Read Online Glamour of the God-Touched by Ron Collins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ron Collins
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pointed to the menu Evo had chalked on
the wall earlier.
Garrick liked the Koradictine less every
moment.
He hated the air of superiority that came
with every Koradictine, the air that marked the order as
certainly as that garish crimson vest did. He despised the aura of
control the mage conveyed, and absolutely loathed the wiry patch of
a beard the Koradictine was failing to grow.
It was all disgusting.
What was it about Koradictines today,
anyway? Garrick had been in Dorfort for less than an hour, and he
had already seen enough crimson to last a lifetime.
Made him sick to his stomach.
In truth, Garrick knew little about the
orders—only that Lectodinians and Koradictines had very different
ideas about how magic should be done, and that they detested each
other. Their only area of agreement was that independent Toreans
were the scourge of the plane, and that Torean wizards should, at
best, be ignored.
He scowled and gripped the edge of the
counter.
Garrick would alert Alistair to the
Koradictines’ numbers later this evening, and if his superior was
feeling talkative enough he might teach Garrick something more. If
not, then Alistair would file the information away to index against
other reports, and it would come back to Garrick later.
The Koradictine finished ordering and, as
Arianna turned to leave, he pinched her high on her hip.
She jumped and batted playfully at him as
she walked away.
Heat rose to Garrick’s cheeks. Was she
actually encouraging this lout?
As Arianna neared, though, her face grew
dark, her jaw set at a firm angle, and her step grew purposeful.
She stalked toward the back to give Evo the mage’s order, and as
she came to Garrick’s place she paused and spoke in a low, firm
tone.
“Just don’t get caught,” she said.
The doors swung stiffly shut behind her.
Garrick and the Koradictine exchanged grins in
the way men do when they think women aren’t watching.
To the Koradictine, Garrick was probably
just some young punk, eighteen or nineteen. Maybe older. Garrick
was thinner than most his age, and a shade taller, a combination
that made him feel awkward. His dirty-blond hair was pulled off his
face for travel, making his features even more peculiar. He wore a
simple cloth shirt and riding breeches that were frayed and scuffed
by long use—not that he ever dressed for much otherwise. Even if
the Koradictine was aware of Garrick’s apprenticehood, he would
probably not have cared. And, even if he had already been
triggered, Garrick was a mere Torean —an annoyance at
best.
He stood at the counter, feeling the
pressure of Arianna’s comment and the Koradictine’s smugness. It
was time to defend his woman’s honor, time to make this Koradictine
into the fool he most certainly was.
He would have to be careful, of course. The
Koradictine could not know what had happened or things could get
out of hand—and Garrick most certainly didn’t want to cause a big
enough furor that it got back to Alistair. His superior would be
livid if he found Garrick playing pranks on a mage of the order, so
he would have to be sly. But Garrick could link to the plane of
magic, and he had a few useful little spells at his disposal. He
was sure he could manage it.
As he reached for his link, Garrick focused
on the Koradictine’s ale. The honey-sweet taste of magestuff pooled
in his thoughts and wicked up through his gates until it was ready
to go.
The mage brought the mug to his lips.
Garrick lidded his eyes and concentrated on
the essence of the mug, then the ale. He imagined a hole in the
ceramic just below the mage’s lip. He pictured a fine stream of
amber liquid dribbling out of the hole to splash over the
Koradictine’s vest. “ Ajero, ” he whispered while at the same
time twisting a finger.
The flow of magic burned through his
link.
The mug shattered with a resounding crack,
pieces of ceramic flying in every direction. Amber liquid
splattered across the table and—with the best
the wall earlier.
Garrick liked the Koradictine less every
moment.
He hated the air of superiority that came
with every Koradictine, the air that marked the order as
certainly as that garish crimson vest did. He despised the aura of
control the mage conveyed, and absolutely loathed the wiry patch of
a beard the Koradictine was failing to grow.
It was all disgusting.
What was it about Koradictines today,
anyway? Garrick had been in Dorfort for less than an hour, and he
had already seen enough crimson to last a lifetime.
Made him sick to his stomach.
In truth, Garrick knew little about the
orders—only that Lectodinians and Koradictines had very different
ideas about how magic should be done, and that they detested each
other. Their only area of agreement was that independent Toreans
were the scourge of the plane, and that Torean wizards should, at
best, be ignored.
He scowled and gripped the edge of the
counter.
Garrick would alert Alistair to the
Koradictines’ numbers later this evening, and if his superior was
feeling talkative enough he might teach Garrick something more. If
not, then Alistair would file the information away to index against
other reports, and it would come back to Garrick later.
The Koradictine finished ordering and, as
Arianna turned to leave, he pinched her high on her hip.
She jumped and batted playfully at him as
she walked away.
Heat rose to Garrick’s cheeks. Was she
actually encouraging this lout?
As Arianna neared, though, her face grew
dark, her jaw set at a firm angle, and her step grew purposeful.
She stalked toward the back to give Evo the mage’s order, and as
she came to Garrick’s place she paused and spoke in a low, firm
tone.
“Just don’t get caught,” she said.
The doors swung stiffly shut behind her.
Garrick and the Koradictine exchanged grins in
the way men do when they think women aren’t watching.
To the Koradictine, Garrick was probably
just some young punk, eighteen or nineteen. Maybe older. Garrick
was thinner than most his age, and a shade taller, a combination
that made him feel awkward. His dirty-blond hair was pulled off his
face for travel, making his features even more peculiar. He wore a
simple cloth shirt and riding breeches that were frayed and scuffed
by long use—not that he ever dressed for much otherwise. Even if
the Koradictine was aware of Garrick’s apprenticehood, he would
probably not have cared. And, even if he had already been
triggered, Garrick was a mere Torean —an annoyance at
best.
He stood at the counter, feeling the
pressure of Arianna’s comment and the Koradictine’s smugness. It
was time to defend his woman’s honor, time to make this Koradictine
into the fool he most certainly was.
He would have to be careful, of course. The
Koradictine could not know what had happened or things could get
out of hand—and Garrick most certainly didn’t want to cause a big
enough furor that it got back to Alistair. His superior would be
livid if he found Garrick playing pranks on a mage of the order, so
he would have to be sly. But Garrick could link to the plane of
magic, and he had a few useful little spells at his disposal. He
was sure he could manage it.
As he reached for his link, Garrick focused
on the Koradictine’s ale. The honey-sweet taste of magestuff pooled
in his thoughts and wicked up through his gates until it was ready
to go.
The mage brought the mug to his lips.
Garrick lidded his eyes and concentrated on
the essence of the mug, then the ale. He imagined a hole in the
ceramic just below the mage’s lip. He pictured a fine stream of
amber liquid dribbling out of the hole to splash over the
Koradictine’s vest. “ Ajero, ” he whispered while at the same
time twisting a finger.
The flow of magic burned through his
link.
The mug shattered with a resounding crack,
pieces of ceramic flying in every direction. Amber liquid
splattered across the table and—with the best
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