67 The Wrong Man

No sooner had he silenced the old man than he heard the sound of slow clapping behind him. Gavadiol whirled around and his blood ran cold. Standing in the corner dressed in black robes, and a cape covering his waist length gray hair was a tall, ancient looking fellow. The same character Gavadiol had seen in his dream that night back in the woods in Pergia! Somehow, he knew who this was even though he had never met him before. He realized he was finally about to make the acquaintance of the famed Nordveka. “You know, I wondered if you'll never come.” He drawled. Gavadiol did not waste time. He turned and lunged at the man but the ancient sorcerer merely flicked a finger and the young prince found himself lifted by an invisible power and slammed back into the opposite wall with such force that it simply left him stunned, his sword clattering and of his hands. Sorrentino burst into the room at that point and took in the situation with one glance. “Gavadiol!” He called and rushe