were just having fun. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, but you caught me off guard, and you need to understand that there are times when I can … cause problems … when I get surprised.”
Will’s cheeks grew red.
“I’m sorry,” He said.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Garrick smiled and tousled Will’s hair. The boy complained about it, but Garrick saw he enjoyed it, too, so he did it as often as he could.
“But, please, will you drop the
master
and the
sir
?”
“Yes, sir … er, Garrick,” Will said, giggling again.
The barmaid brought sausage stew, boiled greens, and a loaf of bread.
Both Garrick and Will used the grainy bread to sop up what remained of the stew. When they were finished, Will’s face shone with new color.
“Garrick, sir?”
Garrick glared. “Yes?”
“I mean, Garrick.” Will’s grin was sheepish. “Can you teach me magic?”
Garrick reacted sharply. The boy didn’t know what he was asking. There was no way he was taking on an apprentice now. He glanced around the room. The tavern was filled, but no one seemed to have heard Will’s question.
“That is a conversation we can have someplace more private.”
“News!” a voice bellowed from the center of the room.
The speaker stood in the open center of the room, wearing a tunic of sun-faded cloth with sleeves that were ragged at the shoulders. His breeches were stained with grease. His hair was dark, his eyes so brown they disappeared into the shadows of his pupils. His browned skin, leathered by the sun, marked him as a sailor.
The room hushed.
“There is war in the west,” he announced.
Voices buzzed.
“They say Captain Parathay, a Lectodinian mage, has taken Whitestone and Warville! He’s got an army of hired blades and hundreds of his order at his command, and that by now he’s deep into the Wizardpeaks.”
“How do you know this?” a farmer asked.
“Seen the army with my own eyes, I did. I come fresh from Whitestone on a run of the freight galley
Regent
.”
The storyteller bent at the waist and peered into the crowd.
“The warriors in that city are hardened men. If’n you get in their way they’re likely to cut your throat as they are to hear you out. No man or woman in Whitestone leaves their cabin by moonlight now without being hunted for sport.”
“Ghastly,” a woman said.
The storyteller poked his finger in her direction. “’Deed it is, ma’am. ’Deed it is. But it gets worse than that.”
“Tell on!”
“I’ve not seen this with my own eyes, so I can’t vouch for it personally. But I hear tell stories that a
Koradictine
mage named Jormar el’Mor has another army collected in the northwest, and is running through the Badwall Canyons.”
“A Koradictine?” a man called.
“Magewar?” the woman said.
“’Swhat it sounds like to me. ’Swhat it sounds like, indeed.”
A deep voice interrupted the ensuing clamor.
“No magewar’s brewing today, least not between the orders.”
The voice belonged to a huge man with a bald head and a bristly beard who was sitting at a table along the far side of the room. He was dressed for the hills. A half-eaten slab of meat and a mug of ale sat before him. His sword lay across the table to his left.
“Why say you that, sir?” the storyteller said.
The ranger drank from his mug before speaking.
“Because the orders are working together.”
The room was quiet for an instant, then the storyteller chuckled.
“That’s a fair joke, my friend.”
The bald man shook his head.
“It’s no joke. Take a ride up Caledena way if you think I’m spinning tales. The viceroy is deposed and you’ll find rune-marks of both orders scattered about town.”
The original storyteller shook his head.
“Strange happenings, if that’s true.”
The bald ranger replied, “No stranger than talk of the mad Torean the orders are searching for.”
The air seemed to leave the room, and Garrick’s heart rose to his throat. He glanced at Will, then
Will’s cheeks grew red.
“I’m sorry,” He said.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Garrick smiled and tousled Will’s hair. The boy complained about it, but Garrick saw he enjoyed it, too, so he did it as often as he could.
“But, please, will you drop the
master
and the
sir
?”
“Yes, sir … er, Garrick,” Will said, giggling again.
The barmaid brought sausage stew, boiled greens, and a loaf of bread.
Both Garrick and Will used the grainy bread to sop up what remained of the stew. When they were finished, Will’s face shone with new color.
“Garrick, sir?”
Garrick glared. “Yes?”
“I mean, Garrick.” Will’s grin was sheepish. “Can you teach me magic?”
Garrick reacted sharply. The boy didn’t know what he was asking. There was no way he was taking on an apprentice now. He glanced around the room. The tavern was filled, but no one seemed to have heard Will’s question.
“That is a conversation we can have someplace more private.”
“News!” a voice bellowed from the center of the room.
The speaker stood in the open center of the room, wearing a tunic of sun-faded cloth with sleeves that were ragged at the shoulders. His breeches were stained with grease. His hair was dark, his eyes so brown they disappeared into the shadows of his pupils. His browned skin, leathered by the sun, marked him as a sailor.
The room hushed.
“There is war in the west,” he announced.
Voices buzzed.
“They say Captain Parathay, a Lectodinian mage, has taken Whitestone and Warville! He’s got an army of hired blades and hundreds of his order at his command, and that by now he’s deep into the Wizardpeaks.”
“How do you know this?” a farmer asked.
“Seen the army with my own eyes, I did. I come fresh from Whitestone on a run of the freight galley
Regent
.”
The storyteller bent at the waist and peered into the crowd.
“The warriors in that city are hardened men. If’n you get in their way they’re likely to cut your throat as they are to hear you out. No man or woman in Whitestone leaves their cabin by moonlight now without being hunted for sport.”
“Ghastly,” a woman said.
The storyteller poked his finger in her direction. “’Deed it is, ma’am. ’Deed it is. But it gets worse than that.”
“Tell on!”
“I’ve not seen this with my own eyes, so I can’t vouch for it personally. But I hear tell stories that a
Koradictine
mage named Jormar el’Mor has another army collected in the northwest, and is running through the Badwall Canyons.”
“A Koradictine?” a man called.
“Magewar?” the woman said.
“’Swhat it sounds like to me. ’Swhat it sounds like, indeed.”
A deep voice interrupted the ensuing clamor.
“No magewar’s brewing today, least not between the orders.”
The voice belonged to a huge man with a bald head and a bristly beard who was sitting at a table along the far side of the room. He was dressed for the hills. A half-eaten slab of meat and a mug of ale sat before him. His sword lay across the table to his left.
“Why say you that, sir?” the storyteller said.
The ranger drank from his mug before speaking.
“Because the orders are working together.”
The room was quiet for an instant, then the storyteller chuckled.
“That’s a fair joke, my friend.”
The bald man shook his head.
“It’s no joke. Take a ride up Caledena way if you think I’m spinning tales. The viceroy is deposed and you’ll find rune-marks of both orders scattered about town.”
The original storyteller shook his head.
“Strange happenings, if that’s true.”
The bald ranger replied, “No stranger than talk of the mad Torean the orders are searching for.”
The air seemed to leave the room, and Garrick’s heart rose to his throat. He glanced at Will, then
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