"Come in, Mac, and shut the Gods-blast-it door. I wasn't cursing at you. I spilled my tea." Garrin's voice sounded creaky and strained to his own ears, and at least half an octave too high. He wore loose breeches and an old flannel shirt, with a blanket draped across his lap. His long hair lay tangled about his shoulders, and his chin sported half a day's growth of beard. He guessed he did not make an inspiring sight, a suspicion born out by Mac Tom's dubious gaze.

"Ah. Yes, sir." The scout did as Garrin told him, but kept near the door, as if keeping an escape route handy. Over the months since his appointment as captain of this scout unit, Garrin had slowly gained the respect of his men, but he didn't think they entirely trusted him. Garrin's reputation as a rogue wizard--a murderer, thief, and liar--had gone before him. Untrue all of it, and no formal charges had ever been brought; still Garrin doubted he would ever win free of that taint. Garrin could play the harp and he had a good singing voice. Occasionally, the men invited him to join them at their revels, but most of the time, when not on duty, they left him alone.

Garrin ducked his head to sneeze, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. He slanted a glance at the scout, who had resumed shuffling his feet, both hands jammed into pockets. "I assume you want to tell me something, Mac? You wouldn't be here otherwise?"

"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, I do have something to tell you, sir." The scout flushed. "But I didn't know you were as sick as all this. I mean, I knew you were sick, sir. Marcus told me you had a cold. But he didn't say you were so very sick, sir."

Garrin felt his patience tear. And yet he forced his voice to remain level, not wanting to make Mac Tom any more nervous. "The cold won't kill me. Give your report."

"Uh. Yes, sir." Mac Tom took a long breath. "There is a situation in Valemist Castle. A servant from the castle has come to beg your help."

Garrin frowned. About a mile to the west of the army camp, the Wizards of the Four Ways maintained a border outpost. Normally, he would expect any request from Valemist to go directly to the wizards, not to him. "What happened?"

"A wild talent showed itself in a kitchen girl, name of Tira."

Wild talent. Garrin felt his heartbeat quicken. Most wizards came into their gifts slowly during adolescence, their power growing with their skills. A wild talent developed full power all at once, without the skills to control it. His own talent had come upon him that way.