“I beg your pardon. I do not mean to offend you.”
“Tarkyn, you are not yet ready to join us. One day, when the time is right, you will be.”
Tarkyn, from the standpoint of a nineteen year old, privately thought this was highly unlikely but had no intention of saying so. As he stood facing the unnerving forest guardians of old, Midnight crept over to him and clung to his leg. Glad to have something to distract him, Tarkyn bent down and swung the little wood sorcerer up onto his hip. He smiled at Midnight and tousled his hair.
“Tarkyn Tamadil,” came the voice of Moridan, “You have said you have no wish to be king.”
Tarkyn reluctantly dragged his eyes from Midnight to face the ghostly figures. “Yes. That is true. I possess neither the skill nor the inclination to deal with the intrigues of
