Page 29 of Seducing the Sorcerer
“Don’t know as I felt anything,” Fenn lied. “It was just...observations.”
“Did you feel critical? Did you think I was doing badly?”
“No. You ride well. You got a good seat. No one else would likely notice the other things. It’s just the sort of thing I notice. Suppose I just wished I knew you well enough to say something.”
“Good.” The sorcerer smiled, though it seemed a sad smile. “And would you like to know what I felt, Mr. Todd?”
“Er, aye?”
“I felt fascinated by you, lucky to be riding out with you, and impressed by your wisdom and restraint and your...leadership qualities.”
“Oh. Aye?” Fenn swallowed, in spite of himself, but all the same it was obvious what all this meant. “That’s this good-fellowship spell then, ain’t it?”
Morgrim nodded. “Yes. The spell of good-fellowship is woven tight into the very framework of this place. It and the pasture are one. We feel well disposed towards one another, so we can feel confident the ground will hold us up.”
“You warned me. Ain’t none of it real, is it?”
The sorcerer shrugged. “Some of it may be real. You, perhaps, are not ill disposed to me. And perhaps you’re not a man to be frustrated by incompetence in the first place.”
“Incompetence? That ain’t what I said at all! You just want to get your leg back a bit.”
“And shorten my reins.” The sorcerer adjusted his leg and his reins and looked even more like a kind of terrifying wet dream. “Better? Good. Please do tell me if you think of other improvements I could make as we go. Shall we circle back? I usually follow the perimeter. It takes about a quarter of an hour.”
They turned to the left and circled back towards the city and the tower. Now they were following the edge, which seemed to have no demarcation, but which was, in spite of that, apparently impossible to fall off.
Morgrim began to talk about the landmarks that could be seen from this edge. Ahead and to their right were the white tufted rapids of the River Sposa—currently much diminished—which tumbled to the sea beneath them. This river had once powered huge turbines that closed the harbour wall and pumped water up to the city; these days, of course, they used crystal-power. He pointed to a tall jagged finger of rock a mile off to the south and told Fenn the story: it was called the Lonely One and was said to be a giant turned to stone by heartache.
Morgrim’s manner was courteous, never condescending. He punctuated his stories with phrases such as “you must visit” or “I think you’d find it a most diverting sight” and other remarks that implied that Fenn was a man of wide-ranging interests with an appreciation of science and culture and magic and beauty.
No one had spoken to Fenn in such a way for a long time and he could almost feel himself being flattered and charmed. But he didn’t trust himself to speak beyond what was necessary for the most basic courtesy. Because the place couldn’t be trusted. At least half his feelings were nothing but tricks. Maybe Morgrim was only being so nice because the spell was working on him too.
And—most disconcerting of all—Fenn still kept wondering, from time to time, what Morgrim would be like in bed: whether he’d be fierce or gentle or a combination of the two, whether he preferred to please or be pleased, whether he liked a plain fucking or if he had more refined tastes.
And so, on balance, the whole situation was impossible. Fenn rode at Morgrim’s side in conflicted silence, both hating and loving the experience, at once wishing it were over and that it would go on forever. And all the time the worple horse moved beneath him, its smooth pace its own kind of magic. At least it didn’t seem inclined to fly off with him.
They reached the gateway which stood open to the rainswept courtyard. The sorcerer dismounted by the pavilion and handed his reins to Jasper, who stood waiting. But Fenn made straight for the courtyard and dismounted under the loggia, expecting to feel his heart sink and his mind clear as he left the enchantment behind.
But he experienced no such thing. He felt like a man standing in a damp courtyard. That was all.
The sorcerer came through the gates, stripping off his gloves.
“That spell,” Fenn said, grimly. “Thought you said it stops when you leave.”
“It does.”
“I don’t feel any different.”
“The effect is very subtle. Wherein lies its power, of course. In fact, in the past, court sorcerers used not to tell people about it. They found it very useful for a certain kind of negotiation: trade deals and so on.”
Fenn frowned. “That’s dishonest.”
“It is.” Morgrim examined his fingernails. “But perhaps it was better that way? Some people argue I have set back the interests of our country by a hundred years by telling visitors about the spell before they enter. What do you think, Mr. Todd? Is it acceptable to use magic on people without telling them if it would benefit our country?”
Fenn’s mind was already whirling with too much information, too many shocks and surprises and choices. It felt as if he had no room to consider this question.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“No? Perhaps you think I am disloyal to Essuera? To our people?”
