Barclay raised his mug of cider. “To victory,” he said.
“To victory,” the others echoed, smacking mugs.
The next morning, when Barclay returned to the field, he expected all the festivities of the night before, if not more.It was the day of the final matchandthe day before Midwinter, yet the area was almost deserted.
With furrowed eyebrows, he approached Erhart. A small crowd of Masters gathered around him, shivering in the cold. Barclay noted with relief that Soren was not among them.
Then, when they saw Barclay, they started clapping. It was an uneasy sort of cheer—most of them frowned.
“What is it?” asked Barclay. Viola, Abel, and Ethel beside him looked equally as bewildered.
“We have our victor,” Erhart announced.
He reached forward and shook Barclay’s hand, though he didn’t look too pleased about it.
“Victor? Where’s Tadg?” Barclay asked.
“Mr. Murdock left Sycomore last night and hasn’t returned. He has therefore forfeited.” The Masters once again started a quiet, pitiful round of clapping. “Congratulations, Mr. Thorne. You’ve won first place in the final exam.”
TWENTY-ONE
Idon’t understand,” Barclay hissed at the others. Once Erhart and the Masters had stopped congratulating him, he and his friends had hurried back into town. “Why would Tadg leave?”
“He’s a coward,” Abel said. “I told you.”
Barclay might not have liked Tadg, but Tadg didn’t strike him as a coward. In fact, Barclay might have interpreted everything Tadg had said to him last night totally wrong. Tadg had told Barclay that he was warning him, not threatening him. But warning him about what? It all left a dreadful knot in his stomach.
“We should talk to Runa,” Viola said warily.
“We should be celebrating,” Abel countered. “You got first place, Barclay! Of course, the awards aren’t until tomorrow, but—”
“Viola is right,” Barclay interrupted. “There’s something wrong about this.”
“Maybe Runa will show you how to remove your Mark now,” Ethel told him hopefully.
Barclay nodded, but his thoughts were somewhere else. He was replaying every piece of his conversation last night. Tadg had mentioned that the Exhibition was in the Spring every year—why had he brought that up?
“Maybe he ran off with Soren,” Abel suggested. Ethel shot him a sharp look.
“What? Is Soren gone too?” Viola squeaked.
“I didn’t mean… I mean, he wasn’t with Erhart just now, was he?” Abel turned to lead them back to the Ironwood Inn, but Barclay stopped.
“I’m going to the Guild House to talk to Runa,” he declared.
“I’ll come with you,” Viola said.
“We’ll meet you back at the inn,” Ethel told them, but Barclay and Viola were already running off.
The inside of the Guild House was mayhem. The rest of the Masters were gathered here, arguing at each of the tables. The Beasts along the ceiling squawked and roared back and forth. Barclay searched everyone’s faces and saw that, indeed, Soren was not among the havoc.
“Do you see Runa?” Barclay asked her.
Viola shook her head. “Should we ask them?”
She pointed to Mandeep, Floriane, and Athna. They wereonce again seated alone at a table covered in Athna’s mugs of ale, Mandeep and Floriane bickering with each other. Barclay agreed, and they strode toward them.
“Ah,” Mandeep said, sighting them and grinning. “The champion of the third exam! What can we help you with?”
