would deem them fit or watch them die. More than half who came to them perished within sight of Leonis, half the survivors of that group lived a month. Those who survived to become mages, true mages, were the strongest. The numbers had been dwindling for years as the elder mages searched for those hardy enough to survive the rigors of the Change.
Merlan kept her eyes on the Lanceman's black cloak, knowing full well what he stood for. If her Change began too suddenly and her power began to tear at the fabric of the world, it was his duty to kill her before something terrible happened. She remembered hearing of a young mage who didn't make it in time--the village he lived in had disappeared completely. The crater where it had been was cursed. No one could get near it without becoming violently ill. She wasn't going to burn, not like that.
And Fia wasn't going to go that way, either.
Merlan glanced over at her sister and watched the wind and the ride tug at her red cloak before she crouched low in her saddle, teeth grit. Even now, she could feel it--the tug of Power inching through her body, waiting to explode. The winter air stung like midsummer wasps and more than once she thought the slicing, brutal wind had drawn blood--but they dared not stop. The long, flat land became rocky, the incline steep. Their Lanceman said nothing, but Merlan could feel his urgency in the way her palms had begun to ache. The pain, which had been a dull ache so many miles back, had turned into fire. Over the ridge were the lights of Leonis, proving grounds of the mages.
Compulsion slammed her heels into her mount's sides and he surged forward with renewed vigor. They were tired, dirty, mud and snow spattered. The endless movement had made her ache in places she didn't know she had. Merlan's eyes pricked and she felt windblind. A shout rang out beside her, but all she could feel was the draw of Leonis, the burn of a call she couldn't ignore.
The scream that came this time was her mount's and an acrid stench rose--something was burning. Merlan strained and felt the wards on her saddle pop as if they were being pried away. Bits of earth, stone, wood, fast melting snow rose around her as her
Merlan kept her eyes on the Lanceman's black cloak, knowing full well what he stood for. If her Change began too suddenly and her power began to tear at the fabric of the world, it was his duty to kill her before something terrible happened. She remembered hearing of a young mage who didn't make it in time--the village he lived in had disappeared completely. The crater where it had been was cursed. No one could get near it without becoming violently ill. She wasn't going to burn, not like that.
And Fia wasn't going to go that way, either.
Merlan glanced over at her sister and watched the wind and the ride tug at her red cloak before she crouched low in her saddle, teeth grit. Even now, she could feel it--the tug of Power inching through her body, waiting to explode. The winter air stung like midsummer wasps and more than once she thought the slicing, brutal wind had drawn blood--but they dared not stop. The long, flat land became rocky, the incline steep. Their Lanceman said nothing, but Merlan could feel his urgency in the way her palms had begun to ache. The pain, which had been a dull ache so many miles back, had turned into fire. Over the ridge were the lights of Leonis, proving grounds of the mages.
Compulsion slammed her heels into her mount's sides and he surged forward with renewed vigor. They were tired, dirty, mud and snow spattered. The endless movement had made her ache in places she didn't know she had. Merlan's eyes pricked and she felt windblind. A shout rang out beside her, but all she could feel was the draw of Leonis, the burn of a call she couldn't ignore.
The scream that came this time was her mount's and an acrid stench rose--something was burning. Merlan strained and felt the wards on her saddle pop as if they were being pried away. Bits of earth, stone, wood, fast melting snow rose around her as her
