Visions of Magic - Invasion

  When they finally arrived at their destination Farrel was even more perplexed. The squire stopped outside a tent flying the crest Kalar. Castle Kalar was the main keep protecting the south west border against the goblin tribes. He had never specifically been to the castle and as far as he could recollect had never met anyone from there. During the Starvation War the southern castles had been engaged against the goblins so it was unlikely that his reputation had anything to do with the summons.

  "My master's tent," said the squire.

  "After you," replied Farrel suddenly alert.

  "I was given very clear instructions that only you were permitted to enter," replied the squire nervously.

  Nothing was adding up so Farrel primed his mind with wind spell as he bent down to pick a single blade of grass, never taking his eyes from the squire as he did so. The squire for his part looked back quizzically at Farrel and gestured for him to enter.

  "Please, my master is impatient at the best of times," he insisted.

  Farrel squeezed the blade of grass between two fingers on his right hand so that it was not obvious that he was holding it. Since he had no idea what he was about to walk into it was better to be safe than sorry. It was always good to be prepared for any eventuality as a wizard including running into another magic user with the wrong intent. Not all members of the Conclave were unified and it was always possible that his return to the realm would be seen as a threat to some.

  Farrel took a deep breath to focus and calm his mind then pushed apart the tent flaps and entered. The moment he stepped inside he was immediately assaulted by an alluring mixture of perfumes. He stopped just inside the entry and surveyed the interior of the tent, it was dimly lit by several small lanterns set to burn very low and in the flickering light it was hard to see.

  In the centre of the tent was a bed of sorts, made from several thick wool skins underneath a liberal sprinkling of silk covered pillows. As far as an army camp went it was about as luxurious as one could expect.

  There was a movement amongst the cushions, but in the dim light he could not make out who it was. He stepped closer with the blade of grass squeezed firmly between his thumb and index finger just in case.

  It was a woman and when she spoke Farrel dropped the blade of grass in a combination of shock and embarrassment at letting his mind race so vividly towards treachery. This was not the type of ambush he was expecting.

  "I was worried you would not come," said Gabrielle. Farrel's eyes widened as he looked down upon Gabriele lying in amongst the pillows wearing an emerald coloured nightgown that was barely covering and virtually transparent.

  Farrel's eyes were drawn hypnotically up along her bare legs to the sensual curves of her hips, across her flat stomach and moderate, but firm bosom. Her long copper curls had been unleashed and lay wildly across several pillows. He finally came to look into her grey eyes and they were as piercing and fiery as always.

  As an apprentice he had been desperately and secretly in love with her. It was an impossible love that was made briefly tangible after he had saved her from kidnap by goblins. Unfortunately the death of her father and the start of the Starvation War had dragged them apart. The last time he had seen her was the day he was forced to leave Castle Ulan on his quest to try and stop the war. That was just over fifteen years ago.

  As a young maiden she had possessed an innocent beauty, but now she had the seductive allur