Nathan knew that the young man was earnest—in fact, Bannon was probably intimidated by the thought of being left alone with Nicci—but Nathan wanted to do this by himself. Ever since losing his grasp on magic, and now afraid even to try lest he trigger some unknown disaster, he had felt a need to prove his own worth.
“As tempting as that is, my boy, I don’t need your help.” He realized his voice was unintentionally sharp, and he softened his tone. “I’ll be fine, I tell you. Let me go alone. I’ll follow that ridge—see, it looks easy enough.” He let out a disarming chuckle. “Dear spirits, if I can’t find the highest point all around, then I’m useless! There’s no need for you both to go so many miles out of your way.”
Nicci saw his determination and accepted it. “That is your decision, Wizard.”
“Just make sure you two don’t need my help while I’m gone,” Nathan added with a hint of sarcasm, and he nudged Bannon’s shoulder. “Go with the sorceress. What if she needs the protection of your sword? Don’t abandon her.”
Nicci grimaced at the suggestion, while Bannon nodded with grave dedication to his new assignment.
Without further farewell, the wizard strode off into the slatted lines of aspens, following the crest of the ridge and marking the distance to the sentinel tower. He hurried out of sight because he didn’t want Nicci or Bannon to change their minds and insist on joining him. “I am still a wizard, damn the spirits!” he muttered. The Han was still within him, even though it now felt less like a loyal pet and more like a rabid dog chained to a post. But at least he had his sword and his fighting skills, and he had a thousand years of knowledge to draw upon. He could handle a simple scouting expedition by himself.
The line of the undulating hills guided him down a slope following a drainage, then up around to another high point. He caught a glimpse of the tower, which still seemed miles away, but he didn’t let himself grow discouraged. He would achieve his goal, find the tower, and learn what he could. This was all unexplored territory, and he was the first roving D’Haran ambassador to behold it, in the name of Lord Richard Rahl.
His legs ached as he bushwhacked over the rough terrain. He paused to marvel at a series of arcane symbols he found carved into the bark of a large fallen aspen—ancient and unreadable letter scars that had swelled and blurred with age as the tree grew. The symbols were not in any language he knew, not High D’Haran, not any of the old spell languages from the scrolls and books he had studied in Tanimura. The markings reminded him that he was indeed in a place far from his knowledge.…
When he was miles away from his companions, all alone in the wilderness and supposedly safe, Nathan let himself fully consider how his circumstances had changed since he and Nicci had left their lives back in D’Hara. Yes, he was certainly in fine shape for a man his age: well muscled, physically fit, active, nimble. And very good with his sword, even if he did say so himself. But his magic had gone astray, and that bothered him in ways he could not articulate—and Nathan Rahl considered himself a very articulate man.
He could never forget the horror of the backlash when he had tried to heal the wounded man in Renda Bay, how the magic had dodged and twisted when he tried to use it. He was afraid of what other consequences he might endure. Whenever he had tried to reach for it, struggling for some touch, some grasp, he had felt only a hint, an echo … then a sting. He didn’t want to be around his friends in case some monstrous backlash might occur. But he needed to learn more about his condition.
Now, he decided to take his chance. Out here in the forest, walking along the wooded ridges, far from anyone else, Nathan decided to experiment.
Considering his options, he decided not to dabble with any fire spell, because it could so easily erupt into a great conflagration that he wouldn’t be able to extinguish. Like Nicci, though, he had easily been able to manipulate air, nudge breezes, and twist the wind. Maybe he could try that.
Nathan looked around himself at the forest of dizzyingly similar aspen trunks, all the rounded leaves knit together in a crown. Winds rippled through the branches overhead.
What did he have to lose? He reached inside himself, searched for his Han, tried to pull just enough that he could create a puff of air, a bit of wind, to stir the twigs and leaves. A gentle little twirl …
At first nothing happened, but he strained harder, reached deeper, released his Han, pushed it, to create just an outflowing breeze, a gentle gust.
The leaves did stir, and suddenly the air sucked toward him. The wind swirled and twisted, wound up as a cyclone. Nathan had intended only to nudge, but the air whooshed around him in a roar and rushed upward, like a hurricane blow.
He struggled, grabbed at nothing with his hands, tried to pull it in, reining back his power—but the wind only increased as the magic fought against him. Branches overhead snapped. A thick aspen bough broke in half and came crashing to the forest floor not far from him. Leaves were torn asunder, thrown apart like green confetti in the air. The storm kept building, pushing branches, thrashing like a furious seizure.
“Stop! Dear spirits, stop!” Nathan tried to center his Han, reaching for some inner valve to turn it off, to calm himself, and finally the wind died down, the storm abated, and he was left standing there, panting hard.
His white hair was tangled, whipped around his head. Nathan steadied himself against a sturdy aspen trunk. That was not at all what he had intended! And it was an even more ominous hint of the dangerous consequences he might face if he tried to use his magic. Most of the time he couldn’t find the gift at all, but when he did try to work a spell, he had no idea what might actually happen.
Certainly not what he wanted to happen.
He was glad that Nicci and Bannon hadn’t seen this. He couldn’t be responsible for what might occur if he blundered again. His throat was dry, and he gradually caught his breath. “Quite extraordinary,” he said, “but not something I would like to do again. Not until I understand this more.”
*
An hour later, another high clearing showed him that he had covered half the distance to the watchtower, and he picked up his pace. It was already past noon, and he wanted to see the view, take his notes, and make his way back to the main trail—and a comfortable village, he hoped—before nightfall.
And, no, he would not dabble with magic again.