Magician Read Free Page A

door harder than he intended.
    He turned, taking in the scene before him. The interior of the cottage was a small single room. Against one wall was the fireplace, with a good-size hearth before it. A bright, cheery fire burned, casting a warm glow. Next to the fireplace a table sat, behind which a heavyset, yellow-robed figure rested on a bench. His grey hair and beard nearly covered his entire head, except for a pair of vivid blue eyes that twinkled in the firelight. A long pipe emerged from the beard, producing heroic clouds of pale smoke.
    Pug knew the man. “Master Kulgan … ,” he began, for the man was the Duke’s magician and adviser, a familiar face around the castle keep.
    Kulgan leveled a gaze at Pug, then said in a deep voice, given to rich rolling sounds and powerful tones, “So you know me, then?”
    â€œYes, sir. From the castle.”
    â€œWhat is your name, boy from the keep?”
    â€œPug, Master Kulgan.”
    â€œNow I remember you.” The magician absently waved his hand. “Do not call me ‘Master,’ Pug—though I am rightly called a master of my arts,” he said with a merry crinkling around his eyes. “I am higher-born than you, it is true, but not by much. Come, there is a blanket hanging by the fire, and you are drenched. Hang your clothes to dry, then sit there.” He pointed to a bench opposite him.
    Pug did as he was bid, keeping an eye on the magician the entire time. He was a member of the Duke’s court, but still a magician, an object of suspicion, generally held in low esteem by the common folk. If a farmer had a cow calve a monster, or blight strike the crops, villagers were apt to ascribe it to the work of some magician lurking in nearby shadows. In times not too far past they would have stoned Kulgan from Crydee as like as not. His position with the Duke earned him the tolerance of the townsfolk now, but old fears died slowly.
    After his garments were hung, Pug sat down. He started when he saw a pair of red eyes regarding him from just beyond the magician’s table. A scaled head rose up above the tabletop and studied the boy.
    Kulgan laughed at the boy’s discomfort. “Come, boy. Fantus will not eat you.” He dropped his hand to the head of the creature, who sat next to him on his bench, and rubbed above its eye ridges. It closed its eyes and gave forth a soft crooning sound, not unlike the purring of a cat.
    Pug shut his mouth, which had popped open with surprise, then asked, “Is he truly a dragon, sir?”
    The magician laughed, a rich, good-natured sound. “Betimes he thinks he is, boy. Fantus is a firedrake, cousin to the dragon, though of smaller stature.” The creature opened one eye and fastened it on the magician. “But of equal heart,” Kulgan quickly added, and the drake closed his eye again. Kulgan spoke softly, in conspiratorial tones. “He is very clever, so mind what you say to him. He is a creature of finely fashioned sensibilities.”
    Pug nodded that he would. “Can he breathe fire?” he asked, eyes wide with wonder. To any boy of thirteen, even a cousin to a dragon was worthy of awe.
    â€œWhen the mood suits him, he can belch out a flame or two, though he seems rarely in the mood. I think it is due to the rich diet I supply him with, boy. He has not had to hunt for years, so he is something out of practice in the ways of drakes. In truth, I spoil him shamelessly.”
    Pug found the notion somehow reassuring. If the magician cared enough to spoil this creature, no matter how outlandish, then he seemed somehow more human, less mysterious. Pug studied Fantus, admiring how the fire brought golden highlights to his emerald scales. About the size of a small hound, the drake possessed a long, sinuous neck atop which rested an alligatorlike head. His wings were folded across his back, and two clawed feet extended before him, aimlessly pawing the air, while Kulgan