A Tapestry of Spells Read Free

village of Doìre lay to the south in the county of Shettlestoune, which found itself comfortably to the south of anywhere else. It lurked close enough to the kingdom of Neroche that the occasional bit of reluctant trade was possible, but far enough away that undesirables generally found the trek north to be just too much trouble. The kingdom of Meith to the west was not so arduously reached, but that was countered nicely by the enthusiastic guarding of Meith’s border by hardened soldiers with very sharp swords, which tended to discourage any but the most desperate of lads determined to attempt a trip into more welcoming territory.
    Shettlestoune was a place where men with secrets went to hide and women with aspirations of a decent future tried to escape as soon as possible. Villages were few and far between, taverns were rough, and local constabularies more than willing to find the relentlessly sunny skies more interesting than whatever mischief might have been going on under their noses.
    It was also quite possibly the most unrelentingly bland landscape in all of the Nine Kingdoms.
    Urchaid of too many places to name acknowledged the truth of that as he eyed with disfavor the flora and fauna, such as it was, that huddled nervously beyond the boundaries of the one-street village he was wandering in. Traveling in the south was always tedious, but he’d found himself, against all sense, blown down from more civilized countries on an ill wind that seemed reluctant to let him go.
    He checked his sleeves briefly, tugged at a bit of lace that had somehow become tucked where it couldn’t be seen, then smoothed his hair back from his face. At least it could be said that no matter where he went, he traveled there well dressed. Perhaps he should have continued on a bit longer on wing, as it were, and spared himself even a few hours’ worth of travel stains, but he’d been interested in what was being whispered in the trees. There was something afoot, something untoward. Given that the only thing that intrigued him more than a well-stocked haberdasher was an evil spell, it had been worth the trouble to settle back into his usual form before dawn.
    There were those, he had to admit, who found his magical preferences distasteful, but fortunately for him those lads were either locked up in the schools of wizardry or doing good whilst sitting on some kingly throne or another in countries he tried his damndest to avoid.
    He hated do-gooders.
    He tried to counter their efforts as often as possible, though he couldn’t say his current journey had anything to do with that. It had merely been the result of nothing more villainous than a bit of eavesdropping. He’d heard rumors of magic, magic he hadn’t heard discussed in years, springing up in unexpected places. What else could he do but see for himself if those rumors were true?
    He walked into the only pub in town, a decent-looking place as far as rustic pubs in the midst of hell went, then found a relatively comfortable seat by the fire and waited patiently for someone to come take his order.
    He waited without success until he realized he was still wearing a spell of invisibility. He frowned and removed it with a snap of his fingers, which had the added benefit of drawing the attention of the lone barmaid. She looked every bit as wholesome and well fed as he’d expected a local country miss might. Whatever else they did in the south, they certainly didn’t forget to eat. At least she was quick about her business and remembered to deliver exactly what he’d ordered.
    He sipped his ale hesitantly, then found to his great surprise that it was eminently drinkable. He sat back in his chair, stretched his long legs out and crossed his feet at the ankles, then amused himself by looking at the patrons who had wandered in for an early-morning constitutional.
    Thieves, liars, cheaters—and those were the more upstanding souls gathered there. The few honest ones stood out like gold