Sareanne
skids to a stop and I almost crash into her. Our eyes meet and Antheus’ narrow.
“You
have been more trouble to me than you are worth,” Antheus says to me. “I’m
regretting the decision to call you here in the first place.”
“You
should have thought of that before,” Sareanne replies snidely.
Antheus
smiles wickedly. “I suppose you are right, but it is a problem I can resolve
right now.”
He
lifted his staff and waved it in my direction mumbling something under his
breath. Nothing happens. I look around to see if Sareanne had built the circle
of protection, but no stones have appeared around me. I back at Antheus trying
to understand what was happening and then the sound of laughter startles me.
It
is a pretty little musical sound emanating from Sareanne. I look at her face
and realize just how beautiful she is when she truly smiles.
“Your
power no longer works here, Antheus. We are protected, even without my circle,”
Sareanne laughs.
Antheus’
face twists into a mask of anger.
“You’ve
lost, Antheus,” I say carefully. “Just give up and go back to Betlath.”
“You
don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters darkly.
I
look at his face and for half a second I see something that startles me. I lean
forward trying to catch it again, but his façade remains solid. What I had
seen, though, sears through my brain. I try to wrap my mind around it. It was
just the faintest glimpse of an old, wrinkled, sickly, looking man.
His
blue eyes bored into my daring me to speak out loud. There was something there
that piqued my interest, something that picked at the back of my mind just like
the idea about the clock. I struggled with the glimpse I had seen until I could
find the words to describe my thought.
“You’re
related to them, aren’t you?” I said quietly.
A
flash of fear whipped across his face and his eyes widened ever so slightly. That
was what confirmed my suspicions. The blue eyes and expression of fear was so
close to the same expression I had seen on Sareanne’s face. He was definitely a
relative of some sort.
“Who
are you?” I ask begging for an answer.
“It
does not matter who I am,” he replies angrily, but his anger is short lived.
“Related?”
Sareanne says wonderingly.
She
peers into his face searching for something and finds it. She gasps.
Before
she can speak I blurt out the realization I gain, “You’re older than you
appear, and ill.”
Fear widens his eyes
once again and his face pales.
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