The Clawed Fist clan lands were dark. But that wasn't what I was worried about. It was the silence that got me.
Three hundred Academy-trained mages and fighters should have made some noise. Nervous whispering, idle chatter. Something.
Not…Not this…deafening silence.
Headmaster Pyrab stood with the two other mage directors, and the Academy Blademaster on a mound of dirt in front of us.
I was on the frontline, Rowan at my side.
The Chief Blademaster had returned his sword.
I looked into the Clawed Fist clan lands, the familiar rage and anger rising inside me. That rage that every spiritspeaker ever felt when dealing with a black magician.
I saw the other mages feel it too.
Each of us had our own ways of dealing with it.
Mine was to grab the golden amulet that hung openly on my chest, close my eyes and breathe.
It seemed to work.
The rage wasn't gone. But it was pushed down. I would have to deal with it afterwards.
