heritage, but if he ever wavered from that determination, now that the
destruction of Roxane’s globe had every latent magician in Sanctuary on the
threshold of Hazard status, he would make the Wizardwall masters look like
children.
Molin said, “Not if you help me,” as if he’d read the younger man’s thoughts.
“The price is too high.”
The mongoose, who in the transfer from the forest to Sanctuary had experienced
being Randal as much as he had experienced being a mongoose, responded to her
desired mate’s distress with an eruption of motion and noise that bounced the
cage onto the floor. She set her teeth into the wooden slats and splintered two
of them before Randal reached her. Two were all she needed, however, to squeeze
out of her confinement. She was on his shoulder in an instant, her claws finding
purchase in his brocaded cloak and her tail ringing his neck.
“I’m … going … to … sneeze!” And he did-with an eruption that sent his
defender, and a small portion of his left ear, flying across the room.
Molin dove toward the door to capture the lithe creature before it gained
freedom in the endless corridors of the palace. Randal laughed through his
sneezes; the sight was worth an earlobe. Nothing remained of Torchholder’s
intensity or his dignity as he slid along the polished stone on his belly.
Despite these losses the priest kept his reputation: he did what had to be done.
Blunt fingers pinched the animal’s collarbone and a well-protected arm both
supported her and pinned her against his ribcage.