“Some fight left after all?” he asked. The burned man had nothing to say. His body settled back, as if resigned to death. The fire grew in Cecil’s palm.
“Wait.”
Cecil recognized that voice, and immediately he dismissed his spell, spun around, and fell to his knees. Roand the Flame, Lord of the Council, stood before him with his arms crossed, his gaze locked on the badly burned man. For a long moment his master thought in silence, and Cecil felt the hairs on his neck stand up. Had he somehow made a mistake? The seconds dragged on, until at last Roand spoke.
“Bring him inside.”
Without hesitation Cecil rushed to grab the burned man’s arm. Three more apprentices quickly joined in, and together the four carried him across the field, through the doors, and into the tower, where behind them the doors eased shut with nary a sound.