The Seer Rowan McAllister (top inspirational books .TXT) 📖

to follow before his brain had a chance to catch up—not that his brain was going to be of much use. Its urgent whispers of caution and safety were being shouted down by a decent amount of ale, painful memories, old guilt, and that anger and helplessness that had been boiling inside him since he’d left Scholoveld.

Politics. Infighting. Budget cuts. Bunch of stuffed robes in their safe little towers, playing with their potions, tomes, relics, and people’s lives, never really doing anything to make the world a better place. No care for the lives they could save if they just tightened their belts a little.

His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he strode silently but purposefully after the two men in the dark. The voice he’d recognized belonged to Tarek, a slaver of the worst kind. The bastard didn’t care where the desperate people who came to him went. He dealt with buyers most of the others wouldn’t touch, and he wasn’t above snatching the unwilling if the opportunity presented itself—women, children, what they’d be used for didn’t matter to Tarek. Daks had been itching to take a piece out of the man for years, but he’d never found an excuse that wouldn’t jeopardize his cover and future missions.

Guess what, Tarek? We have no future missions.

Nothing he did tonight would change much, of course. He could put Tarek out of commission for a while, but someone would always come along to take his place. Still, using his fists on a piece of garbage like Tarek might slow the man’s operation for a few days at least, and help Daks sleep better tonight. He had to take his victories where he could find them.

Tensing his body in anticipation, he followed the two men around a corner into a small square and was just about to pounce when movement off to his right caught his eye. Acting solely on instinct, he spun on his heel and dove into the shadows between two buildings, crouching low. A second later, he blew out a breath and whispered a fervent thanks to gods he didn’t even believe in as a new man stepped into the square wearing a very distinctive set of robes. Moonlight might mask the bloody color, but no one would ever mistake the cut for anything else.

Tarek and his companion continued on, oblivious to the newcomer, and Daks gritted his teeth at the lost opportunity even as he broke out in a sweat. What was a member of the Brotherhood doing slinking around the warehouse district at this time of night? And why didn’t he announce himself to Tarek?

Daks closed his eyes to calm his heartbeat and focus his gift. He let his senses expand outward to touch the brother, but nothing more than an odd little tingle of something dormant played along his nerves, and he relaxed slightly. At least it wasn’t a member of the Thirty-Six. Their holy relics put off enough energy he probably could have felt it at that distance without even trying. The gods were being kind to him tonight despite his stupidity. He could just keep quiet. As soon as the brother moved along, he could scurry back to the Dog and Duck and forget he’d ever been dumb enough to venture out in the first place.

That would be the smart thing to do.

But no one had ever accused him of being particularly smart—except Shura, and she was biased. The mystery of a brother wandering around the warehouse district alone in the dark seemed too much of a temptation to walk away from.

Shahul, Protector of Fools, smile on me, he thought, sending up a plea to one of Shura’s gods just in case.

When the brother headed in the direction Tarek and his companion had gone, Daks followed at what he hoped was a discreet enough distance. He couldn’t hear Tarek or his friend anymore, but the brother continued his journey without any hesitation, making Daks wonder if the man had incredibly good night vision or wasn’t following the slavers at all.

This is a bad idea. This is a very bad idea.

His nerves started getting the better of his curiosity the longer their trip progressed and the more of Faret’s ale he sweated out. Instead of relying on his other senses, he dropped a little farther back and sent his gift out. Being a Sensitive wasn’t exactly every child’s dream as far as magical power went, and it certainly wasn’t prized and coveted at the Scholomagi. But at least Daks’s gift wasn’t weak. If he really worked at it, he could sense more than just magic. He could sense groups of nonmagical people too, provided enough of them crowded together. If the brother was going to a meeting somewhere or there was an ambush waiting, Daks would hopefully be able to sense it in time. Anything smaller than a large group and he should be able to fight his way out either way, but at least he wouldn’t be blindly walking into a mob.

At first he sensed nothing. Then he nearly tripped over his own feet as something latched on to his gift and dragged his focus off to the left somewhere.

Magic.

Not the magic of the Thirty-Six, though. Something different.

He shook his head, trying to get a read on what he’d sensed, but the sound of running footsteps jarred his consciousness back to his body. The brother had taken off at a run in the direction the magical energy had come from. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

Fuck me to the Seven Hells!

Daks started running too.

The brother had to be another Sensitive what the Rassans called Finders. Daks couldn’t think of any other explanation for why the man had taken off just when Daks felt the magic. He threw his senses outward again as he ran, but the strong pulse of magical energy had vanished. He slowed and clamped his eyes shut, straining, searching. The sound of the brother’s pounding feet had disappeared too, but Daks