The Thief Who Spat In Luck's Good Eye Read Free Page B

sergeant as Holgren and I strolled. The old campaigner kept trying to rest his hand on a nonexistent sword pommel as he barked commands.
    “ You see those weapons?” asked Holgren. “They are the future of warfare.”
    I laughed. “Those are toys. The only way to kill someone with an arquebus is to beat them with it. A good bowman could kill five times over in the time it takes just to load one.”
    “ Ah, but how long does it take to become that good with a bow? Five years? Ten? One can become proficient with firearms in a matter of weeks. Someday they will be perfected; their rate of fire, range, and accuracy will be improved. People will die by the thousands without ever seeing their foe.” He put a friendly arm around my shoulder. “Inventions such as these will be what drives the world, Amra, not magic.” He stopped and looked at me with those piercing eyes of his.
    “ I want to tell you a secret,” he said.
    “ All right.”
    “ Magic is fading. The most powerful mages today cannot do half of what mages even a century ago could. Two thousand years ago wars such as the one that destroyed Thagoth were commonplace. Entire empires were laid waste in a matter of days. Now, the Laws of Thaumaturgy are being superseded by the laws of the physical world. Who knows how long it will be before magic disappears completely?”
    “ You sound almost cheerful about it.”
    “ Do I? Perhaps I am. Since I am in the secret-telling mood, I’ll tell you another. I’ve never particularly liked being a mage.”
    “ You’re kidding me.”
    “ Truly. Once Yvoust was dead, I lost the interest I’d had in the Art. What else was I to do, though? I spent a decade trying to find some way out of the doom I’d created for myself. There were none—none I’d consider satisfactory, at any rate. By that time, it was the only profession I knew.”
    “ Wait. You’re saying there are other solutions to your problem besides haring off to Thagoth?”
    “ No, I’m not. Believe me, the cures I found were all worse than the disease.” He stopped and turned to face me directly. “I have a bit more research and preparation to do. You won’t see me for a few days. Will you prepare what we will need for two weeks in the field?”
    “ How long do I have?”
    “ Four days.”
    “ All right. Will we need pack animals?”
    “ No. I wouldn’t want to try to gate them as well as us.”
    “ I’ll have it all ready.”
    “ Thank you. Sincerely, Amra.”
    “ You’re welcome.”
    He walked away then, a tall, almost gangly man in funereal black, black hair swept into a ponytail secured with a black velvet ribbon. Holgren had never much been one for fashion.
    I walked a while on the Promenade, staring at the houses, trying to imagine what sort of “cures” he might have found in the past, and how they could be worse than some demon keeping your soul as a plaything for eternity.
    My imagination wasn’t up to the task.
     
    Holgren appeared at dawn on the fourth day. We lugged the packs down my narrow wooden stairs to the carriage waiting below. It was a gray, foggy morning. The driver looked like a wraith perched on the front of the carriage; the horse, with tendrils of breath writhing from his nostrils, looked like a nightmare.
    “ Where are we going?” I asked.
    “ Just outside the city proper. There’s a sparse grove of alders a short distance off the Jacos Road. It’s a suitable place to open a gate—not too distant, and no dwellings within a mile.”
    “ Afraid you might cause some destruction?”
    “ No. I’ve already told you there is no possible danger to anyone but myself. I simply don’t want to attract attention.”
    I grunted, and tried to find a comfortable position. I intended to sleep the carriage ride away if possible. I’ve never been much of a morning person.
    Sleep was a vain hope. The best of Lucernis’s streets were far from smooth, and the carriage bounced and jostled us brutally. I don’t know if it was