Read Online The Wizard's Treasure (The Dragon Nimbus) by Irene Radford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Irene Radford
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the mudflats and they’ll burn you all for magicians.”
“They wouldn’t dare.” Aquilla whirled around and faced Jack, eyes wide with horror.
“They’d dare. One of them just accused me of witchcraft because I failed to pursue a woman he chose to question. Her only crime seemed to be that she was single and spoke with a foreign accent.” Just like Katrina. “The sniffer had no evidence; no complaints against her; nothing. He just ‘smelled’ magic in her vicinity.”
“Tomorrow there will be another hundred witch-sniffers in the capital. I’m to retrieve them from the port at high tide.” Aquilla’s face drained of color.
“Make sure your mopplewogger stays hidden belowdecks.”
“Always do. But, Jack, what are we going to do? Pretty soon there will be more witch-sniffers than mundanes in the city.”
“That is going to present a problem.”
CHAPTER 7
V areena sat before the sparkling fire in the central hearth, contemplating her fate. Not long now. She’d miss Farrell when he passed on. But his death gave her a chance at freedom.
Freedom.
She tasted the word and liked the feel of it in her mouth and her spirit.
Rain spat upon the flames through the smoke hole in the thatched roof. One of the glowing splinters of wood on the edge of the blaze sputtered and died. She didn’t bother reigniting it. It had withered to mostly ash now anyway. Like Farrell.
Her spindle lay idle at her feet. She just could not concentrate on keeping her threads smooth and free of slubs while the storm raged and her ghost sat alone up in the abandoned monastery.
He’d pass soon. The fever had returned yesterday, stronger than before. He had no interest in cartes, or tales, or even the chicken stew with pickled beets. A part of her heart sobbed with the coming grief.
But his passing would give her freedom. She fingered the silver amulet through the protective cloth of her shift. Her father and brothers must never find it. They’d confiscate it and sell it for sure. In their eyes women had no rights and could own nothing but the dowry determined at her coming of age.
She’d take her two cows and three chickens with her.
In the outside world, women could own property and select their own husbands. Farrell had promised her that as well as the three acres in Nunio.
Neither she nor her ghost understood what had brought him here to the sanctuary of the monastery. He had wandered in two years ago, seeking a night’s shelter after becoming separated from a trading caravan that was headed for the pass into SeLenicca. After that first night he had not been able to leave. He did not remember dying.
She only knew that he brightened her lonely days, made her feel useful and important. And now he offered her freedom.
At a price. His death.
The wind howled around her father’s cottage. Vareena shivered and drew her shawl closer about her. She should have gone to the ancient monastery hours ago. Farrell needed her. He felt the cold so acutely. She would take him her extra blanket though he usually refused the little comforts she offered. She should have gone to him before noon, as she usually did. But the storm had come upon them quickly and she had been hard pressed to get the villagers, sheep, and plow steeds under shelter. Already the creek threatened to flood.
The ghost needed her. She sensed him passing into his next existence, finally. He’d lingered between this world and the void for two years, neither here nor there. Neither alive nor dead. A nameless man—he’d admitted that Farrell was but the name of his boyhood hero, a man he wished to emulate—lost to his loved ones. Only Vareena cared for him. Cared about him.
No one, not even a ghost deserved to die alone. Over the years she’d sat beside five other ghosts as they finally gave up this existence. None of them had lasted more than two years. She’d been only seven when she sat the death watch with her first ghost. Her mother had died
“They wouldn’t dare.” Aquilla whirled around and faced Jack, eyes wide with horror.
“They’d dare. One of them just accused me of witchcraft because I failed to pursue a woman he chose to question. Her only crime seemed to be that she was single and spoke with a foreign accent.” Just like Katrina. “The sniffer had no evidence; no complaints against her; nothing. He just ‘smelled’ magic in her vicinity.”
“Tomorrow there will be another hundred witch-sniffers in the capital. I’m to retrieve them from the port at high tide.” Aquilla’s face drained of color.
“Make sure your mopplewogger stays hidden belowdecks.”
“Always do. But, Jack, what are we going to do? Pretty soon there will be more witch-sniffers than mundanes in the city.”
“That is going to present a problem.”
CHAPTER 7
V areena sat before the sparkling fire in the central hearth, contemplating her fate. Not long now. She’d miss Farrell when he passed on. But his death gave her a chance at freedom.
Freedom.
She tasted the word and liked the feel of it in her mouth and her spirit.
Rain spat upon the flames through the smoke hole in the thatched roof. One of the glowing splinters of wood on the edge of the blaze sputtered and died. She didn’t bother reigniting it. It had withered to mostly ash now anyway. Like Farrell.
Her spindle lay idle at her feet. She just could not concentrate on keeping her threads smooth and free of slubs while the storm raged and her ghost sat alone up in the abandoned monastery.
He’d pass soon. The fever had returned yesterday, stronger than before. He had no interest in cartes, or tales, or even the chicken stew with pickled beets. A part of her heart sobbed with the coming grief.
But his passing would give her freedom. She fingered the silver amulet through the protective cloth of her shift. Her father and brothers must never find it. They’d confiscate it and sell it for sure. In their eyes women had no rights and could own nothing but the dowry determined at her coming of age.
She’d take her two cows and three chickens with her.
In the outside world, women could own property and select their own husbands. Farrell had promised her that as well as the three acres in Nunio.
Neither she nor her ghost understood what had brought him here to the sanctuary of the monastery. He had wandered in two years ago, seeking a night’s shelter after becoming separated from a trading caravan that was headed for the pass into SeLenicca. After that first night he had not been able to leave. He did not remember dying.
She only knew that he brightened her lonely days, made her feel useful and important. And now he offered her freedom.
At a price. His death.
The wind howled around her father’s cottage. Vareena shivered and drew her shawl closer about her. She should have gone to the ancient monastery hours ago. Farrell needed her. He felt the cold so acutely. She would take him her extra blanket though he usually refused the little comforts she offered. She should have gone to him before noon, as she usually did. But the storm had come upon them quickly and she had been hard pressed to get the villagers, sheep, and plow steeds under shelter. Already the creek threatened to flood.
The ghost needed her. She sensed him passing into his next existence, finally. He’d lingered between this world and the void for two years, neither here nor there. Neither alive nor dead. A nameless man—he’d admitted that Farrell was but the name of his boyhood hero, a man he wished to emulate—lost to his loved ones. Only Vareena cared for him. Cared about him.
No one, not even a ghost deserved to die alone. Over the years she’d sat beside five other ghosts as they finally gave up this existence. None of them had lasted more than two years. She’d been only seven when she sat the death watch with her first ghost. Her mother had died
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