As the last soldier finally crept out of his office, Jaryd sat up and stretched. Every vertebrae in his spine popped in rapid succession and he emitted a long sigh of satisfaction. Some days went faster than others, but to his chagrin that one had proven to be the opposite. One disciplinary case after another had crossed his desk, each testing his patience and temper and, in one case, his sense of honor. Hard to punish a man for doing what I have done myself, he thought as he remembered that particular incident.
The Altaran scrubbed spidery fingers through the mess of black curls atop his head, then pushed himself to his feet. He needed to organize the paperwork for that day, but that could be done later. Perhaps with a glass of wine at hand. Perhaps with company… that thought distracted him so thoroughly that he nearly ran into one of the marble pillars that supported the vaulted ceiling. Bemused by how easily his mind slipped away from responsibility to thoughts of fun and pleasure, Jaryd adjusted his course and made for the door.
As happened far too frequently, something happened before he got there...something he had not experienced since Katrie disappeared. A gong rattled through his thoughts and the Asha’man missed a step, fingers rising to his forehead. For a moment all he could see were the horrible scars that covered his hands, but for once his attention remained focused elsewhere.
Who in the bloody Light...or out of it...would try to Travel into my office? The list of potential candidates ran a little too long for Jaryd’s liking, even limited to male channelers. Whoever it was, if he were trying to get in it seemed likely he would try alternate avenues next. More amused than upset by the oddity, the Master of Soldiers departed his office.
The soldier who had been attending him looked up from his book. Derwin was impossibly young; most men developed the ability as adults, but the Saldaean soldier had sparked just shy of his fifteenth birthday. Light help him. “Go get your dinner,” Jaryd told the boy, then frowned. Menace radiated from the main stairwell, too strong to be ignored. “Take the back stairs. Someone’s coming up the front and it’s best you avoid him.”
“Yessir.” The young man paused. “If I may, how do you know that?”
He sounded so amazed that Jaryd actually laughed. “It comes with practice,” he said. “The more you channel, the more easily you will pick up the signs of trouble. I will schedule a time to discuss- later. Now scoot!” Derwin scooted, book clutched to his skinny chest.
Alone once more, the Asha'man turned toward the stairs. Anyone familiar with the Tower knew who the slender figure in red was; he felt no need to proclaim his presence or identity to whomever approached. Instead he rested lightly on his toes and waited, his body and saidin ready to lash out at the first sign of threat.
No attack came. In fact, as soon as Jaryd saw the figure bounding up the stairs, he released the One Power entirely. "Light in heaven, I haven’t seen you in years Landrin,” he commented, surprise coloring his voice. “Is there a particular reason you’re running about without a stitch of clothing?”
The Altaran scrubbed spidery fingers through the mess of black curls atop his head, then pushed himself to his feet. He needed to organize the paperwork for that day, but that could be done later. Perhaps with a glass of wine at hand. Perhaps with company… that thought distracted him so thoroughly that he nearly ran into one of the marble pillars that supported the vaulted ceiling. Bemused by how easily his mind slipped away from responsibility to thoughts of fun and pleasure, Jaryd adjusted his course and made for the door.
As happened far too frequently, something happened before he got there...something he had not experienced since Katrie disappeared. A gong rattled through his thoughts and the Asha’man missed a step, fingers rising to his forehead. For a moment all he could see were the horrible scars that covered his hands, but for once his attention remained focused elsewhere.
Who in the bloody Light...or out of it...would try to Travel into my office? The list of potential candidates ran a little too long for Jaryd’s liking, even limited to male channelers. Whoever it was, if he were trying to get in it seemed likely he would try alternate avenues next. More amused than upset by the oddity, the Master of Soldiers departed his office.
The soldier who had been attending him looked up from his book. Derwin was impossibly young; most men developed the ability as adults, but the Saldaean soldier had sparked just shy of his fifteenth birthday. Light help him. “Go get your dinner,” Jaryd told the boy, then frowned. Menace radiated from the main stairwell, too strong to be ignored. “Take the back stairs. Someone’s coming up the front and it’s best you avoid him.”
“Yessir.” The young man paused. “If I may, how do you know that?”
He sounded so amazed that Jaryd actually laughed. “It comes with practice,” he said. “The more you channel, the more easily you will pick up the signs of trouble. I will schedule a time to discuss- later. Now scoot!” Derwin scooted, book clutched to his skinny chest.
Alone once more, the Asha'man turned toward the stairs. Anyone familiar with the Tower knew who the slender figure in red was; he felt no need to proclaim his presence or identity to whomever approached. Instead he rested lightly on his toes and waited, his body and saidin ready to lash out at the first sign of threat.
No attack came. In fact, as soon as Jaryd saw the figure bounding up the stairs, he released the One Power entirely. "Light in heaven, I haven’t seen you in years Landrin,” he commented, surprise coloring his voice. “Is there a particular reason you’re running about without a stitch of clothing?”