from Cothromaiche gave him pause. He didnât know their spells, but he knew what they could do.
He didnât fancy life as a rock.
Given that was the case, he would trot off loudly into the Deepening Gloom, looking appropriately contrite no matter what it cost him, then duck off the road when he could and slip off to some exotic locale where he would lie low until his yearâs sentence was upâ
Or, perhaps not.
He walked for another half-league before he finally turned around and stared at what had been following him.
A spell.
He wasnât unfamiliar with spells, as it happened, having a truly staggering collection of them at his fingertips. He created his own spells, of course, though he generally thought it a better use of his time to simply appropriate what he needed. But never in his longlife of encountering magic had he ever seen a spell that simply stood there and watched him, as if it had legs. It was an odd spell, though, one that didnât seem to want to reveal its purpose. For all he knew, it was designed to watch to make sure he followed Soilléirâs instructions to the letter.
He made a rude gesture at that nasty piece of magic, ignored the snort that answered him, then turned and started off toward a destination he absolutely didnât want to visit.
SÃ raichte. Ye gads, what a hellhole. If heâd had so little to do that he would have needed to amuse himself by making a list of places to visit, he suspected that port town in the middle of nowhere would have had very few other locales competing with it for last on the list.
Damnation, it was going to be a very long yearindeed.
One
T he port town of SÃ raichte was a locale with absolutely no redeeming features.
The list of its flaws was long and well-examined. It wasnât as large as Tòsan, nor as elegant as Taohb na Mara; it was a city of unremarkable size that one tended to forget as quickly as possible in order to erase the unfortunate memory of having passed through it. Its harbor was endlessly needing a good dredging whilst its inhabitants seemed to be perpetually needing a good bath. The food was terrible, the accommodations disgusting, and the scenery flat and uninspiring. There was only one thing about the place that spared it from the need for a good razing.
The stables of Brià ghde.
Léirsinn of Sà raichte leaned against an outer wall of Brià ghdeâs labyrinth of stalls and considered the truth of that. She wasnât one to be effusive with praise or stingy with censure, which left her looking at the bare facts to judge them on merit alone. And the simple fact was, the horses that came from the stables in which she stood were absolutely beyond compare.
She knew this because she was responsible for it.
It wasnât something she thought about very often, actually, for a variety of reasons that left her feeling rather uncomfortable if she gave too much thought to them. But the weather was brisk, the barncats feisty, and the horses very full of themselves. If that had infected her with a bit more spirit than she usually dared allow herself, so be it. Besides, she was the only one inside her head, so perhaps she could be permitted a bracing bit of truth to enjoy privately.
And the truth was, she was damned good at working horses. It was in her blood, or so she understood, which she supposed helped quite a bit. The rest of it was simply years of seeing horse after horse come through Fuadain of SÃ raichteâs stables and watching how they matured. Sheâd had the good sense to know which horsemen to listen to in her youth and perhaps even better sense to keep her mouth shut when it would have been easier to call other men who thought they knew horses idiots.
She was growing rather tired of that last bit, actually.
But biting her tongue allowed her to continue to watch what came and went in Lord Fuadainâs stables and, better still, quietly have charge of their training. Of
He didnât fancy life as a rock.
Given that was the case, he would trot off loudly into the Deepening Gloom, looking appropriately contrite no matter what it cost him, then duck off the road when he could and slip off to some exotic locale where he would lie low until his yearâs sentence was upâ
Or, perhaps not.
He walked for another half-league before he finally turned around and stared at what had been following him.
A spell.
He wasnât unfamiliar with spells, as it happened, having a truly staggering collection of them at his fingertips. He created his own spells, of course, though he generally thought it a better use of his time to simply appropriate what he needed. But never in his longlife of encountering magic had he ever seen a spell that simply stood there and watched him, as if it had legs. It was an odd spell, though, one that didnât seem to want to reveal its purpose. For all he knew, it was designed to watch to make sure he followed Soilléirâs instructions to the letter.
He made a rude gesture at that nasty piece of magic, ignored the snort that answered him, then turned and started off toward a destination he absolutely didnât want to visit.
SÃ raichte. Ye gads, what a hellhole. If heâd had so little to do that he would have needed to amuse himself by making a list of places to visit, he suspected that port town in the middle of nowhere would have had very few other locales competing with it for last on the list.
Damnation, it was going to be a very long yearindeed.
One
T he port town of SÃ raichte was a locale with absolutely no redeeming features.
The list of its flaws was long and well-examined. It wasnât as large as Tòsan, nor as elegant as Taohb na Mara; it was a city of unremarkable size that one tended to forget as quickly as possible in order to erase the unfortunate memory of having passed through it. Its harbor was endlessly needing a good dredging whilst its inhabitants seemed to be perpetually needing a good bath. The food was terrible, the accommodations disgusting, and the scenery flat and uninspiring. There was only one thing about the place that spared it from the need for a good razing.
The stables of Brià ghde.
Léirsinn of Sà raichte leaned against an outer wall of Brià ghdeâs labyrinth of stalls and considered the truth of that. She wasnât one to be effusive with praise or stingy with censure, which left her looking at the bare facts to judge them on merit alone. And the simple fact was, the horses that came from the stables in which she stood were absolutely beyond compare.
She knew this because she was responsible for it.
It wasnât something she thought about very often, actually, for a variety of reasons that left her feeling rather uncomfortable if she gave too much thought to them. But the weather was brisk, the barncats feisty, and the horses very full of themselves. If that had infected her with a bit more spirit than she usually dared allow herself, so be it. Besides, she was the only one inside her head, so perhaps she could be permitted a bracing bit of truth to enjoy privately.
And the truth was, she was damned good at working horses. It was in her blood, or so she understood, which she supposed helped quite a bit. The rest of it was simply years of seeing horse after horse come through Fuadain of SÃ raichteâs stables and watching how they matured. Sheâd had the good sense to know which horsemen to listen to in her youth and perhaps even better sense to keep her mouth shut when it would have been easier to call other men who thought they knew horses idiots.
She was growing rather tired of that last bit, actually.
But biting her tongue allowed her to continue to watch what came and went in Lord Fuadainâs stables and, better still, quietly have charge of their training. Of
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