nervousness had him concerned. When the best warrior in the world was checking doors, whispering mysterious warnings, and reaching for metal at the slightest sound, only a fool would be relaxed.

“Your humble servant,” came the reply.

Nyphron looked at Sebek. “Is Malcolm allowed in?”

Sebek answered by opening the door. “Anyone see you come up?”

“Maybe, but who would care?”

Malcolm walked in, still dressed in his absurd Rhune outfit of wool despite the change in weather. He also wore a confused look similar to the one on Nyphron’s face. “What’s going on?”

Sebek checked the hall before closing the door.

“I was hoping you knew,” Nyphron admitted.

“Sebek asked me up,” Malcolm said.

Sebek closed the door again. “Techylor is from Dureya.”

Malcolm glanced at Nyphron with a smirk. “Yeah—we know. Is this news to you?”

“He was there.”

Nyphron leaned forward. “What do you mean by there?”

Sebek walked away from the door, making the wooden floor boards creak with his weight. Alon Rhist had likely made the same sound. Probably he made that noise when he walked to the stone molding and set his wine cup down.

“The kid was in one of the little villages we burned. He lived there.”



Nyphron shook his head. “Not possible. We checked. No one survived those raids.” He pointed again at Sebek. “You—you were charged with making certain there were no witnesses.”

Sebek stopped short of where the famous cup rested, gathering dust. “He must have been hiding.”

“He saw you?” Malcolm said, glancing back and forth between them. “That’s…”

“He didn’t see us,” Nyphron said, willing it to be so. There were times he felt he was genuinely capable of such things. During battles, or in general, sheer determination and willpower were all that was needed. If he wanted anything bad enough, he could make it happen. This was often a warning sign of Miralyith talent. As nothing could be more repugnant to him, he also willed that not to be so. “What makes you think he did?”

“Raithe and Tesh are the only surviving Dureyans,” Sebek said. “Raithe lived because he was in the wilderness with Malcolm, but Techylor was a kid. Why would a kid be away from home by himself?”

“That’s all you’ve got?”

“And when I asked him where he was, how he avoided death, he didn’t answer. He ran off and wouldn’t even look at me.”

“Tesh would have said something by now,” Nyphron said. “If he really was there, he would have seen us kill his family, his whole clan. If that were true, do you really think he’d be training with you?”

“He wants revenge,” Malcolm said thoughtfully, as if thinking out loud. The skinny man sat down on one of the three fancy footstools. “When we first met him, Tesh asked to be called Fhreyhyndia.”

Sebek’s eyes widened. “That explains the dedication. He’s learning to kill us.” He walked the length of the room, then turned around and stared at Nyphron. “I’m guessing he’ll start with you.”

“This is all…” Nyphron shook his head. Sebek wasn’t as quick with his brain as with his swords. “Has he told anyone? Has he actually said he saw us?”

“No,” Sebek said.

Nyphron shifted his sight to Malcolm.



“Don’t look at me. I didn’t even know about this until now. If he was going to tell anyone, it would be Raithe. They’re both Dureyan, and Raithe is his chieftain.”

“Did he tell him?”

Malcolm shrugged. “It’s not like we’re always together. They’ve had plenty of opportunities to chat without me around.”

“All the more reason to keep Raithe away from Persephone. If she were to hear of this…” Nyphron made a peak with his hands and rested his face in them, his fingertips pressing the bridge of his nose.

“Do you think she’d believe him?” Malcolm asked. “Things have come so far. You’ve built so much trust and credibility over the—”

“She’s still a human,” he snapped. “They aren’t rational.”

Malcolm raised both eyebrows and tilted his head slightly to one side. “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean. Besides, you’re practically Fhrey.”

Malcolm smirked. “I’ll choose to interpret that as a compliment.”

“Even if he hasn’t told anyone else, Techylor is still a threat,” Sebek insisted as he continued to pace. That was another problem with Sebek; he always needed to be moving. Moving, fighting, killing. The Fhrey’s nightmare must be dying and being brought back to life by the gods as a still pond. “He’s only sixteen years old—sixteen. What will he be like in another ten years?”

“This kid is that good?”

Sebek raised his brows. “How good were you at sixteen years? Not sixteen hundred, not fifty—sixteen!”

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