George was glad he had descended the stairs with such haste. He moved to help Thom and Cellan pull the lad out of the rain. He hadn’t quite reached eighteen and was still growing. Unconscious, he was all arms and legs like a newborn foal. George directed their way down the corridor to a dressing room in case of emergency. Whilst he only kept two rooms out kd the building, the entire place had been built for the Provost’s use in mind.
With Luka laid out on a raised bed, Thom circled the room, lighting the candles and fire with a snap of his fingers. Not a Myst, he had honed the gift of magic that he had to be useful.
Cellan gripped Luka’s hand in his own as George worked, the youth’s tunic cut away so that he could examine the wound. He grimaced, ‘Thom, we’ll need Marion.’
‘Right, Sir,
