Dreamwielder Read Free Page A

guard at the front of the procession to start plodding warily forward. Unlike Caile and the rest of the soldiers, Lorentz had not taken up his shield and helmet. He held only a handful of arrows and a stout, short bow, which he strained and grunted to string.
    â€œYou know the drill,” Lorentz said. “I’ll hide in the grass, then sneak along behind you.”
    â€œI don’t want to kill anyone,” Caile replied. “Let me try to reason with them and await my signal.”
    â€œI’ll await your signal or the moment you start getting showered in flames, whichever comes first.”
    â€œJust await my signal,” Caile repeated. “I’ve spent the last five years in Valaróz—I can take the heat.”
    Lorentz snorted in reply then slid from his saddle and rolled to lay hidden in the tall grass alongside the road while the procession continued forward without him.
    As much as Caile wanted to turn and glare at him, he kept his head forward and his eyes on the forest through the eye slits in his helmet. Lorentz still treated him like a child at times, and though Caile knew Lorentz was merely trying to keep him safe, it still aggravated Caile to no end. He was a prince of Pyrthinia, after all—the crown prince now that Cargan was dead, assuming they were to follow Sargothian law. Caile swallowed back the lump that rose in his throat at the thought. I’m not a child any longer, he repeated to himself.
    They plodded onward, and the minutes dragged by with no sign of anything in the forest to their left. Caile began to wonder if his sister had perhaps misinterpreted her vision. She was distraught after all, with their brother dying and the prospect of being sent to Col Sargoth. Caile shook the idea aside. Taera didn’t lack courage, that he was certain of, and he steeled himself to the task at hand—to focusing all his attention on whomever stepped foot from that forest.
    Even prepared for it, they were all shocked by the sudden gout of flames that bellowed out from the trees. It swept over them in a flash, curling around shields, singeing horsehair, and setting the field behind them aflame. One soldier lost control of his panicked horse and was carried toward the forest just as a woman careened from the shadows like a feral animal. She flailed her hands above her head and brought them crashing down with an unintelligible shout, and horse and rider were enveloped in flames.
    â€œStay your position!” Caile yelled at the soldiers, as he struggled to calm his own horse well enough to dismount. He managed to jump clear of his horse just as the firewielder sent another gout of flames at them. He tucked himself behind his shield and could feel the intense heat curl around him. When the flames passed, he raised his free hand in sign of peace, palm up, showing he held no weapon.
    â€œStay your hand, firewielder,” Caile hollered in the calmest, most authoritative tone he could muster. “We mean you no harm. We are your friends.”
    â€œFirewielders have no friends,” the woman yelled. “Kill me or be killed.”
    â€œNo, I beg you,” Caile said, holding his shield away from his body and removing his helmet so she could see his face. “I am Prince Caile Delios. I promise you safe harbor. Please, just listen to me. I put myself at your mercy.”
    Caile dropped his shield and helmet to the ground and held both hands up. The woman glared at him and glanced warily at the soldiers behind him, but she stayed her hand. She was not as old as Caile had surmised at first glance—no more than twenty, at most—but she was filthy, covered in feculent rags, her hair clumped in muddy knots, and her face was lined with worry, her eyes wild with the burden of living a life of constant terror alone in the forest.
    â€œI’m your friend,” Caile said again, keeping his eyes squarely on her face and trying not to think about the burned