adolescence. His complexion was ruddy, only several shades lighter than his robe; the skin hung loose upon the bones. The irises of his eyes were so large and dark they seemed to blot out any white, making them look as beady as a bird’s. Above them were two thick, black, short, straight brows, like dashes. His chin was covered with the small, perfect triangle of a goatee. His pearl-shapedhead was shaved smooth, though a shadowy stubble ringed his head in a perfect wreath.
“It’s amazing what he’s able to accomplish through skill and craft alone.” Thin, tapered fingers with inch-long, red-tipped nails took the pommel from Guerrand’s sweaty palm. “One can only imagine what Wilor could make if he could wield the powers we do.”
The mage’s voice was almost too soft for even Guerrand to hear. Still, the youth looked about the shop anxiously. “I don’t know what you mean—I know nothing about magic,” he hissed.
The mage’s thick eyebrows raised. “Strange that you should assume I was speaking of magic.”
Guerrand flushed. He hadn’t meant to sound defensive. He knew he shouldn’t be speaking to the mage at all. Guerrand looked toward Wilor and frowned. The smith and his wife were still fussing over his package. “I’ve some other errands to run, Wilor,” he called, heading for the door before the smith could respond. “I’ll just stop back later.”
“I hear congratulations are in order, Guerrand,” the mage pressed.
The young man paused long enough to say, “Thank you.”
“You must be sorry to give up your dreams of magic to become a knight. I expect you’re not very good at soldiering.”
Guerrand whirled on the mage, his face livid. “I don’t know who you are or why you think you know so much about me, but you’re wrong.”
“About you being a lackluster cavalier?” The mage shook his shaved head mildly. “I don’t think so.”
“You know what I’m talking about!”
“Yes, but do you?”
The conversation was quickly getting out of control. Guerrand had to end it. The apprentices were starting to take notice. “
If
I was interested in speaking withyou, which I’m not, I couldn’t do it here in the middle of a village shop.”
“Yes, your brother is not enamored of mages, is he? Word would surely get back to him.” He tapped his whiskered chin in thought. “That’s easily taken care of.” The mage snapped his finger. In the blink of an eye, Wilor, his wife, and the apprentices all fell absolutely still, as if frozen in time. With a loud crash, the awnings dropped and slammed closed, cutting off the view to the street. A length of wood banged down, bolting both the door and the awnings from the inside.
“There,” said the mage with satisfaction. “That ought to keep the gossips at bay for a while.”
Guerrand was intrigued and annoyed at the same time. But he was more intrigued. “How did you do that?”
“Don’t be coy with me, Guerrand. I’m quite certain you know the answer.” He replaced the pommel in the empty space on the shelf. “You’re capable of mastering such simple spells, if you haven’t already.”
Guerrand’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know so much about me—and why?”
The mage’s eyebrows raised in obvious amusement. “Those are two entirely different questions. Which would you have me answer first?”
Guerrand shrugged, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. “I guess you’ve used magic to learn about me. What I can’t figure out is why.”
“As you wish.” He looked about the small, hot shop with undisguised disgust and wiped his brow on a long, red cuff. “Why do people work in such unpleasant conditions, when there is magic? But then, one might ask why, when there is magic, they work at all.”
“Magic can’t do everything!” spat Guerrand, feeling strangely defensive for the honest shopkeepers of Thonvil.
“Can’t it?” The mage looked surprised, as if the possibility had never occurred to him. Brushing his
“It’s amazing what he’s able to accomplish through skill and craft alone.” Thin, tapered fingers with inch-long, red-tipped nails took the pommel from Guerrand’s sweaty palm. “One can only imagine what Wilor could make if he could wield the powers we do.”
The mage’s voice was almost too soft for even Guerrand to hear. Still, the youth looked about the shop anxiously. “I don’t know what you mean—I know nothing about magic,” he hissed.
The mage’s thick eyebrows raised. “Strange that you should assume I was speaking of magic.”
Guerrand flushed. He hadn’t meant to sound defensive. He knew he shouldn’t be speaking to the mage at all. Guerrand looked toward Wilor and frowned. The smith and his wife were still fussing over his package. “I’ve some other errands to run, Wilor,” he called, heading for the door before the smith could respond. “I’ll just stop back later.”
“I hear congratulations are in order, Guerrand,” the mage pressed.
The young man paused long enough to say, “Thank you.”
“You must be sorry to give up your dreams of magic to become a knight. I expect you’re not very good at soldiering.”
Guerrand whirled on the mage, his face livid. “I don’t know who you are or why you think you know so much about me, but you’re wrong.”
“About you being a lackluster cavalier?” The mage shook his shaved head mildly. “I don’t think so.”
“You know what I’m talking about!”
“Yes, but do you?”
The conversation was quickly getting out of control. Guerrand had to end it. The apprentices were starting to take notice. “
If
I was interested in speaking withyou, which I’m not, I couldn’t do it here in the middle of a village shop.”
“Yes, your brother is not enamored of mages, is he? Word would surely get back to him.” He tapped his whiskered chin in thought. “That’s easily taken care of.” The mage snapped his finger. In the blink of an eye, Wilor, his wife, and the apprentices all fell absolutely still, as if frozen in time. With a loud crash, the awnings dropped and slammed closed, cutting off the view to the street. A length of wood banged down, bolting both the door and the awnings from the inside.
“There,” said the mage with satisfaction. “That ought to keep the gossips at bay for a while.”
Guerrand was intrigued and annoyed at the same time. But he was more intrigued. “How did you do that?”
“Don’t be coy with me, Guerrand. I’m quite certain you know the answer.” He replaced the pommel in the empty space on the shelf. “You’re capable of mastering such simple spells, if you haven’t already.”
Guerrand’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know so much about me—and why?”
The mage’s eyebrows raised in obvious amusement. “Those are two entirely different questions. Which would you have me answer first?”
Guerrand shrugged, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. “I guess you’ve used magic to learn about me. What I can’t figure out is why.”
“As you wish.” He looked about the small, hot shop with undisguised disgust and wiped his brow on a long, red cuff. “Why do people work in such unpleasant conditions, when there is magic? But then, one might ask why, when there is magic, they work at all.”
“Magic can’t do everything!” spat Guerrand, feeling strangely defensive for the honest shopkeepers of Thonvil.
“Can’t it?” The mage looked surprised, as if the possibility had never occurred to him. Brushing his
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