Perhaps our father had prepared for the day his younger brother turned traitor. Watching Lorn, I give thought to that likelihood. Clearly Lorn had no hand in our father joining Enris and me, and thus is this magic something he is unable to manipulate. This is an advantage. Clearly also the joining had displeased Lorn when he learned of it, and it still did. This, too, is to our advantage.
There is also a chance, of course, that it catapulted Lorn into his devious plans. He hoped to have his son Brandt on the throne before Enris and I made our stand. That advantage is Lorn’s, for he knows the kind of detail we are only able to guess at.
Right now, the point of this trap is to keep us from our father. It means he is still well enough to cause issues of succession for Lorn. Well, we shall see who will be seeing whom soon.
I squeeze Enris’ fist. “Keep it strong,” I whisper and sense rather than see his nod. Releasing our hold, I step aside. “Gennerin, aim for his feet.”
It occurs to me a sorcerer is ever protected by a personal shield, but few think to guard their feet.
“Iniri, I must have words,” Lorn states.
He is uncertain of my actions. He cannot hear me, but he sees my movements. Thus I shall keep his attention focused on me. I step into position alongside Enris, thereby blocking Gennerin from view. I hope the man is swift and silent; I shall gift him greater cover.
“Where is our father, Lorn?” I demand loudly, flapping my hands in a beseeching manner. “Please. Our father needs us.”
“Lorn, is it? No more ‘uncle’?”
“You lost the connection of family when you poisoned our father!” Enris growled.
Excellent. He has shifted Lorn’s attention … as Commander Athol Gennerin acts decisively for the future of the Ilfin.