Dreams of Steel - Part 12

Yay, the end of a section!  In this part, I changed the word "miracle" to "apparition" because it's supposed to be kinda scary, and the word miracle doesn't come across as scary to me, like, ever.  The next section mentions Mikhon Tiq, Derguín's friend who shared in the lashing incident.  Stay tuned!

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"What's wrong, Shayre?"

Something splashed on his back.  Kratos turned.  In the washbasin, the water was rising in waves, and these broke and rippled into smaller ones, until a miniature tempest shook the bowl.  Those tiny swells took shape and carved a human face that opened its mouth to speak.

Kratos moved back in fright.  But a voice that sounded like bubbles of crystal bursting in the air spoke.

Do not fear, Kratos. I am Yatom...

Kratos leaned his head over the washbasin and recognized the face formed of water.  It was Yatom, the ancient sorcerer who had saved him from the corueco.

"I recognize you, Master Yatom," he replied, without getting too close.  "What do you want of me?"

You must go to the Boar’s Hoof, in the village of Banta, and train a young warrior.

"But I do not know if I can leave Mígranz..."

It is essential.  The fate of the kingdoms now depends on us.  Will you do it?

"I swore you my obedience.  For what do I have to train him?"

For him to become the next Zemalnit.

Kratos's heart missed a beat.  What the sorcerer asked was to face the wrath of Aperión for the interests of a stranger.

"What is the name of this warrior?"

Gorión.  Derguín Gorión.  I have little time remaining.  You must deal with my brother Linar.  Goodbye, Kratos.

The voice faded out as Yatom's face dissolved into the last waves of the water.  Behind him, Kratos heard a moan.  He turned just in time to pick up Shayre before she collapsed.  He carried her to bed in his arms, but the desire for her naked body had abandoned him.  That apparition had scared him, as did everything related to the mages; but what truly terrified him was what he had to do next.  I swore a vow and have no choice but to comply, he said.  But what was it that restricted his throat?  Was it just apprehension, or the cold of the steel blade that might await him?