Read Online Night of the Eye by Mary Kirchoff - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mary Kirchoff
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handstogether, he said, “Well, if we’re to converse here, let’s be comfortable.”
With a mumbled word and a wave of his hand, the fire in the furnace dropped away to the tiniest of glows and a cool, refreshing breeze wafted through the shop. Reflexively Guerrand looked back over his shoulder. The door and shutters were still closed and barred, yet the breeze was unmistakably coming from that direction. At the same time, a bench slid out from beneath one of Wilor’s apprentices and skittered across the floor to where the two men stood. The apprentice hung in the air in an impossible posture, suspended over nothing.
The magic only added to Guerrand’s discomfort. He gave a glance to the mannequin-stiff silversmith and his wife, their expressions unchanged. He relaxed slightly and lowered himself onto the bench opposite the mage.
“I feel at a disadvantage in more ways than one. I don’t even know your name.”
“Belize.”
Guerrand waited for him to continue, but the mage simply sat, staring over steepled fingernails. “All right, I’ll ask again. Why have you sought me out? What do you want from me?” His eyes narrowed still further as a dark thought dawned on him. “Do you mean to blackmail me, to tell my brother I secretly practice magic?” Guerrand leaned forward angrily. “If so, I’ll simply deny it! You’ll get nothing from me!”
The mage threw back his head and laughed, a hideous, hiccuping sound, as if his throat were unused to the activity. “That’s too absurd! I know the DiThons are penniless. As if I needed coin.”
“Then why were you speaking to Cormac?”
Instantly, the mage’s expression turned angry-black. “That was other business. Do not speak of it again.”
“Let’s stop boxing,” said Guerrand. “Just tell me, what do you want from me?”
“What I want
for
you would be a more accurate question.”
Gritting his teeth, Guerrand willed patience. After an interminable amount of time, it paid off.
“You must go to the Tower of Wayreth.”
Guerrand could not have been more stunned by the pronouncement. He knew the place to which Belize referred. What hopeful mage did not? In order to learn any advanced magic, one had to go to Wayreth, enter his name on the roll of apprentices, and eventually take the Test. It was rumored to be dangerous. Yet, following any other path branded a mage as an outlaw who could be hunted and destroyed with the endorsement of a ruling council of mages. Once, years ago, Guerrand had considered making the trip. That was when he still thought there was a chance he might study in Gwynned. That hope had long since died.
“Now
you’re
being absurd,” said Guerrand. At that moment, he didn’t care if Belize struck him dead for his impudence.
But the mage was unmoved by the response. “My … observations tell me you have learned as much as you can without a proper master.”
“Do you think so?” The long overdue praise dropped the last vestiges of Guerrand’s guard, even made him overlook the intrusion of being the subject of Belize’s scrutiny. He could scarcely keep the butterflies of excitement from fluttering in his chest. He leaned forward eagerly. “I haven’t had a proper teacher, or any, even.” He laughed giddily. “I’ve taught myself from several spellbooks I found in my father’s library, before he died. Cormac scarcely reads—he never even knew they were there.”
“It’s not uncommon for hopeful mages to come to the tower with very little training. Few have learned as much as you, however. But if you go to Wayreth, you’ll be apprenticed to a learned mage who would teachyou more than you can even imagine now.”
Belize was speaking as if the deed were as good as done! Guerrand had seen apprentices all his life, like those here in Wilor’s shop. As a squire, he was an apprentice of sorts. But he knew little about magical apprenticeship, and even less about the Test.
“What’s the Test like?” he asked, now
With a mumbled word and a wave of his hand, the fire in the furnace dropped away to the tiniest of glows and a cool, refreshing breeze wafted through the shop. Reflexively Guerrand looked back over his shoulder. The door and shutters were still closed and barred, yet the breeze was unmistakably coming from that direction. At the same time, a bench slid out from beneath one of Wilor’s apprentices and skittered across the floor to where the two men stood. The apprentice hung in the air in an impossible posture, suspended over nothing.
The magic only added to Guerrand’s discomfort. He gave a glance to the mannequin-stiff silversmith and his wife, their expressions unchanged. He relaxed slightly and lowered himself onto the bench opposite the mage.
“I feel at a disadvantage in more ways than one. I don’t even know your name.”
“Belize.”
Guerrand waited for him to continue, but the mage simply sat, staring over steepled fingernails. “All right, I’ll ask again. Why have you sought me out? What do you want from me?” His eyes narrowed still further as a dark thought dawned on him. “Do you mean to blackmail me, to tell my brother I secretly practice magic?” Guerrand leaned forward angrily. “If so, I’ll simply deny it! You’ll get nothing from me!”
The mage threw back his head and laughed, a hideous, hiccuping sound, as if his throat were unused to the activity. “That’s too absurd! I know the DiThons are penniless. As if I needed coin.”
“Then why were you speaking to Cormac?”
Instantly, the mage’s expression turned angry-black. “That was other business. Do not speak of it again.”
“Let’s stop boxing,” said Guerrand. “Just tell me, what do you want from me?”
“What I want
for
you would be a more accurate question.”
Gritting his teeth, Guerrand willed patience. After an interminable amount of time, it paid off.
“You must go to the Tower of Wayreth.”
Guerrand could not have been more stunned by the pronouncement. He knew the place to which Belize referred. What hopeful mage did not? In order to learn any advanced magic, one had to go to Wayreth, enter his name on the roll of apprentices, and eventually take the Test. It was rumored to be dangerous. Yet, following any other path branded a mage as an outlaw who could be hunted and destroyed with the endorsement of a ruling council of mages. Once, years ago, Guerrand had considered making the trip. That was when he still thought there was a chance he might study in Gwynned. That hope had long since died.
“Now
you’re
being absurd,” said Guerrand. At that moment, he didn’t care if Belize struck him dead for his impudence.
But the mage was unmoved by the response. “My … observations tell me you have learned as much as you can without a proper master.”
“Do you think so?” The long overdue praise dropped the last vestiges of Guerrand’s guard, even made him overlook the intrusion of being the subject of Belize’s scrutiny. He could scarcely keep the butterflies of excitement from fluttering in his chest. He leaned forward eagerly. “I haven’t had a proper teacher, or any, even.” He laughed giddily. “I’ve taught myself from several spellbooks I found in my father’s library, before he died. Cormac scarcely reads—he never even knew they were there.”
“It’s not uncommon for hopeful mages to come to the tower with very little training. Few have learned as much as you, however. But if you go to Wayreth, you’ll be apprenticed to a learned mage who would teachyou more than you can even imagine now.”
Belize was speaking as if the deed were as good as done! Guerrand had seen apprentices all his life, like those here in Wilor’s shop. As a squire, he was an apprentice of sorts. But he knew little about magical apprenticeship, and even less about the Test.
“What’s the Test like?” he asked, now
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