Paladin's Prize (Age of Heroes, Book 1) by Gaelen Foley Read Free Book Online Page B

politely while he climbed out of the pool and wrapped it around his waist.
    “I really must ask,” he said from behind her. “How did you do it? Save me, I mean.”
    She turned around, recalling the harrowing moments of working the Kiss of Life spell on him.
    “It must have been some incredibly powerful magic,” he said. “Because look at me…”
    Oh, I’m looking. Believe me.
    “I’m not just healed from the other night. Even my old scars are gone. I rather liked some of those scars,” he jested, his smile fading as he gazed at her. “How did you do this to me?”
    Wrynne decided on the spot not to burden him with the details of her own little sacrifice. He was already under enough pressure, with the fate of the kingdom resting on his shoulders every other week. With his chivalrous nature, she didn’t want him to feel any sense of obligation to her.
    “Ilios did it, Thaydor. I was just the conduit.”
    “A very powerful conduit. I have some healing ability myself, but nothing like that.”
    She shrugged, smiled, and avoided his gaze. “I don’t know how it works. I was merely doing my duty. Oh, that reminds me. Your clothes. Wait right there.”
    She walked over and knelt down by the pile of dirty, bloodstained clothes he had left on the ground. He watched her as she closed her eyes and sought the peace within herself until she tapped into the power of the Light.
    Given the Daughters’ vow to love and serve others, the novitiates of Ilios were taught only that white magic that furthered their missions. Feed the Poor could conjure a single healthy meal for a hungry person, for example, and Clothe the Naked could restore a beggar’s tattered rags to new condition, both for warmth and to give him back his dignity.
    Heal the Sick had, of course, been the core of her studies, but there was also Comfort the Sorrowing , which calmed someone hysterical with grief or terror.
    Such works, her superiors taught, were the proper use of magic, not the wild-and-woolly, anything-goes conjurings of sorcerers, nor the purely selfish manifestations of talented but irresponsible witches. Enchantresses who followed other schools of magic could wish into existence a glamorous wardrobe of silk and velvet gowns for themselves and never even notice the ragged children they strutted past in the streets.
    Fortunately, only a small percentage of the population was born with magical ability, but it could be bestowed by one’s god in exchange for a pledge of service. For those with a certain spark of natural ability, it could also be taught, though such knowledge was highly guarded.
    Under strict instruction at the Bastion, the headquarters and small home city of the Ilian church, most clerics learned how to channel the Light into manifesting simple things for others. These tokens were always to be offered as gifts from the Creator and proof of his love for all his children.
    She felt the power flow out easily from her hands in a short, sweet blast, and when she opened her eyes, she smiled to see Thaydor’s clothes all neatly folded in a stack, not a mark on them.
    She rose and turned to him. “I’ll leave you here to dress. Are you hungry?”
    “No, I ate what you left out.” His eyes suddenly widened. “I hope that was for me!”
    She chuckled. “Of course it was. I’m glad you made yourself at home,” she said warmly. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
    “Hmm, thanks. I do have to get out there and find my horse. Although he’s usually pretty good about finding me.”
    “Avalanche?” she asked in delight. “I should like to meet him. What about your squire?”
    Thaydor’s face fell. Such pain passed behind his eyes at the question that she wished she had never asked. “He didn’t make it. I told him to stay back. They never listen. So it seems I’ve lost another one.” He shook his head. “Do you have a shovel I could borrow? I have to bury the poor lad.”
    “Yes, I keep one for my garden. I