Page 64 of Destiny of a King

Fiora noticed but drew no attention to it.

Dravic was already moving, the urgency in the scream drawing his attention away from everything else. He went to Adira and hurried her out of the chair and against his side as he headed to the door.

The moment they stepped outside, they saw that the village had erupted into panic.

A woman stumbled through the gathering crowd, clutching a small girl against her chest. Blood matted the child’s dark hair and streaked down the side of her face, staining her mother’s garment.

“Nay! Nay!” the woman sobbed. “Please!”

Ernach’s face tightened with worry. “That’s Doria, Vachel’s daughter. Barely six years.”

Villagers rushed toward her.

Vachel broke through the crowd and gathered his daughter into his arms, his wife staying close to his side.

“What happened?” he demanded, his voice breaking.

His wife struggled to speak through her tears. “She… she climbed one of the snow mounds.” A sob caught in her throat. “I told her not to. She slipped…” She shook her head helplessly. “There was a sharp rock hidden beneath the snow. Her head struck it.”

Vachel looked down at his daughter cradled against him. Without another word, he turned and hurried toward a small stone cottage at the edge of the village.

“The healer,” someone whispered.

The villagers followed.

Some prayed while others wept.

Behind them came the hushed whispers no parent should ever hear.

“The blow was too hard.”

“Too much blood.”

“The poor lass.”

Dravic watched them disappear into the cottage before turning to Ernach. “Surely their magic can heal her.”

Ernach slowly shook his head. “It is not that simple.”

“I was told the people of Driochmor possess magic unlike any other,” Dravic said, considering he might have been told more tales than truths.

“Driochmor is a place of magic, not miracles. Magic can mend much,” Ernach said. “It can ease pain, strengthen what has grown weak, and sometimes help the body heal itself. But it cannot command life to remain when the body can no longer hold it.”

Dravic’s brow narrowed. “What of the healer who can do that?”

“The one who defies death?” Ernach shook his head. “I know the tale, not the truth.”

“Tell me more about magic,” Dravic all but ordered.

Ernach shook his head slowly. “I am not the one to ask. You need to ask those born of it. But tell me, my king, do you not wonder what precipitated your grandfather’s hatred for magic, when the Driochmorians had been so faithful to him?”

“I am looking for answers not more questions,” Dravic snapped sharply.

“You forget where you are,” Ernach cautioned.

Dravic took a quick step toward Ernach, his hand falling away from Adira’s.

“I know exactly where I am, in Scotara, the kingdom I rule over. And I rule over every single part of it. There is not a section, not a mountain, not a river, not a forest, not a morsel of land that does not fall under my rule. So, I would remind you not to forget who I am.”