“Don’t worry,” said Sylas, with a reassuring smile. Beside him, the recruit nervously picked at his fingernails. There, Sylas lay in wait with a dozen of his most trusted mages. “Tonight, you will break your own chains.”ĭusk was falling, and the darkened brush on the side of the road was the perfect cover for an ambush. Of everything we’re capable of, and of our liberation to come. The recruit shook his head, too timid to offer a guess. “Do you know why I wear these chains?” asked Sylas. Happ beamed, staring at his feet, as though he felt unworthy of his newfound joy. They’re always watching you, hounding you, making you feel inferior. Sylas placed a heavily shackled arm on the boy’s shoulder, hoping to quell his embarrassment. “Yes, si- …Yes,” the youth said, nearly repeating his mistake.Ībashed, the recruit seemed to wonder if he’d made the right choice in coming to the camp. “Unless you want to address everyone of us that way.” The boy’s eyes darted around the grinning faces, searching for some hint of what he had done wrong. “I… I thought maybe… I could join your cause… sir.” Sylas’ brow furrowed with pleasant surprise, as if meeting kin he never knew existed. As for the rest of his character, Sylas could see nothing. He could sense the boy was blessed with powerful magic-some black and deadly pall. Sylas nodded, quietly assessing the young man. He made it out, by the hair on his hide.” Sylas emerged from his shelter, eyeing the youth casually. At last, he saw her rounding the stone spire at the mouth of the crevasse, leading a wide-eyed young stranger into the camp. From the shade of his lean-to, Sylas of Dregbourne waited patiently for his scout to return. The sun was at its peak, just high enough to illuminate the exiles’ camp hidden deep in the canyon.
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