<div>


    <div>


    <h2 style="text-transform: uppercase"> </h2>


    <div>


    Using his arms, back, and legs to row gave Tomford a sense of nostalgic peace. He’d spent much time on the water as a lad. The boats in Vatnbloet were of a squatter variety with two sets of oars. Even those without sails could get up to some intense speeds with two practiced rowers working in tandem.


    The feeling of the rough wood in his hands would have relaxed him even more if he didn’t have a pit in his stomach from sensing all those lives needlessly lost just moments earlier.


    Wade called down lightning from the sky to smite those he perceived as his enemy. An awesome power wielded by, what in the end amounted to, a man, just a man.


    Death was easy. Life was hard. Despite how repulsed he was by the act of killing hundreds, he couldn’t blame the Loftian for his action. Logically, Wade was right. They could not jeopardize the mission at hand. It was too important.


    Tomford sighed. But logic was a poor salve in the best of times.


    He couldn’t help but think back to the words thrown in his own face the last time he rode across a body of water, spoken by a man who could read Tomford like an open book, one who did not approve of his story written thus far.


    “No one has the right to decide the fate of another.”


    Obvious in its simplicity but impossible in practice.


    <div>


    * * *


    Having traveled alone for almost two full days through a thick forest, Tomford emerged on the bank of Vanern, the giant lake connecting Eldsprak, Tyriu, Jordfaste, and branched into Loft via rivers and streams. His journey went unhindered until now.


    Eight rhinn soldiers circled a balding, thin man and what appeared to be the old man’s skiff. At first glance, it was difficult to discern which was in worse condition, the boat or the man. The skiff took in water through untreated wood that looked brittle enough to splinter if anyone was foolish enough to trust it to hold any weight at all. The old man’s skin was a dark brown from years pruning under the hot sun. He held a staff in his hand and it appeared to support his slight weight. Upon closer inspection, Tomford noted that the man did not lean upon it as was his first impression. Instead, he held it lightly and confidently, neither of which took the rhinn soldiers’ notice.


    “This area is under our control. All humans must evacuate,” one of the rhinn soldiers said to the old man, his voice exasperated. He took a threatening step forward.


    Tomford set down his pack and rolled up his sleeves. The previous two days without resorting to violence was nice, but all peaceful things must come to an end.


    The old man ignored the rhinn leader and instead turned his eyes on Tomford, who froze under the attention. The clear, blue eyes burrowed into him. They seemed to belong to a much younger man. A quiet authority radiated from them.


    “Please stay back,” the man said, his voice low and steady.


    A rhinn cried out, “Ambush!”


    The rhinn hurried and grabbed at their weapons. A few lowered their spears and planted their legs wide. Others pulled free the swords at their waist. They fell into a defensive ring with the lake at their backs and Tomford and the old man before them.


    A young rhinn wielding a spear, broke formation and charged. Tomford side-stepped easily, avoided the thrust, before closing the gap, pivoting, and slamming his fist toward the rhinn’s jaw. Before he could connect, his body froze. All momentum drained away. The rhinn cried out and stumbled away, leaving Tomford frozen and vulnerable.


    Just as quickly, the use of his limbs returned to him.


    Confused, Tomford turned, raising his fists to assume a fighter’s stance.


    “There is no need for violence,” the old man said, his voice cutting through the rhinn’s shouts. He ignored the soldiers. “Are you looking for passage across the great lake, boy?”


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Tomford narrowed his eyes. “I am. There should be a village not far from here. I’ll be hiring someone there to carry me across.”


    “To Vatnbloet.”


    “That’s right.”


    The old man grinned and walked up to Tomford. The rhinn blustered in the background. “I’m Od. I’ll take you.”


    Tomford clasped the man’s outstretched hand, eyeing the skiff, the rhinn, then finally Od himself. “What is going on here? Was stopping me your doing?”


    “Don’t recognize one of your countrymen?” Od dropped his hand and turned to look at the rhinn. They were advancing, spears pointed at them.


    Water rose from the lake in a pillar the width of Tomford’s wrist. One pillar was followed by several more until their numbers equaled those of the rhinn soldiers. Before their opponents spotted the hydromantic attack, the water tendrils wrapped around their weapons and hands, forcing the metal out of their grasps.


    Tomford watched as the rhinn made a hasty retreat. Od was no longer paying attention to the fleeing soldiers, instead turned his attention to his skiff. Water drained out.


    “They’ll come back later, might even follow us across the water,” Tomford said.


    “And you would put them down with your fists to solve that problem?”


    Tomford shrugged. “Not permanently, just long enough for us to get a head start.”


    “A single blow to the head is enough to kill a man.”


    “I’m not a killer,” Tomford protested, pushing away the memory of the man he’d accidentally killed in the tournament at Eldsprak Academy. “Not on purpose.”


    “A broken limb is prone to infection. A bruise is a symptom of internal bleeding. Slow and insidious, but they can kill nonetheless.”


    “How did you stop me from attacking that rhinn?” Tomford asked, steering away from the topic. Though Od’s tone remained calm, Tomford sensed that the old man was gearing up for a lecture.


    Od walked over to his skiff, trying to heave it off the shore and into the water. “Like you said, I’m a hydromancer.”


    “No water reached out from the lake to grab me, like with those soldiers.”


    “You have some experience with these strangers, then? Rhinn, you call them?” Od waved for Tomford to give him a hand.


    Tomford helped launch the skiff and followed the old man into the vessel against better judgement. It immediately took in more water before suddenly stopping.


    “You don’t need much to travel over water as long as you respect it,” Od said.


    “How did you stop me?” Tomford asked again. He’d never seen or heard about anything like it before. He knew that Od’s power did not exist in all of Maydian. Then again, neither did Sarien’s or Kax’s, or Emeryn’s, for that matter.


    Od climbed to the front of the skiff and sat down facing Tomford. “I told you. It’s hydromancy. Hydromancers control water, in case you didn’t know. Just so happens I’ve been doing it for a long time, so I know a thing or two.”


    “But you weren’t controlling water,” Tomford said, irritation growing.


    Od produced an apple from a sack. He held it up for Tomford to see. “Red and ripe, no?”


    “Sure.”


    Before Tomford’s eyes, the apple wizened. It dried out in an instant, leaving a husk in Od’s hand. “Everything contains water to some degree. You just have to know where to look. Once you find it, there’s no trick to it at all.”


    “But that’s impossible,” Tomford protested, taking the apple. “Hydromancers can’t manipulate water like that, not inside people.”


    Od raised an eyebrow. “No? You’ve heard of hydromancer searching for water in the ground and pulling it to the surface, haven’t you?”


    “Well, yes, but that’s different.”


    “Only if you want it to be.”


    “I don’t understand.”


    The old man brought out two more apples and tossed one to Tomford. Od took a bite and spoke around a mouthful. “We humans have a lot of preconceived notions of what is possible and what is not. If we were a little more imaginative, the world might be a better place. Or a much worse one. Who knows?”


    “So, I have water in my body, and you can control it?”


    “That’s right.”


    “Then why didn’t you do the same with the rhinn?”


    He shrugged. “The strangers have no notion of our magic. To scare them properly, they needed something to see. Something palpable.”


    “Fair enough,” Tomford grumbled.


    The skiff flew across the surface of the lake with no sail or oars. He’d seen this before but never used so proficiently. The old man had to be stronger than he appeared.


    “I take it you are not a hydromancer.”


    “I’m not,” Tomford said. “My name is Tomford, by the way. You can call me Tom.”


    “But you know a lot about magic. A Vatner. Healer then, perhaps? One of the glorious few?”


    “That I am.”


    “Yet you fight rather than bow down for Anea’s blessing. Peculiar.”


    “Please tell me you’re not devout,” Tomford groaned.


    “Don’t be so quick to judge a man’s beliefs. Tell me, what do you know about healing?”


    “Well, I know it has nothing to do with Anea, that’s for certain.”


    Od nodded. “Well done. The most obvious truth of them all. What else?”


    “It is not part of hydromancy,” Tomford answered, dipping his hand into the water. It was cool to the touch.


    The old man’s eyes widened, and he leaned in closer. “Now we are getting somewhere.”


    “They’ve nothing in common. No matter how much the priests babble on about the soothing waters of Anea, I just don’t buy it. Pouring water over a wound as you heal, like the older generation, makes no difference whatsoever.”


    Od smiled widely, which made the wrinkles around his face and eyes even more pronounced. “Our little journey together might be an interesting one after all.”