Fredric watched the gold griffin circling in the bright noon sun. It was hot again today, too hot for this early in the year. If they didn’t get some rain soon the crops would wither in the fields. He stood just inside the great granite wall that surrounded The Citadel grounds, next to the open space—nothing more than a patch of dirt really—they’d set aside for visiting sorcerers. Far from the fortress and training grounds, sorcerers were able to arrive with a minimum of disruption. That suited Fredric as he despised anything that interrupted the smooth operation of his school.

Master Shen’s griffin got lower with each circle. As sorcerers went he was a good one. They fought together during the last northern invasion. He both liked and respected the man, one of the few sorcerers whose company he enjoyed. Master Shen had a case of healing potions for the infirmary, luckily for his incompetent excuse for a son. Why couldn’t the boy be more like his sister?

Damien works harder than any two students in The Citadel. He’s kind, courteous, and has more pure skill than men twice his age. You’re far too hard on him.

Fredric scowled, not appreciating having his sword commenting on his thoughts. That was the price you paid for having a demon living in your weapon. “You’re always making excuses for him. If he’s trying so damn hard, why can’t he do what he needs to?”

I don’t know, but threatening to kick him out of the only home he’s ever had is hardly likely to improve his focus. He didn’t get more than a couple hours’ sleep last night.

“I’m desperate. The masters have tried every trick in the book to coax Damien’s power out and they’ve all failed. Perhaps the fear of losing everything will force him to break through whatever’s holding him back.” The griffin landed in the dry patch of dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust. “Now be silent. I have to deal with the sorcerer.”

Master Shen hopped off the griffin and waved a hand. The great golden beast vanished. Fredric shook his head. He’d never get used to sorcerers. Creating something out of nothing wasn’t natural. Master Shen wore loose-fitting gray trousers and a matching tunic. His long dark hair hung in a tail that reached down to the middle of his back. That’d make a handy place for an enemy to grab and yank his head off. Over his shoulder the sorcerer carried a leather satchel.

Fredric held a hand out. “Master Shen, welcome.”

They shook; he had an excellent grip for a sorcerer. Some of the soft, doughy saps they sent turned Fredric’s stomach.

“Commander St. Cloud. What’s it been, three years?”

Fredric grinned. “Almost four. It’s good to see you, Lon. How long are you staying?”

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The slender sorcerer shrugged. “As long as I can be of use. Training your students to deal with sorcerers is important, even if the best strategy for them is to escape as fast as possible.”

Fredric’s grin faded at the implied insult. “I’ve killed a sorcerer or two.”

Lon laughed and shot a pointed glance at the sword at his waist. “You’re hardly an average warlord, Fredric. What’s practical for the King’s Champion is a little different than what’s practical for most of your students.”

Fredric grunted. Lon had a point; he just didn’t like the idea that there were things out there a skilled warlord with a sharp sword couldn’t handle. He started toward the fortress, angling toward the training yard to let Lon have a look at the second and third years that would get their first taste of sorcery over the next week or two.

A hundred plus boys and girls stood in neat rows, practice swords in their hands, as they made the five primary slashes, one after the other, over and over again. In another year they’d be able to make all those cuts, as well as any variations, without needing to think. At the far end of the first row his son performed them flawlessly. Fredric watched the boy flow from cross cuts to diagonal to vertical and back to the beginning. Despite his failings with soul force, Fredric found nothing to criticize in Damien’s technique. He allowed himself a moment of pride. His son wasn’t a complete failure.

You should tell him that sometime.

Lon stopped, his gaze locked on Damien. Fredric ignored Lizzenwar’s comment and moved to join his old friend. “Something wrong, Lon?”

The sorcerer nodded toward Damien. “Why is that boy training as a warlord?”

Fredric stiffened. “That’s my son.”

Lon tore his gaze away from Damien. “He’s a sorcerer, Fredric. A very powerful one.”

It wasn’t possible.

If Lon had hit him over the head with a sledgehammer it wouldn’t have stunned Fredric as much as that statement. Shala had been a mistress of the spear and a warlord almost as powerful as Fredric himself. That they’d had a son who was a sorcerer defied belief. “The seer. When Damien was born, the seer said he’d be a warlord.”

“That much power contained in an infant’s tiny body, I doubt the seer got an accurate reading of which direction Damien’s power flowed. He figured you and Shala were warlords and so assumed Damien would be as well. It’s rare, but seers aren’t perfect. Your son is an external soul force wielder: a sorcerer, just like me.”

It took all Fredric’s considerable will not to fall to his knees on the spot. He’d pushed the boy so hard, threatened to kick him out of their home, all because he couldn’t make his soul force work. To find out now, after all these years, that no matter what he did or how hard he pushed, Damien would never be a warlord…

His stomach churned and he feared he might be sick. All the masters had tried everything. It never occurred to any of them that Damien might have gotten misclassified.

“My friend, I’m aware this is a shock, but Damien needs to go to Sorcery. If he should accidentally tap that massive power and release it with no control he’d level The Citadel and kill everyone here, including himself. I have to take him as soon as he can get ready.”

Fredric nodded, pulling himself together. An untrained sorcerer was a grave danger. Lon had the right idea. Damien needed the proper training as soon as possible. He put his fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle. The masters looked his way and Fredric pointed at Damien then gestured for him to come over.