The Way of the Blade by Stuart Jaffe Page B

magic.”
    “Malja doesn’t have any magic.”
    “When Harskill came, he left the Scarites with enough magic to cause all our troubles. Surely, you have magic with you that can help us defend ourselves.”
    Javery caught a look between Fawbry and Tommy. Before things went in the wrong direction, he waved his hand at them. “Please, I’m sorry. Ignore me. This is a time to relax and drink. I shouldn’t be pestering you with this kind of thing.”
    “It’s not a problem.”
    “Forget my ramblings. Drink yourself full, and I’ll introduce you to Windelly.” He stood, and with a move he hoped didn’t appear choreographed, he turned back and said, “Whatever magic Malja does or doesn’t have, please let her know she should not flash it about. People here can be touchy about magic.”
    Again, he caught the men sharing a look. Fawbry said, “Touchy?”
    Javery returned to his seat and leaned in. “We use magic, but we’ve had it used against us. And we get our magic from the Well. Only the gods like Harskill create magic of their own. Unless you believe in yorqs.”
    “Just an old myth. Horrible creatures made of horns that protect the island of Pali. Back in the old days, men would travel out with the hope of gaining great power. But nobody ever returned. That last part is very true. Even in my lifetime, I’ve seen two men attempt to find the Pali Witch. They leave, but never come back. So, you have to be beyond desperation to go. Maybe if Malja rejects us, we’ll reach that point. For now, we hope to fight the Scarites without the hand of a witch.”
    He couldn’t be sure how effective this talk had been, but he had learned long ago that good politics often were achieved by sowing seeds early. And when the decision would come in one day, the night before was as early as he could manage. Tapping his hands on the table, he said, “Come. Let’s go meet that fine girl.”
     
     
     

Chapter 7
    Malja
     
    Javery had arranged for Malja to enjoy a private room and for Fawbry and Tommy to share one down the hall. Malja’s accommodations included a wide bed that floated a foot off the floor, a circular table made of wood, and two candles that hovered high enough to spread light everywhere one needed. On the table, Malja saw a basket filled with fruit — at least, Malja thought it was fruit because she recognized an apple. It might have been a backhanded slight, but she didn’t care. It looked delicious.
    At first, she had been unable to move in the room. It was too refined for her. She wanted a tent and a campfire. But it was more than that. She couldn’t stop thinking about the wellspiker and how it had fixated on Tommy. Javery had assured her that wellspikers were loners, and the likelihood that another would be in the area anytime soon was remote. But remote didn’t mean impossible.
    Under other circumstances, she would have asked for rooms on one of the floating farms, but with all that had happened — especially Fawbry and Tommy’s theft — she thought such a request would be a bad move. Instead, she’d have to be vigilant on Tommy’s behalf.
    From the fruit basket, she snatched the apple and sat on the edge of the bed. The air cushioning the hay-filled mattress made Malja think of clouds. No way could she sleep on that. The wood floor would serve her much better.
    A single bite of the apple electrified her taste buds and flooded her mind with images of long ago. She saw Uncle Gregor, the man who had saved her from dying in the woods and raised her as his own, and she recalled how they would pick apples together — eating them, baking them, even fermenting them. But she also pictured Harskill — for he had introduced her to the people she had come from. Well, the idea of the people, at least. Other than Harskill, Malja had yet to meet another Gate, but she expected to do so soon enough. If even half of what he had told her contained any truth, her people would take notice of the flagrant meddling