A faint voice whispered in his ear. The smell of blood, the heat of goose down, incredible fatigue and lightheadedness awoke his senses. “Wake up, lad.” Gabriel’s eyes fluttered open and focused on the bed canopy. He rubbed his eyes and blinked again. His body felt parched and wasted, but he managed to raise his head to look around. Half his clothes were stained dark brown and felt caked, cracking as he sat up slowly. It all came back to him—the attack, the Castrofax, the hand. ‘Oh stars, my hand.’ He looked down at his left hand, feeling it attached to his wrist, but not feeling the sheets beneath it. He raised it and commanded it to close. His hand obeyed awkwardly, and he bent one finger at a time. “Can you feel it, lad?” Gabriel looked up and recognized the man standing in his room by the lit fire. “Arding?” The king-like man had been absent since Gabriel took the Head Mage seat.
