“I thought we were to break him, not conduct an inquisition,” said Arten. His voice was harsh and it made my stomach tighten again.

“The king’s wizard.”My silent voice supplied the identification, and I remembered that I had reason to fear the king.

“Jakoven says we have two weeks. I want to find out how he set up the magic to guard us all night first. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Are you certain it was he?” said Arten. “I’ve heard the only thing he could do wasfind things.”

“He destroyed an entire stone keep,” said Jade Eyes, defending me from the contempt in the older mage’s voice. “Pretty impressive for afinder . And, yes, I’m certain he set up the magic guardian. There was a taste to the magic—a signature, and his aura has the same feel. I’d show you what I mean if you could read auras.”

Jade Eyes stepped into my line of sight. In one hand he held a staff that glittered with gold and precious gems. On the very top of the staff, looking out of place, was a battered claw the size of my hand.

“Dragon,” I said. It came out easily and that took away from the sick feeling in my stomach that tried to insist there was something wrong.

Jade Eyes smiled. “Yes, it’s a dragon claw. I’m told that Seleg himself gave it to his king as my king gave it to me.”

“Seleg had no right!”The voice was so loud, I expected Jade Eyes to hear.“His duty was to guard dragonkind. Betrayer.”

“Hurogmeten,” I said, the strength of the voice leading my speech. But I forgot what I needed to say, and so fell silent.

“Yes, he was Hurogmeten. Just like you.” Jade Eyes bent his head closer to me. “Seleg was a mage, Ward. Are you a mage?”

I frowned at him. Everyone knew that story. “I used to be, but my father broke me.”

“Can you work magic now?”

I couldn’t remember, so I tried.

“Oh, yes,”said my voice, eagerly.“Fire is easy, almost as easy as finding. I can do fire even without Hurog’s magic to help, remember?”

As soon as the voice said that, I knew it was easy. There was so much here that would burn. I could feel the oils in the clay pots. They went first, bursting into flame in violent explosions that shattered pottery on all four sides of me. It was fun.

I heard vague shouts echoed by the sharp pops of the pots, but for the most part I was lost in the joy of working magic. Candles melted to stubs, oil-soaked wood sought my magic more than my magic sought it. Power began to loosen the hold of smoke and drugs, almost I could begin to plan.