Hunted Sorcery (Jon Oklar Book 2) B.T. Narro (book reader for pc .TXT) 📖

“I can make it back on my own,” I told the man scornfully.

He looked insulted as he took back his hand. “Don’t be prideful. You saw what he can do. The king has no one who can stand up to that kind of sorcery.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. Rohaer will come for Lycast, eventually,” the man added. “It’s better if Nykal gives up. Many lives will be saved.”

“If that’s what you think, then why did you join as a guard? You pledged to protect the kingdom, and now you quit.”

“I will protect my family and myself first, and the kingdom second. I won’t be the only one who quits after tonight.”

I got up on my one foot, tired of him talking down at me. “You will take the body of this man to Byron Lawson and tell him what happened. Let him decide what you are to say about this event. Then you can quit.”

“Who are you to give me an order?”

“Didn’t you hear them? I’m Jon Oklar, the king’s sorcerer.”

“A lot of good you did against Cason, sorcerer.” He gestured at my ankle. “And a lot of good you’ll do now, as the rest of those who fight will die for their stubborn king.”

“Take the body back. Drag it if you are too weak to carry it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He hoisted the dead guard up over his shoulder and started walking off.

I waited for him to turn away from me before I sat back down.

Byron Lawson was a man I still hadn’t met personally, but he had employed my father for many years in the city of Tryn, where Byron was the lord and my father worked as his head guard. Now Byron was the head guard here in the capital, assigned to the important role because the king trusted him. I looked forward to speaking with him about my late father, though I was certain when we finally did meet, there would be more important matters to discuss.

I had never healed anything besides scrapes and one very deep cut my fellow sorcerer Reuben had suffered to his leg. It would’ve taken his life had I not intervened. He’d been a lot nicer to me since then, though still arrogant and haughty at times.

My ankle was definitely broken, but I was too frightened from this encounter with Cason for the pain to really get to me right now. I didn’t want to admit to myself that the guard was right about many things.

I tried not to think about it as I casted Heal on myself. The agony of the spell mending my bone tore another scream out of my throat, forcing me to stop.

Damn, this is going be horrible.

I took a few deep breaths and started the spell again.

CHAPTER THREE

Home. It was a word that had meant one thing to me a month ago and something else now.

Home used to be with my father, in Bhode, a town most people here in Newhaven had not heard of. I could almost see his bearded face as I groggily made the walk back to the castle.

“Jon” was all he’d say when I’d done wrong. Just my name. “Jon.” He’d let his eyes remind me of what I knew.

“I’m sorry,” I wanted to tell him. “But I don’t regret it. I don’t regret coming here.”

I expected him to disapprove of me putting myself in danger. I expected him to shake his head at me and say my name again.

He did not.

He watched me instead. No, he looked after me.

I knew it was my sleep-deprived mind blessing me with a waking dream, but I felt tears in my eyes.

“You should’ve brought me back here years ago,” I told my father. “A healer could’ve saved your life if we were here when you became sick.”

But how many healers had I met who could cure such a sickness? I wasn’t sure I could do it, even after I had learned the most powerful variation of the spell Heal.

“Do you blame me for a lack of prescience?” my father asked me, his question leading somewhere.

“No.”

“Weren’t we happy in Bhode?”

Bored, I wanted to say, but in truth that was rare. Our sword fights kept us busy when we weren’t gathering, hunting, and cooking. We also helped our neighbors in return for some much-needed coin every now and again. My father had earned a lot from his time as head guard in Tryn, but much of that had gone toward purchasing the house and the belongings within.

I didn’t want to think about how I now owned that house in Bhode. I had contemplated selling it before leaving, but I wanted someplace to return to, in case things became dire during my trip south. Besides, I wouldn’t have felt safe traveling with all that coin, and that was assuming someone would buy the house. The people in my hometown weren’t known for buying or selling property.

“You blame someone,” my father said. “If not me, then who?”

Myself.

I knew he would console me if I said it aloud. I didn’t want that. I wanted to be miserable, at least for this moment. It felt like I deserved it.

“Jon,” he said, and let his eyes do the lecturing.

I looked at him for a long while, knowing this might be the last time I saw him.

He was right. I shouldn’t blame myself.

“I miss you, Father.”

I blinked, and he was gone.

I’d made it to the castle. The drawbridge was down, two guards standing before it, one with a horn latched to his belt. He would sound the instrument at first sign of an attack, and the drawbridge would close. That was only if I didn’t come home first. It would stay closed for the night after I passed through.

Home. This was my home now.

But it wasn’t really. It was where I ate and trained. It was where I had my own large quarters. It was where the king lived, with his daughter and wife, and where my peers slept and trained.