Before his death at the hands of a ravager, the wizard had seemed blessed with eternal youth, as if the rich soil of Aristonia itself had kept his curly, golden hair lustrous, his skin fresh and young, and his body lean and flexible. Only his eyes had been old, and if you looked into them, you could see the depth of centuries, the burden of wars and famine, of struggles long forgotten. To Markal, his old teacher looked unchanged.Memnet read from a book held in one hand, while his other hand was outstretched, palm up. Five green and gold spheres hung suspended over his hand, turning in a complex pattern of cycles and countercycles. They caught the sunlight which flickered across the wizard’s bare face.As he read his book and manipulated the orbs, Memnet held court with several other men and women who stood around him. These men didn’t wear white like the wizard and his apprentices, but azure-colored robes with chains of office about their necks. As Markal drew closer, he could see that Memnet paid the chattering ministers little attention, concentrating largely on his book and the rotating orbs.But every once in a while, Memnet would look up from his book and say something to one of the ministers, who listened, bowed, then left the pavilion at a brisk walk.
What do You think about The Warrior King (Book 4)?
