That evening, Ardi had of course been late for work. Mr. Polskih had been so displeased that he’d almost fired him on the spot. Anna had come to his rescue by making up a story about how she’d asked Ardi to help her with an arithmetic problem and how they had been late because they’d spent too long working on it. And so, his job had been spared, but his relationship with the farmer had not improved.
"You should spend less time with farmer Polskih’s daughter," his grandfather grumbled as he wrapped himself tightly in his blankets.
Even though it was the height of summer (nearly a month and a half had passed since Ardi had found the book written by the unknown Aean’Hane in the barn), his grandfather was always cold. No matter how much he bundled up or how many layers of wool he wore, every single one of his exhalations came out as a puff of silvery steam.
"The Mistress will come for me soon," he whispered, staring at his claw-like nails, which had turned blue from the cold. They’d done so despite the fact that the thermometer barely dipped below thirty degrees even at night. "I’ve been walking this earth for far too long..."
"Don’t say that, Grandfather," Ardi pleaded, getting up to tuck his blankets in more securely around him. "Everything will be fine."
The rocking chair creaked softly, lulling the old man into a gentle sleep. Outside, cicadas and crickets sang their song, welcoming the vibrant, star-studded night. The majestic sky blanketed the plains, starting from the endless steppes and prairies, then striving to cover the towering peaks of the Alcade, before soaring like a falcon into the cold embrace of the ocean.
Thanks to all those geography lessons he’d attended, Ardi now knew that they lived on the western borders of the Empire of the New Monarchy, roughly a half-moon’s distance from the border of the Enario Theocracy — a small nation that had somehow maintained its sovereignty and not been absorbed into the Empire during its conquests.
And even farther west lay the Reverse Ocean. It was a curious name with origins so deeply buried in history that even Teacher Parnas hadn’t been able to tell him why it was called that.
"I’m not saying anything bad is going to happen, Ardi," his grandfather shook his head. "But let’s not dwell on it. I’ve heard that you’ve had many successes in the human school."
Ardi nodded.
"That’s good," his grandfather tried to reach out and pat him on the shoulder, but he couldn’t manage it. His wizened hand, which looked more like a dead tree branch than a human limb, trembled slightly before retreating back under the blankets. Ardi pretended not to have noticed this. "And what about that thing you found in the barn?"
The boy was neither surprised nor shocked by the question. If his grandfather had kept the key while mentioning that Hector had wanted to throw away everything in the barn, then that meant that he knew about what had been stored inside it, and also what had been hidden under the floorboards.
"I have a mountain troll crystal," Ardi replied in a calm tone, "but first, I want to make a staff. The book says that a staff will make magic as convenient as writing with a good quill and ink instead of with a finger and coal."
His grandfather smiled faintly, revealing yellowed teeth and gaps where long fangs had once stood proudly. Those had been the first to fall out, a clear sign that his days among the hunters were coming to an end.
"Visit the oak under which I told you stories of Ectassus when you were little," his grandfather was suddenly seized by a rattling, wheezy cough, and when he finally caught his breath, he tried to discreetly wipe the back of the hand he had used to cover his mouth on the blankets. "It remembers you from your childhood. You and our whole family. I’m sure it will share some of its wood with you... Such a staff will serve you faithfully and for a long time. And it will always remind you of home."
Ardi looked at his grandfather. With each passing month, the old man seemed to shrink further, his back bending like a bow, his skin growing paler as dark spots spread across it like oil on water. Only his gaze had remained sharp and clear. Like a wolf’s.
It was a gaze that looked both right in front of him and far beyond, to places where mere mortals could not see. It sought those unknown distances where so many mysteries and secrets lay that an uninitiated mind would burn out in an instant if it were ever exposed to them.
"Grandfather," Ardi spoke in the language of the Sidhe, "is that your book? Are you the author of that work meant to guide other Aean’Hane?"
The old man turned to look at him, not merely eye-to-eye, but deeper. Deeper than what humans called the heart or soul. For a moment, Ardi felt like his grandfather surely knew all his youthful secrets and desires, all his fears and dreams. As if he, much like a book, had been opened and read.
"I know who wrote it," his grandfather replied in the human language, "but I am not him. This is all I can tell you, Ardi, without lying to you. And the last thing I want before I meet the Mistress is to cover myself in lies... Enough... I’ve had enough of all this."
His grandfather closed his eyes and relaxed, sinking deeper into the chair. An oil lamp flickered nearby — his grandfather always protested when Shaia turned on the lantern above the porch. The old man said there was no life in the Ley energy, and that he didn’t want to be illuminated by dead fire. For some reason, Ardi felt that there was more meaning in those words than he could understand right now.
"Hurry, my Queen," his grandfather whispered in the Fae tongue. "I have waited too long for you. How are my loyal companions doing in your halls? Are my chambers prepared? Will there be a feast and will the trumpets of the City on the Hill sound when I return to you? Have I earned forgiveness? Were my deeds worthy of the scribes’ scrolls, or will I disappear as night does at dawn?"
Ardi was barely listening to the old man. He was reciting an old Ectassus legend about a wandering Sidhe knight who’d fled the land of the Fae. He’d traveled among humans and other Firstborn, but had never been able to return home because the Queens and Kings of the Fae had cursed him for his disobedience. And before his death, in his final moments, the knight had asked the wind if he could return home.
The story never revealed the ending, leaving it up to the listener to decide the knight’s fate.
Ardi had always hoped that Marenir had somehow managed to return home and had been greeted with honor and celebration.
"Go, Ardi," his grandfather croaked, coughing again. "It is not fitting for the young to spend time with the old. Hug your mother, play with your brother. I’m going to sleep. I’m tired... Go."
Ardi nodded, and after making sure the blankets were tucked in and the oil lamp had enough fuel — despite his grandfather’s clear eyes, his night vision had grown poor — he left quietly. As he did so, he heard his grandfather softly humming a simple tune to himself.
Passing through the kitchen, where the dishes and utensils had already been put away, Ardi peeked into the living room, but found no one there either, only some smoldering embers in the fireplace and a closed book lying on one of the chairs. Like his older brother, Erti also loved to read.
Climbing the stairs, Ardi heard the steady breathing coming from behind one of the doors. His mother and Kelly were asleep. Despite their part-time jobs, the youngsters had plenty of free time and energy during the summer, when school was out. The older generation of humans, however, always found something to do, even on their only day off.
With this in mind, Ardi knocked on his brother’s door, but to his surprise, Erti wasn’t there. If he wasn’t in his room, the kitchen, or by the fireplace in the living room, there was only one place in the house where Erti could be.
Ardi sighed, steeled himself, and entered the last room on the floor. It was small, but spacious enough to accommodate a tiny crib with wooden toys in the shape of magical birds and animals hanging from it. There was also a wardrobe, a bedside table, a fluffy rug on the floor, and piles of nappies, onesies, and other miniature clothing on the windowsill.
Erti sat on a stool by the crib. He had grown a lot in the past few months, and it seemed like even if the Matabar blood didn’t awaken in him, his younger brother would still grow up to be much taller and stronger than an average human. Even now, he looked more like a twelve-year-old than a seven-year-old. This matched his older brother’s growth, since the new cowboys on the farm often mistook Ardi for a seventeen-year-old.
"And so, Sir Marenir raised his sword, but stopped himself at the last second, sparing the fallen Barret. He said, ’Death would be too easy an escape for you, wretch. You will atone for your sins for the rest of your days,’" Erti turned the page, then glanced into the crib and adjusted the blanket there. Kena, their half-sister, was breathing peacefully. What was she dreaming about? Legends of knights and magical kingdoms? Or perhaps something about farms, cows, and the drunkards her father had to deal with all the time? "Tomorrow, I’ll read you the next part. In it, Marenir will meet eight travelers coming from the east. He will not acknowledge them as heroes at first and will fight them as enemies, and-"
Ardi stepped closer and cleared his throat softly to get his brother’s attention.
Erti jumped, almost dropping the book.
"Why are you sneaking around?" Erti whispered.
"Sorry," Ardi said, raising his hands in apology. He ruffled his brother’s auburn hair — it was almost the same color as the child’s brown eyes. "Now I understand why Grandfather remembered this legend today."
"I was hoping Kena would like it," Erti sighed, putting the book down and leaning over the crib to run his hand through the baby’s golden hair. "She said her first word today."
"She did?"
"Yeah," Erti nodded. "Mom was in the kitchen. She was making soup for this week. And Kena said, ’Ma-ma.’ Syllable by syllable. ’Ma-ma.’ Mom almost spilled the pot. She couldn’t wait to tell Dad when he came home."
Ardi said nothing. He had missed it.
That morning, he had escaped to the house by the river to read some more of the book — he had decided to leave it in the barn, not wanting to tempt fate by bringing a forbidden text into the home of someone who was supposed to uphold the law, and in the evening, he had worked at the Polskih farm. He and the cowboys had been preparing firewood for the winter. The farm was too far from what Anna’s brother called "the main route," so Ley energy had never been brought there.
Still, Ardi wasn’t at all disappointed. Strangely enough, he didn’t feel any connection to Kena. Yes, perhaps he had grown to love her over the past eight months. After all, she was his mother’s daughter, albeit sired by another man, and not Hector. They were connected by blood, even if only as half-siblings, but...
Ardi looked at his brother.
If a troll were to burst in right now, Ardi knew exactly whom he would try to save first. Did that make him an unworthy hunter? Well, even though he no longer walked among the beasts, it didn’t stop him from applying the remarkable wisdom of Ergar to this problem. Which was...
Those were thoughts for another day.
"Shall we go and catch some fish tomorrow?" Erti asked suddenly. "I made us new fishing rods."
Ardi chuckled.
"By yourself?"
"Well..." His brother hesitated immediately. "Dad bought the line and... the hooks too, but I affixed them to the stick myself! And I dug up some worms, too! And I asked Mom to make us sandwiches! So..."
"So I have no choice but to agree."
"Absolutely right!" Erti grinned broadly, revealing a mixture of baby and adult teeth. "I hardly see you anymore."
Ardi felt a little uneasy. He could have made excuses for himself by saying that he wasn’t avoiding his brother, he just couldn’t find any free time in the midst of school, work, and... well, everything. Classes ended around two in the afternoon, and he was expected at the Polskih farm by five in the evening. So, even if not every day, at least a few times a week, Ardi could have spent time with his brother.
Not to mention the fact that children, unlike adults, had two days off.
"When do you want to go?"
Erti thought for a moment.
"Let’s say... seven in the morning? That’s early enough to get to the ridge."
"All right," Ardi nodded.
He didn’t mention that it would be better to set out before dawn.
Erti flashed him a carefree, gap-toothed smile, which looked like a fence missing most of its boards, and his older brother cast another quick glance at the crib. The little baby, curled up in her blankets, was breathing peacefully. She had chubby cheeks, light hair, and a slightly upturned nose. In some ways, Kena reminded him of Shaia, and Ardi didn’t understand why a part of him wanted to be angry about that. It was as if he felt like Kena had no right...
Well... These were indeed thoughts for another day.
They left their sister’s room and said good night at the stairs leading to the attic.
"Good night, Ardi."
"Good night, Erti."
Ardi climbed the stairs, passing by stacks of textbooks, notebooks, and maps neatly arranged on a wide desk, and then flopped down on his bed by the window. The stars were already coming out in the sky. Bright sparks pierced the darkness of the Spirit of the Night’s wings.
The Sidhe claimed that these were the spirits of the past, watching over their descendants, protecting their sleep, and sometimes even sharing their wisdom with them.
Humans claimed that stars were merely dense clusters of gas burning so hot and bright that they could be seen through the vast, cold cosmos.
For some reason, Ardi preferred the first theory, but the second was easier to believe.
Musing on these things, he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of running among the blooming hills and meadows of the Alkadian forest. He tried to outrun the soaring eagles and falcons, wrestled with growing bear cubs, picked berries, hunted hares, and indulged in all the activities he’d done there every summer.
Ardi was awakened by crying. Kena was hungry, and Shaia was hurrying to feed her child.
Sighing, Ardi climbed out of bed, slung a towel over his shoulder, and headed for the bathroom, where Kelly was already waiting in line. Erti always woke up earlier than the others, as he enjoyed spending time washing himself with warm water, which had been heated in its tank by the Ley energy overnight.
"Good morning, Ardi," the sheriff greeted him cheerfully.
"Good morning," Ardi replied politely.
He and Kelly were almost the same height now — the latter was only a few centimeters taller than the hunter. The sheriff was standing in nothing but his long johns, which allowed Ardi to see all the numerous scars on his torso and arms: the sunburst patterns left behind by bullets, the wide, ugly gashes that were his "rewards" for surviving a knife or saber strike, and a whole web of other, more mundane ones.
Someone at school had mentioned something about Sheriff Brian’s military past, and how after he’d been honorably discharged, he’d returned to his home where his ancestors had once farmed. Only the farm had been burned down by bandits, and all his relatives had perished in the fire, including his younger sister.
Sometimes, Erti laughed, sometimes he didn’t believe what was said, but more often than not, he just listened in silence. His eyes were wide open, and he’d forgotten all about their bobbers and fishing rods. He paid no attention to the rising wind and the encroaching twilight, either.
With each hour and each new story, Ardi felt the grip of those clawed fingers loosening, the lump in his throat growing less painful, and the need to blink to prevent treacherous moisture from streaking down his cheeks becoming less frequent.
And when the day was done, and a few fish were swimming in their bucket, Ardi didn’t know who had benefited more from this, or who had needed it more. But what he did know for sure was that here, on this side of the forest flows, mountain trails, and lakes, he had something as dear to his heart as his beast friends. Perhaps even more dear than that...
He looked at the tired Erti, who was puffing over their gear and rods, and smiled, then turned to the mountain peaks. For the first time, they didn’t evoke sorrow in him, but only a light, somewhat pleasant nostalgia.
He would return. Someday, he would, but...
"Let’s hurry home! Mama promised to bake our favorite pie! Blackberry!"
"Hurry, eh?" Ardi laughed and lifted his laughing brother over his shoulder. Small arms wrapped around his neck, and legs locked around his stomach. "Hold on tight, little brother! I’ll take you home with the wind at your back!"
...not today.
***
Ardi stood beside the tall, ancient oak, his eyes closed as he looked at it with his heart, as Skusty had taught him.
He used to think that the tree’s broad trunk couldn’t be encircled by even four men working together, but now that he had grown, Ardi realized that not even six would be enough. Its mighty roots, like mythical serpents, had torn through the earth and twisted around the base of the gray trunk, which, in the twilight, resembled the entwined figures of unknown beings locked in a dance.
Its crown, wide enough to loom over several houses at once, cast a dark shadow over the clearing. And even though its lower branches, worn out by a long life, never awoke from their winter slumber and always remained dormant in the languor of cold rest, its upper branches, like lightning frozen in the sky, were adorned with a wild array of colors.
In a mad tangle of hues, green and emerald leaves mingled with russet and gold ones, crowned at the top with icy blue.
Its roots dug deeper into history than Ardi’s family line. He had always felt that fact very pointedly. And when he’d sat here with his grandfather, their backs pressed against the mighty trunk of the tree, the oak hadn’t just listened to their stories, it had remembered them. Every leaf, every twig, every bud, every ridge on its bark held more knowledge than the entire library of Atta’nha.
Ardi bowed to the oak. He bowed deeply and sincerely, as a weary traveler might after stumbling upon a house that could offer them comfort, warmth, and the hope that tomorrow won’t be their last day.
Birds chirped above. They descended on nearby trees, nesting in their branches, and finding a brief respite in their green crowns, but they never dared to land on the limbs of the old tree.
The wind blew.
It made the distant treetops creak, allowing them to whisper among themselves, passing stories and rumors for many miles around. But no storms or gales could make the old tree sway or bend it toward the ground. Proud and unyielding, it had stood here even back when these forests were merely flower fields. Only the mountain peaks were its peers and reminders of the times when it, too, had been young.
Its roots had absorbed the rains that had since become rivers and lakes, they’d shattered rocks that were now climbing the slopes toward the clouds, and they’d held the spilled blood of hunters and prey alike, all of them now part of this oak. They were hidden within it as a memory.
Ardi opened his eyes.
Before him stood a large, sprawling oak. It was old and a bit crooked, with long, oddly twisted branches. But that was only what the eyes could see.
He approached it and pressed his hand against the bark. For a moment, Ardi thought he felt a sigh and a slight, almost imperceptible touch in return. It was as if the oak had greeted him. And his father. And his father’s father.
The old tree remembered them all.
The hunter pressed his face against the trunk.
"My name is Ardan Egobar," he whispered in the Fae language, not wanting to deceive this ancient guardian of the forest. "I have come to ask you for a gift."
The tree remained silent.
Only its leaves rustled, allowing the wind to disturb its peace. And in their whispering, Ardi heard mysterious words whose meaning he didn’t understand, whose sound he couldn’t retain or reproduce. He only felt that the tree was warning him of something. Or rather, someone.
Ardi didn’t know what else to say. And what good were words when the tree knew him better than anyone else? It knew the blood flowing in his veins, it knew the air filling his lungs, it knew the legends that had made his heart burn and his eyes always see the true path ahead.
Stories... The old oak itself was the story of these lands. A legend, a half-forgotten myth of the first hunters and their forests. Its embodiment.
Another gust of wind swept across the clearing and a branch creaked, then fell to the ground at Ardi’s feet. It was slightly curved at the base, brown in color, with tiny green shoots. It wasn’t particularly beautiful, and there was no elegance in it, and no matter how hard Ardi tried, he wouldn’t be able to carve a worthy staff out of it. But no matter what it might look like in the future, it would always remain the most precious thing to Ardi — a memory of home.
"Thank you," the hunter bowed, then picked up the branch and turned toward the Ranger’s house and barn.
There, carpentry tools dulled by years of neglect awaited him, inherited from his father, along with a gift Hector had never had the chance to give his eldest son. It remained in the closet — a large notebook with a leather cover that had a clever attachment designed to let it hang from a belt.
And hidden in the ventilation shaft, the red troll crystal occasionally glimmered.
But all that would come later. First, he had to sharpen his tools. He would practice on simple branches, and only move on to crafting his own staff once he was ready.
Lost in these thoughts, Ardi didn’t notice how the path to the oak that he had walked with his grandfather since childhood quickly became overgrown with grass and heather. And then, the gap in the grove that had offered a view of the clearing and the old oak was covered in leaves, as if the surrounding trees had huddled together to hide it from the outside world.
***
Ardi wiped the wood down with a solution meant to protect it against bugs and worms, then applied a final oily coat with a special brush with hard bristles. Outside the window of his makeshift workshop, which had once been the kitchen of the Ranger’s house, fall had already arrived. The leaves were exchanging their green attire for one of colorful gold and copper, and the sky was gradually being veiled with pale clouds, though they were not yet gray. It would not be long before they turned gray, however, and completely blocked the sun from the valley.
But the hunter’s thoughts were elsewhere. On the table before him lay the fruit of his labor for the last three months. His staff. It was taller than himself and almost straight, except for the bumps left behind by its severed branches and the wide curve that now served as its tip. If you didn’t look closely, and didn’t know that the curve had once been a simple broken branch, you might think it was a bird’s feather, or a piece of snow frozen in the wind, or, if your imagination failed you, a simple flame caught in the middle of a dance.
Thanks to the oils and the solution, the staff had taken on a slightly lighter shade of brown, but the base, which Ardi had nearly ruined, and which was the result of an urgent salvage effort, now stood out a bit from the rest — it was wider in diameter and almost purple in color.
Still, Ardi was proud of his work.
***
He shook off the snow and took off his hat — he wore it more out of respect for his mother’s requests than anything, as the cold hadn’t really arrived in the valley yet — and shrugged off his heavy, sheepskin-lined cloak. Ardi checked that no clever raccoon had snuck into the workshop, then grabbed his journal, the troll crystal, a shard of Ertaline ore, and sat down on the living room floor, where he had previously drawn the necessary symbols. He placed a magic candle in the middle, which had become something of a talisman for him, and then he moved so he was sitting cross-legged, placed his hands on his knees, closed his eyes, and opened his mind.
As Skusty had taught him, he used his breath to clear his mind of all extraneous thoughts, leaving only one light and elusive thought to serve as the guiding thread that connected his essence to the world around him. And as Atta’nha had taught him, he wrapped that thread around the crystal and the ore, then opened his eyes.
Ardi felt as if he had plunged to the bottom of a stream, where colorful rays of sunlight pierced the surface. Only these rays weren’t straight, but wound around him like long ropes, swirling amid a wind that could neither be heard nor felt, and no matter what happened, they didn’t touch any objects or Ardi himself. But if you looked closely, the red ones were brushing lightly against the crystal and ore shards.
As described in the book, Ardi reached for them with his will. If someone had been observing him from the side, they wouldn’t have noticed any movement, but to Ardi, it was as if he’d stretched his hand forward and grasped a red thread touching the crystal. It immediately filled with a scarlet glow.
Ardi exhaled and drew the thread toward him, but the farther he moved from the crystal, the less light he retained. It was as if the light was seeping through his fingers like river sand. But when Ardi brought his hand to his chest, he saw with his inner vision how, deep within his mind, the first ray of a red Star had flared into being.
Without making a sound, trying not to let his emotions take over, and strengthening his will as Atta’nha had taught him, Ardi reached out to the light again. If he hadn’t even felt the weight of the light the first time, now it was as if he held a small stone in his hand.
His hand didn’t waver, and the light he brought back this time was enough to ignite the second beam.
The third time, the weight of the stone increased significantly, and Ardi’s hand almost shook, spilling the light onto the ground. Even so, he managed to ignite the third beam.
But after the first trio of rays were completed, the book of the unknown Aean’Hane proved once more to be accurate, and Ardi began to feel pain in addition to the heavy stone in his hand. It was similar to the pain of accidentally cutting one’s finger on the edge of a piece of paper. A short, sharp sting that made you grit your teeth, followed by relief. Only now there was no relief, and the sting didn’t go away. And besides that, each time the hunter approached the twisted rope of light touching the crystal, it recoiled and began to wriggle like a snake trying to avoid capture.
Covered in sweat, but not allowing his hand formed of pure will to tremble, Ardi managed to light the fourth ray.
For the fifth and sixth, the pain intensified. From the sting of a paper cut, it escalated to a sharp blow to the head delivered by a wooden edge, and then to the sensation of being struck in the eye by a fir branch.
If not for the lessons of the forest beasts, Ardi would have already given up, but now the second trio was behind him, and six scarlet rays blazed around his first Star.
Taking a few more deep breaths, Ardi reached out for the rays again.
Now, they barely hovered above the crystal and ore, like... fish in a river. Knowing what to expect, Ardi waited for the right moment and skillfully grabbed the ray with his hand and almost ruined everything.
It was one thing to know that a monstrous weight and pain would crash down on you, the kind of agony that could make even a mother who’d recently given birth flinch, and quite another to experience it for yourself. Ardi felt as if he were holding Guta on his outstretched arm, and every part of his body, every hair, down to the very tips of his nails, had been plunged into boiling oil, where invisible, scorching needles were stinging him from all sides.
Stifling an involuntary cry of pain and gritting his teeth, Ardi pulled the light toward him. He shook like an aspen leaf, bloody tears streamed down his cheeks, and warm streams of vitality gushed from his nose, but still, he held on. He held on and pulled. The light spilled and scarlet drops fell heavily back into the light, but Ardi pulled. He needed only one drop — the tiniest, most insignificant drop — to ignite the seventh ray. If he failed, he wouldn’t be able to complete the ritual, and his path as a Star Mage would end then and there.
As the water kept flowing and flowing, seeing that he wouldn’t make it, Ardi exhaled and, with a final, sharp movement, simultaneously pulled his imaginary hand toward himself and then also lunged forward. By the Sleeping Spirits, if not for his training with the she-wolf, he wouldn’t have been able to maintain his concentration and it would all have been over right then, but...
Within his mind, a Star with seven rays blazed.
Ardi breathed heavily. He felt nauseous. His vision swam. His hands barely obeyed him, and it felt like someone was slamming a hammer against his back. And yet, lifting his amber eyes, he looked once again at the chaotically writhing rays of the scarlet Star.
Even if...
"If you know you can’t handle the prey, retreat," his mentor’s familiar voice echoed in his head. "Prepare better and come back next time."
Ardi shook his head. He knew Ergar was right. The path of hunters didn’t spare arrogant fools, but there, before him, swayed power. True and untainted power. With it, he could...
Could do what?
Had he come here for strength? Was it the lure of power that had drawn him here? No. When Ardi had immersed himself in the stranger’s journal, none of that had mattered. Only curiosity and wonder had driven him. And the stories his grandfather had told him, and the scrolls of the she-wolf he’d read, the ones about the wizards and sorcerers of the past.
He was guided by something beautiful and airy, light and gentle. Something magical that offered a soft light of hope.
There was no power, no strength, no furious rush of insane greed that Ardi had almost mistaken for excitement in that.
Ergar was right. This was not his last hunt.
"Enough," Ardi said, and he opened his eyes.
At the same time, the troll crystal glowed and split in half, while the Ertaline ore turned black and began to resemble unrefined iron. Wiping the blood from his face, Ardi noticed that the sun had been replaced by a full moon outside.
But this passing observation was quickly forgotten.
It took an enormous effort of will to stop himself from trying out the spells described in the book. Ardi even had to slap his knee to bring his mind back into focus.
He still had time.
After all, his seven rays of the Red Star weren’t going anywhere. They would be with him forever, until the end of his life.
"So," Ardi smiled, touching the fang pendant on his chest, "does this mean I’m a wizard now?"