Abaddon's Call

Chapter Eight

Maeno went out ahead. As the third year fled, Theon turned his gaze to the seventh year.

"Say that again," he purred out.

"Lord Pan and Dean Trathor are fighting," the student protested back.

When Theon didn't budge, the young man made an annoyed, frustrated sound that might have been a curse cut off as he turned and left the study. In the silent aftermath, Theon frowned at the empty space where the student had been a moment before.

Emerth didn't know he was being tested. They rarely knew, and then those ones only knew when their test was because they asked for it.

Part of being a war mage was the ability to bait the unaware.

While Luk had forbidden Theon from using that talent without permission, it had not been in the commands Luk had reissued. Ulter hadn't known about the command, so when Theon asked for the chance to bait Emerth himself, since Ren had been doing so many, he had been surprised when it worked.

He had been pleased when Emerth chose to stalk him back to his study, even admiring the war mage's ability to step back from that edge for a bystander but bring it back just as quickly for danger.

Slowly, it dawned on Theon that Emerth may have been telling the truth, that it wasn't some ploy to draw him from his study so he might be attacked.

Theon swore, bolting from the study. As soon as he stepped out, he heard the shouting. Many voices overlapped as Theon rushed to the entrance hall.

Only to find Emerth holding Trathor back as the dean attempted to lunge for Luk Pan. The man stood unadorned and not carrying any of the markings of his rank. Just Luk-fucking-Pan standing in the entrance hall with a bloodied lip and a bundle of fabric in his arms, fury playing over his features.

His dear, dear friend looked over.

And terror came over Luk's features.

Theon stepped into the fray, and Trathor shouted something else, something about handing 'it' over to him, then fell silent as Theon kept his eyes on Luk's.

He reached out and pulled the fabric back, causing the babe to make a little sniffle of a sound. It began screaming as Theon waited for Luk to explain.

"What is this?" Theon asked.

He didn't know why there was such fury boiling through him. He wanted to lash out at his friend because he knew it was a problem, yet another being dropped in his lap.

"This is..." Luk paled considerably and swallowed.

Theon saw Luk's throat bob as he wondered what it might be like to feel the man's hot blood splash over him. His eyes drifted to the baby, who still screamed and screamed.

As magic filled the entrance.

"Theonson," Luk said, barely above a whisper.

Theon's head snapped up.

"I beg your fucking pardon?" Theon demanded.

His fury came from the screaming bundle of confused rage in Luk's arms. The fight between Trathor and Luk may even have been sparked by it.

"Your bastard," Luk said.

"That is a war mage," Theon said, jabbing a finger at the baby as he closed off his defences as he had practiced for so long.

Those walls had been down because of Emerth's testing, and he hadn't expected a baby, let alone a baby war mage. He had never thought one of them could be so easily identified.