He felt a sensation of warmth flow into him and channel along his arm—then flame erupted from his fingers, enveloping both the candle and the hand that held it.
Instantly, Medart broke his concentration. The candle was burning, but it was sagging, and the Traiti's hand was reddened.
Chavvorth blew out the candle, his expression bemused, and put it down. "That was more … dramatic than I had expected, Ranger."
"A hell of a lot more than I expected," Medart said. "Let me see your hand."
The Traiti obeyed. Medart took it, concentrating again—but this time it was a familiar, trained ability he called on. Redness faded, vanished; he released the hand. "There. You should be okay now."
Chavvorth flexed his fingers, extending and retracting his claws. "It is fine—but that was not a spell."
"Nope. That was psionic Talent, a rare but perfectly normal ability."
"So is mage-power, here," Ariel put in. "I'd like to stay and talk, but the spell-reaction's getting me to the point I can't function much longer. Why don't you two go someplace comfortable and keep getting acquainted while I recuperate? Chavvorth can brief you on the Sandemans as well as I could, James."
"Jim's fine—sounds good to me. Captain?"
"I am agreeable." Chavvorth turned to one of his officers. "Lieutenant Dawson, you have the con."