Page 24 of Seducing the Sorcerer
“Yes. It was created by one of my predecessors.”
“The one with the nasty sense of humour?”
“No, no.” Morgrim waved his hand dismissively. “Different person entirely. No harm will befall you on the mustering ground. Rather the opposite. A spell of good-fellowship is woven tight about it: admiration for our companions, a desire to help them, that sort of thing. It was put in for good morale when our armies were mustered there and it hasn’t faltered to this day. But some people find it unnerving. They feel it might affect their judgement.” He gave Fenn a wintery smile. “Unless, Mr. Todd, you are not afraid of liking me?”
Fenn’s heart nearly stopped. He went hot all over.
Was Morgrim flirting? He couldn’t be. Though he was making a joke at his own expense as one of the most distrusted men in the country. Fenn took a deep breath. He’d had had enough of magic for one day, but he didn’t want to ride through the town, that was certain. At least this mustering ground sounded private. And if Morgrim wasn’t above a joke, neither was Fenn. True, Morgrim had a reputation, but people often made assumptions about Fenn too, because he was built like a barn door and looked tough as old boots.
He looked Morgrim right in the eye. “This good-fellowship spell. Does it work on you too?”
Morgrim’s lips twitched. “It does.”
“All right, then. I’m game. If you ain’t afraid of liking me.”
Morgrim’s eyes flashed, and Fenn couldn’t help wondering if he’d been manipulated into something after all.
“Then we’ll ride on the mustering ground,” Morgrim said. He glanced at the horse and his tone became business-like. “Now, may I lend you some tack? Or do you prefer to ride without?”
“I wouldn’t mind a loan, assuming the horse will take it.”
“Of course. The tack room is first on the right in the stable yard. You’ll see Blaze’s saddle and bridle just inside the door—Blaze is my horse. Her tack is quite new. Black leather. But please make free with anything else. There are saddle blankets too. Please do take one. Jasper can assist; he should be on duty in the gatehouse at this hour. Knock for him any time.”
So, whoever was behind the skeleton screen, assuming there was someone, it wasn’t young Jasper.
“That’s right kind. Thanks.”
Morgrim extended his arm, indicating the front door. “Will you meet me in the courtyard in ten minutes? I’ll change for riding.”
Fenn glanced behind the screen as he passed it and was sure there was a figure, motionless in the shadows, but the sorcerer had opened the door to the courtyard and Fenn went through it with only one backward glance. If Morgrim wanted to hide people behind screens, it was, after all, his house and his business.
“I won’t keep you long,” Morgrim said, and shut the door firmly behind him.
Chapter 7
Outside, it was still raining.
Fenn paused on the top step, his insides turning somersaults. He, Fenn Todd, a magician! Could that be true? And he was a guest of the sorcerer—a guest—and they were going riding together. On some creepy enchanted meadow. He was about to see Morgrim’s horse. His head felt light and strange, like it was bigger on the inside than the outside, and his body felt hot and gangly. Must calm down. Must think of practicalities. Tack.
He set off towards the tack room, the horse at his elbow, the sacking fringes of its legs noiseless above the cobbles. But as he passed into the stable yard, he caught a glimpse of movement under the door of the stall where he’d slept.
He crept across the yard and peered over the half-door to find Jasper going through the pockets of Fenn’s filthy old jacket. Fenn’s hoof pick from Mandillo was balanced on Jasper’s knee, alongside the bread roll and ham and the pie crusts from yesterday.
Well, now. And here Fenn had thought last night that nobody here would want to steal from him. He cleared his throat.
Jasper jumped like a startled rabbit, guilt written all over his face, and dropped everything in the hay.
“How do,” Fenn said.
“Mr. Todd. Sir. I...I was...about to launder your clothes. I was checking the pockets in case...in case...there was anything you wouldn’t wish to get wet.”
If the boy hadn’t been the colour of goat’s cheese, he’d have been more convincing.
“Ah,” Fenn said, neutrally. “Right thoughtful, ain’t you?”
“Just doing my job, sir.”
Jasper bent to pick up what he’d dropped. Fenn took everything from him, every last scrap of pastry. He stowed it all safe in the pockets of his new jacket: food in the left, pick in the right along with the pasteboard pass Morgrim had given him. The weight was comforting. If this ride with the sorcerer went sideways and the horse flew off with him again, he’d eat tomorrow and he had his most treasured possession.
