The Second Generation

“Aye,” he said, “I am a magic-user.” With that, he spoke a word of command, and the broken table, leaping to its legs, put itself back together with incredible speed. The ale vanished from the floor, and the cracked pitcher mended and floated up to rest on the table, where it was soon foaming with brew again. A roasted haunch of venison appeared, as did a loaf of fragrant bread, along with sundry other delicacies that caused Sturm’s mouth to water and cooled even Tanin’s ardor, though they did not allay his suspicions.

“Seat yourselves,” said Dunbar, “and let us eat. Do not worry about your father,” he added, as Tanin was about to speak. “He is in conference about important matters with the heads of the other two orders. Sit down! Sit down!” He grinned, white teeth flashing against his black skin. “Or shall I make you sit down... ?”

At this, Tanin let loose the hilt of his sword and pulled up a chair, though he did not eat but sat watching Dunbar warily. Sturm fell to with a good appetite, however. Only Palin remained standing, his hands folded in the sleeves of his white robes.

“Please, Palin,” said Dunbar more gently, looking at the young man, “be seated. Soon we will join your father, and you will discover the reason you have been brought here. In the meanwhile, I ask you to share bread and meat with me.”

“Thank you, master,” Palin said, bowing respectfully.

“Dunbar, Dunbar .. .” The man waved his hand. “You are my guests. We will not stand on formalities.”

Palin sat down and began to eat, but it was obvious he did so out of courtesy only. Dunbar and Sturm more than made up for him, however, and soon even Tanin was lured from his self-imposed role of protector by the delicious smells and the sight of the others enjoying themselves.

“You ... you said the heads of the other orders, mast—Dunbar,” Palin ventured. “Are you—”

“Head of the Order of White Robes. Yes.” Dunbar tore off a hunk of bread with his strong teeth and washed it down with a draft of ale, which he drank at one long swallow. “I took over when Par-Salian retired.”

“Head of the order?” Sturm looked at the big man in awe. “But—what kind of wizard are you? What do you do?”

“I’ll wager it’s more than pulling the wings off bats,” Tanin mumbled through a mouthful of meat.

Palin appeared shocked, and frowned at his older brother. But Dunbar only laughed again. “You’re right there!” he said with an oath. “I am a sea wizard. My father was a ship’s captain and his father before him. I had no use for captaining vessels. My skills lay in magic, but my heart was with the sea, and there I returned. Now I sail the waves and use my art to summon the wind or quell the storm. I can leave the enemy becalmed so that we may outrun him, or I can cast bursting flame onto his decks if we attack. And, when necessary”—Dunbar grinned—“I can take my turn at the bilge pump or turn the capstan with the best of them. Keeps me fit.” He pounded himself on his broad chest. “I understand you two”—he looked at Sturm and Tanin—“have returned from fighting the minotaurs who have been raiding the coast up north. I, too, have been involved in trying to stop those pirates. Tell me, did you—?”

The three were soon deeply involved in discussion. Even Tanin warmed to the subject, and was soon describing in vivid detail the ambush that had stopped the minotaurs from leveling the city of Kalaman. Dunbar listened attentively, asking intelligent questions, making comments, and appearing to enjoy himself very much.

But though the wizard’s shrewd gaze was concentrated on the warrior brothers, his attention was in truth on the youngest.

Seeing the three deep in conversation and himself apparently forgotten, Palin thankfully gave up all pretense of eating and went back to staring into the fire, never noticing Dunbar watching him.

The young man’s face was pale and thoughtful, the slender hands twisted together in his lap. So lost in his thoughts was he that his lips moved and, though he did not speak aloud, one other person in the room heard the words.

“Why have they brought me here? Can they read the secrets of my heart? Will they tell my father?”

And, finally, “How can I hurt him, who has suffered so much already?”

Nodding to himself as if he had found the answer to some unasked question, Dunbar sighed and turned his complete attention back to fighting minotaurs.

Chapter Three

“You’re wrong,” said Caramon calmly. “My brother is dead.”

Raising his eyebrows, Justarius glanced at Dalamar, who shrugged. Of all the reactions they had been prepared for, this calm refutal had not been one of them, apparently. His expression grave, seeming uncertain what to say, Justarius looked back at Caramon.

“You talk as though you have proof.”

“I have,” said Caramon.