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It was probably the ugliest crown ever made, he thought to himself, but it was finished. He drank the last of his wine, although the dregs were bitter with sediment. Then he hid the crown and waited for the woman to bring more wine. She did, and another bowl of food as well. He drank first, letting the alcohol spread through his system. Then he ate again, this time more slowly. The bowl was some type of seafood stew. He enjoyed the rich taste of the stew this time, noting how well made the meal was. When the woman returned with a third bottle of wine and a fourth bowl of food, he told her he didn’t need more.

When she left, he finished the second bottle of wine. Normally, that much wine would have left him a little drunk and very relaxed, but not now. His body trembled and felt weak, with food being the only remedy. He thought about how Zollin must be feeling. The young wizard was like a volcano of raw, unrefined power. Still, Offendorl guessed that power would come at a price. It was difficult for the elder wizard to remember how it felt to be young. He knew that in his early years his own power taxed his physical body less than now. He was old, ancient even, but still powerful. He had equated power with strength before he fought Zollin, but now he understood the difference. In his tower, surrounded by servants and boosted by the other magical users of the Torr, his power was unmatched. But his strength was no longer sufficient to wield that power fully.

He needed to do more than extend his life. He needed to find ways to rejuvenate his physical body, to strengthen it. And he needed more magical aides if he was to fight Zollin again. He needed to be able to use power outside of his own so that it didn’t weaken him so greatly. Most of all, he needed to be ready. He would have to use strategy to best the young wizard, not just magical power.

He lifted the crown and gazed at it. It took very little effort to magically inscribe the name of the dragon inside the crown. Bartoom would be waiting for him. The dragon would wait high in the Walheta Mountains until Offendorl called for him or died-it was the only way the dragon could be free of the elder wizard’s power. Of course, if someone else learned the dragon’s name and could inscribe it on a crown of gold, they could override Offendorl’s orders, but in that case the elder wizard would know it-at least he would once he set the crown on his head. He could use the crown to boost his own magical power to call out to the dragon, to see what it saw, and to control the beast.

He sat the crown on his head and closed his eyes. His magic mingled with the innate power of the gold and then reached across the miles toward the beast. It took several minutes to find Bartoom-the dragon was flying high in the night sky, searching for food. The Walheta did not have large game like the Northern Highland Mountains. Bartoom was lucky to find a small goat or occasionally a human scratching out a living among the barren peaks.

Bartoom, Offendorl thought, pushing his will out toward the dragon with his magic. Bartoom, search for the young wizard. He is coming south, probably by sea. You must find him and destroy him, but do not endanger yourself. Frustrate his plans, and do not wander far from him. Do you understand?

Offendorl was suddenly struck by an image of Zollin and then the sea and then fire.

Good, go my pet. Do my bidding.

The elder wizard’s head was spinning. He pulled the heavy crown off his head and slumped back against the pillows. He had done it, he thought. He had done what he needed to do. He could not have risked showing how weak he was to the sailors on board the ship he had taken to Brimington Bay, but here he could rest. He could do the work that had to be done without having to explain his constant need for food and wine.

He ate the last bowl of food and drank the wine greedily. Then he fell asleep, his magic still churning and his mind trying to soothe the malice it had felt from the dragon. The beast hated him, but it would obey, and that was all that mattered to Offendorl. He didn’t need love or affection-just simple, unwavering obedience.

Chapter 9

Things were different on board the Northern Star. Zollin and Eustice were treated with deference by the crew-even the first officer-but not by the captain, who avoided them. Mansel had gone back to work with the crew and found a new sense of respect among the crew. Slice recovered from his beating quickly enough, but his gang was in constant turmoil. They fought amongst themselves for supremacy while their fallen leader waited patiently, biding his time and planning his revenge.

It was three days before Zollin saw the Lady Roleena again. She was still arrogant, but she gave him a little more respect. They crossed paths on the command deck, both seeking a way to cool down in the sweltering heat. It was early autumn and in Yelsia the temperatures were falling, but the Northern Star had sailed far enough south that the days were sunny and hot still. Unfortunately, the winds had waned and the sun beat down on the ship without mercy. The ship still moved, but only in fits. The sails hung limp, only fluttering occasionally, and the captain forced his crew into boats to tow the heavy ship. It was hard, difficult work.

Mansel was called into service. He rowed until his back ached and his hand bled from blisters formed by the rough oars. It was a depressing time for all involved. Zollin was anxious to reach their destination. At first, sailing had been a relaxing way to travel, but it had become tedious. Now, he longed for a good horse and the open road, although he knew that the ship could carry them south much faster than riding ever could, even if they had to suffer through a few days of calm winds.

“You could do something about this wind, couldn’t you?” Roleena asked, raising an eyebrow at Zollin as they passed one another.

He ignored her comment. He could have filled the sails with magical wind, but he didn’t think the effort was worth an hour of travel. He wasn’t even sure he could keep up the magical effort that long, and he refused to tax his powers. It would only leave him weak and vulnerable. They might need his power for something else, and he didn’t want to waste it.

He walked to the end of the railing and was forced to turn and walk back. He couldn’t help but look at Roleena-she was beautiful, after all. Despite his attempts to ignore her, she wasn’t trying to hide the fact that she was staring at him. Zollin felt a little trapped on the ship-he was used to moving on quickly after a confrontation and rarely had to deal with the infamous reputation his power earned him. On the ship though, he couldn’t escape it. Rumors had spread among the other passengers, while Zollin and Mansel had become somewhat of heroes to the crew. Only Mansel’s superior, Ern, the ship’s carpenter, treated him the same, barking orders and checking his carpentry with a critical eye. Slice and the gang of bullies avoided Mansel, but the other sailors treated him kindly and even showed him favor in the cramped world between decks.

“Silence is a tactic I’m used to,” Roleena said to Zollin as they approached one another. “I doubt you have the fortitude to try my patience.”

Zollin still said nothing, he just kept walking. He wasn’t normally a pacer, but he thought he would go out of his mind sitting in his cabin with Eustice. He liked the mute servant, but even though they could communicate via gestures, it was still difficult not to be able to talk.

He had just reached the end of the deck and was turning around when the sails began to flap. The big canvas sails and long lines of rigging were extremely noisy in fitful wind. When combined with creaking of the ship and the shouts of the sailors, it was sometimes difficult to think straight. Everyone stopped what they were doing and watched the sails, hoping to see them fill with wind and begin propelling the boat again. Zollin actually held his breath as the canvas flapped, whipping and popping like a sheet before it was hung to dry in the sun.