Black Wizards Read Online Free Page A

the greedy Lord Pontswain sitting in his father’s place revolted Tristan. Of all the petty leaders of the lands of Corwell, the prince could think of none worthy to sit upon the royal throne—to be his lord. It’s my father’s place, he thought, just my father’s. Or maybe, now—maybe my own.…
    Angrily he sprang to his feet, stalking to the window as he realized how dramatically his own feelings had changed in the last few hours.
    Looking into the orange dawn, Tristan faced the truth that, hours earlier, he had argued vehemently against: He wanted, very much, to be the next king of Corwell.

    Robyn gasped as she knelt beside the frail figure. An unfocused fear prevented her from touching him.
    As she finally reached forward to turn the man onto his back, his eyes squinted against the sky. He gibbered something that was not even vaguely speech, and she saw that his tongue was swollen and cracked. She quickly grabbed the nearby water flask, pouring a few drops between the man’s chapped lips.
    “Don’t touch him!” Newt warned. “He looks dangerous! I don’t trust him!” For the first time, Robyn noticed that the little dragon had dived for cover under a pile of leaves when the stranger arrived. Buried up to the eyeballs, he stared watchfully at the pair of humans.
    “Oh, hush,” she chastised, pouring more water into the man’s gaping mouth.
    He coughed and choked spasmodically, but eagerly licked the droplets from his lips, straining to raise his head for more. Robyn gently moved his head back to the grass, offering him another splash of water.
    Slowly the tension seemed to drain from his body, and he closed his eyes. His breathing slowed from frantic panting to a steadier rhythm. After a moment, it seemed that he had fallen asleep. She wished sheknew how to aid him—he seemed so frail and weak. At the same time something about him frightened her.
    “Who are you?” she whispered, examining the man.
    His skin was cracked and dry, as if it had been exposed to extended periods of savage weather. His hair and beard were thin, but long. Branches and thorns had tangled them into mats. His fingernails were filthy and worn all the way to the skin. Did he find food by scratching at the ground for roots and grubs? Robyn wondered.
    His only garment was a leather cloak that barely covered his nakedness. A crude fur belt stretched around his waist to hold the cloak. His thin brown hair and beard were long and matted with burrs.
    But it was his eyes that drew her attention and frightened her. They stared fiercely one moment, then darted frantically about like a madman’s—driven by some mysterious combination of fear and pain.
    Robyn noticed that the man sprawled at an odd angle, with his hips raised slightly off the ground, as if he lay upon a sharp rock. She tried, gently, to move him, and she discovered that he had a small pouch tied to his belt, concealed by his buttocks beneath the ragged cloak. It was a filthy object, barely worthy of notice. Yet she found her eyes drawn to it—compelled to look at the pouch, and frightened by that compulsion at the same time.
    Carefully, she reached for it, trying to pull the pouch from beneath the man. Her strong fingers felt a hard object, like a fist-sized stone. As soon as she touched it, however, the man sat up, opening his eyes wide. Never had the woman seen such stark panic before.
    The man screamed, and his voice shocked her ears. It was a piercing, monstrous sound, reminding her of some hulking reptile, ready to strike. But then he scuttled away from her like a crab, clutching the pouch to his breast. Robyn jumped up at the same time, stunned at the man’s reaction, but then she held her hands up and gestured that she would not touch the stranger’s possession. But what could this man be carrying that was of such incredible value?
    “Come with me,” she said quietly. “I’ll take you to a place where you can rest and eat.”
    Slowly, Robyn reached for the