Page 22 of Seducing the Sorcerer
“Having magic is one thing. Learning to control it is another.”
Fenn shook his head, helplessly. “All right, then how did they get them to stay put in the old days? They weren’t all the time pulling things, surely?”
“A very pertinent question. But I’m afraid I’ve no idea.”
Fenn wished he’d taken the sorcerer up on that wine. He ought to be happy. Magicians didn’t want for much. But he just felt winded.
“I’m a plain man,” he said, helplessly. “I’m a groom. I never hoped for this.”
“Do you think it is naïve to hope, Mr. Todd?”
Fenn was startled into staring. It felt as if Morgrim had cut close to something important.
“Aye. Maybe.” Even to himself he sounded a curmudgeon. And yet, hope was naïve. Life was hard and then you died, and the best you could hope for was that death would be quick and not too painful when it came. “It’s naïve for the likes of me,” he added, slowly.
Because that was true, and yet now Morgrim had made him think about it, he realised he had never quite given up hope. Not completely. Or not for long. And it felt as if Morgrim had given him something back, some part of himself, perhaps, that he’d not known was missing. Because if he’d always had a little bit of hope left, then he needn’t be a hopeless grumpy old bastard if he didn’t want to be. He could be a man, with dreams, like anyone else.
He could—maybe, sometimes—be happy.
He found he was staring at Morgrim with his mouth open. Gods, no wonder Morgrim was one of the nation’s top men; he was so perceptive it was almost frightening. And here he was, conversing with Fenn as if they were equals.
“Naïve or not,” Morgrim said. “Here you are. Your life has changed.”
“Aye. Has it?”
“Of course!” The sorcerer raised a single eyebrow. “Take it from me, Mr. Todd: perhaps yesterday you were a plain man. Today, you have magic practically oozing from your fingertips. I can feel it from here.”
Morgrim was giving him a look that in any other man he’d have translated as “meet me out the back in two minutes”. Which was ludicrous for all it made his balls tighten and his heart beat faster. Then the sorcerer averted his eyes, face closing, and Fenn felt doubly ridiculous. It was all this talk of magic and luck and hope and the like. It was making him giddy. He’d best watch out or he’d really get himself into trouble. He ought to steer the conversation back to business.
“All right then. Thank you, sir, for explaining about worple horses and magic and that. It’s right interesting and you’ve given me a deal to think on. But now perhaps we should get to practical matters, such as duties and the like.”
“Duties?”
“My duties.” Fenn indicated the livery he wore. “Thought that was what this was all about. This broken boundary spell. I suppose I got to work that off. That it?”
Morgrim didn’t speak. He was clearly thinking, but it was impossible to tell what. A log shifted in the fire and sent a puff of smoke into the room. Outside, the rain had become harder and was splattering against the windows as if it were trying to get in. The worple horse gave the arm of Fenn’s chair a furtive lick, like a child tasting a lump of nougat during class. He nudged it away with his elbow.
“No.” The sorcerer stood up suddenly, like a man making up his mind to something. “No, I was mistaken about the broken spell. The clouds, you know. They obscure the magic sometimes. No, Mr. Todd. You’re free to go.”
There was a sound from behind the skeleton screen, as if someone had started and knocked it with their elbow.
Fenn stood up too. “You hear that?”
“Just a rat. The place is over-run.” Morgrim made an impatient gesture. “But do you understand? You’re completely at liberty to go, but...but I hope you will not leave immediately. I’d be honoured if you’d stay for a time. As my guest.”
Fenn fair gawped at him. It was like last night and the offer of the room in the gatehouse. Only this time there could be no mistake.
“You are a magician,” Morgrim said. “I am too. We are few and far between. Yes, there are hedge-witches and crystal-fixers and so on, but people like you are very rare. Assuming you can get the horse in the air again, you have the power of flight, which is almost unheard of. So, I offer you hospitality. You may have the use of my library, if you wish. You could, perhaps, discover how they made worple horses stay where they are put. I have hundreds of old volumes that—” Morgrim stopped himself short. “That is, forgive me, but can you—”
“I can read,” Fenn said, quietly.
It struck him that Jasper, with his written note, had simply assumed Fenn would be able to read it. Morgrim had caught himself in the same assumption and checked. That seemed meaningful, though Fenn wasn’t sure why.
The sorcerer bowed. “Then my library is yours. You might learn what you are capable of, and what that horse is capable of.”
“Well, that’s...” Fenn felt all at sea. It was too much.
He was suddenly, horribly, reminded of the young snot from yesterday with his offer of a horse. That had been too good to be true. Surely this was the same. He stared at Morgrim, trying to take the man’s measure, to read his mind. Morgrim wouldn’t invite a load of courtiers over to laugh at the idiot with the ridiculous horse, would he?
