The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare Read Free

patch appeared two hungry red eyes – eyes with no sense of soul behind them. Benjin had stopped chanting. His strong, young body began to shake. The power he had so carelessly invited to possess him was streaming into the fragile container of his physical form and overwhelming it. Ailianne was by his side in an instant.
    “Drop the book, Benjin. This is all wrong. You cannot control it…let it go.” she shouted over the roar of rushing air and booming laughter that surrounded them.
    “I can’t!” he responded, looking more surprised than anything, “It won’t free my hands.”
    Alarmed, she grabbed at the other end of the book with her own hands to wrench it from his grasp. But, at her touch, sparks flew from the tome, and her hands became fixed to its cover. Trapped, the two of them stood together in the circle, facing each other, the ancient volume between them holding them fast. Hair and clothing blew about furiously, and the rushing noise rose to deafening levels. The fragile mortal frames of the two young students convulsed violently, as raw power they could not contain coursed through them. Ailianne cried out. This was too much for Tvrdik, who leapt from his hiding place and ran toward the circle, shouting, “Ailianne. Ailianne!”
    “Stay back!” she ordered, recognizing his voice, “I cannot hold it.” She turned her face toward him and their eyes locked. In those beloved eyes, which had always been bright and beautiful to him, he now saw agony and abject terror. His own eyes widened, recognizing the depths of fear and despair in her lovely face. It was to be his last memory of her, seared into his soul for all time, for as he lunged forward to drag her out of the circle, some force knocked him off his feet and a commanding voice rang out, “No! Do not touch them.”
    Tvrdik collapsed on the ground. A flash of light more brilliant than a dozen suns blinded him for an instant, and he lay there with his hands over his face. When he could once again open his eyes, he saw Xaarus, his Master, standing nearby like an avenging angel, tall and imposing, brows drawn together in concentration, sharp eyes darting fiery purpose over his crooked nose. His staff was raised high in the air, a stream of light pouring from its tip straight at the dark mass in the circle. The old man was shouting out spells and incantations, his voice almost eclipsed by the roaring sound that filled the wood. His face was set in grim determination, power and light exploding from every part of him, pushing back the hostile blackness, and trying to surround its hapless victims with some sort of shield.
    Tvrdik closed his eyes again in exhaustion and relief. Xaarus was here. Everything would be alright. There was another flash, several soul-wrenching screams, the sound of an explosion, and then, silence – a silence rendered more profound by contrast to what had preceded it. Breathless moments passed. At last, the pale, thin youth opened his eyes and let them focus on the Master wizard, standing stock still before him. “Master,” the boy ventured, his voice breaking, “Master, I followed them, but I did not try to stop them. I should have stopped them. Thank the gods you are here.”
    “No, Tvrdik,” came the whispered answer through the stillness, “I have come too late.”
    As the meaning of those words washed over his frayed consciousness, Tvrdik turned his head toward what had been the circle. In the light of Xaarus’ glowing staff, he saw. There was no fire, no book, no goblet, no carry-sack, no objects placed around the edges. There was no sign of Benjin or Ailianne. Just a patch of scorched ground, and wisps of smoke still twisting and drifting up toward the starry sky. The ice-blue eyes stared in disbelief, then turned back to Xaarus, who stood rigid, staff in hand, a stricken look on his ashen face. Tvrdik had never seen his Master with such an anguished expression…the look of defeat.
    “We have failed them, boy,” the