Merchants and Mages (Highmage's Plight Book 2) by D.H. Aire Read Free Book Online

let me have a look at Raven.”
      She shook her head, “She is not even cold, Fri’il. Being a wer, apparently, provides its own protection.”
      Fri’il looked back at Raven worriedly. “Come on, wake up, Raven!”
      “Give her time, young lady,” Me’oh muttered, feeling the bitter sting of the cold as she checked the girl’s pupils and heartbeat.
     
    Cle’or returned, shivering. Balfour grabbed her close and threw his cloak about them both. Having raised her skin temperature to an incredibly high state, he judged that the tremendous cold might briefly allow her to survive against the creature. It had been a gamble – and if he were not careful might take an equally terrible price.
      The one thing he had learned about Cle’or was that she was more than willing to pay that price as a matter of duty, honor, and pride. She fell, unconscious, from the strain as he focused his healing sense deep within her.
      The fever was gone. Her blood slowed. He increased the pressure ever so slightly, willing starved tissues to enervation. He fed her his strength, willing himself to become the reserves he had catalyzed into pyrrhic glory.
      He slumped forward and cradled her for a time. His eyes half opened as he saw the tremendous look of peace on her face. She looked beautiful to him at that moment and her eyelids fluttered.
      Me’oh put her hand on Balfour’s shoulder as Cle’or’s eyes opened. The look of grim determination too quickly returned. “Balfour.”
      “Welcome back,” he rasped.
      “Raven’s in little better shape than the two of you seem,” Me’oh said.
      Cle’or muttered, “What of the elemental?”
      “It has gone to that barrow over there and seems to be searching for something. It is so distracted I think we could all escape from here.”
      Balfour frowned, slowly disengaging from grasping Cle’or. “Where are Je’orj and Se’and?”
      Shaking her head, Me’oh replied, “I don’t know for certain, but I think that, somehow, they found a way into that barrow."
      “Wonderful,” Balfour whispered even as Cle’or abruptly drew him closer and kissed him firmly on the lips.
      “What? What was that for?” he rasped, gasping for breath.
      “For trusting me this time,” she replied.
      “Uh, you’re welcome.” He would never understand her, he realized.   He had nearly killed her with this desperately insane technique.
      Me’oh patted his shoulder, “If you two are finished, I think Balfour had best take a look at Raven.”
     
    In the main vault, the ball on the pedestal that had been pitch black in color sensed the presence of the two people. Long forgotten sensations reached it. Emotions they were called. They were human, a man and a woman. The man was something of an enigma. He was armed only with a staff, which was glowing with a power that was not based on magery. There was also a feel about him, a foreignness beyond any foreignness the orb recognized. It chanced upon the enchantment overshadowing him, a geas.
      She, however, brought the orbs widening attention.  She wore black livery and was rather well armed.  Sheathed daggers and a sword graced her person. Recognition galvanized the orb, which began to swirl with violet blue light.
      She was Cathartan.
      It was time. The orb awoke.
     
    Defused beams of violet light suddenly radiated from the glass ball. It reached out and touched the far wall, silhouetting the scene painted on it of a silver-haired elvin figure, whose hand was upraised.
      The image’s fingers appeared to close into a fist, then as Se’and and George stared, the wall moved backward and slid aside. The orb’s light brightened and the revealed room suddenly lit from within.
      They walked into the chamber and saw the sarcophagus. Se’and gasped; it was beautiful. It was decorated as if it were a giant elf garbed in fine robes of gold and silver. Jewels graced the neck and crossed wrists.
      “This