“Forgive? You committed no sin, child. Stand. This was no fault of yours.”
He bowed his head. “I took the task upon myself. Tomorrow should have been a day of rejoicing. We should have sent word to all the nine lands that the High King and the Lord Prince were dead.”
“I gave you your task, Rogan. The blame lies with me, not with you.”
Rogan shook his head fervently, almost maniacally. “No, no, Father. You are the greatest among us. No design of yours is at fault. I am your arm, meant to carry your aims, and I am weak.”
He felt the fingers resting on the top of his head, gently stroking his hair. His tears fell harder, and he curled in upon himself at the touch.
“When Trisken fell in the Greatrocks, I was wrathful. I held him accountable, for I thought he had underestimated the girl. But now I have made the same mistake. She was the perfect messenger, but I did not think she could save the High King.”
“I should have stopped her,” whimpered Rogan. “Forgive me.”
“You are forgiven. Her victory will soon be hollow, like wine turned to ash in her throat. The High King has lost this war before it is begun. For I have found the trail of my great foe, and soon your brethren will bring him to me.”
Rogan tensed, eyes glittering, and he looked up with hope. “You have found the Lifemage?”
He was greeted only by a smile.
Table of Contents
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
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Shadeborn
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
twenty
twenty-one
twenty-two
twenty-three
twenty-four
twenty-five
twenty-six
twenty-seven
twenty-eight
twenty-nine
thirty
thirty-one
thirty-two
thirty-three
thirty-four
thirty-five
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DVD Extras for Books
Connect Online
Other Books by Garrett Robinson
About the Author
Epilogue