Page 8 of Seducing the Sorcerer
As the horse reached the paved courtyard, someone, somewhere, started to scream. Not especially loud, but so piercing Fenn felt his ears would bleed if it went on too long. He looked around wildly but could see nobody even while the hideous yelling went on and on. After the wide-open silence of the sky the place felt cramped and chaotic as a prison cell. A lot wetter, though. It was raining. Hard.
How could it be raining here and nowhere else?
This was a terrible place to land.
Fenn clapped his heels to the horse’s sides. “Up, up. Come on. Fly.”
The horse moved sideways, that strange billowing that was so unlike any real horse’s gait that it nearly unseated him. The screaming went on.
“Come on, come on, get up. Up. Fly. Fly! Fly, blast you!”
But the horse swung round towards the gatehouse. A blond lad stood there in an open doorway, a sword naked in his hand. His mouth fell open as he took in Fenn and the sacking horse. He wore some kind of livery in black and red, though his shirt was unlaced, his jacket unfastened and his feet bare. Only sixteen or so. Too young to be a proper retainer. Perhaps some sort of page, though he held the sword with confidence.
Fenn opened his mouth to try to explain his presence and shut it again. It would be pointless with that racket.
Then the screaming stopped.
The silence was deafening.
Into it came the crack and shriek of a bolt being shot. A flash of alarm crossed the blond lad’s face and the horse swung around again to face the source of the noise: the huge double doors at the top of the tower steps. The doors flung open. As if by magic, the flames in the cressets flickered and doubled in size.
Despite the rain and his lack of familiarity with court personalities, Fenn had no trouble recognising the figure in a long black robe who stood at the top of the steps, a staff thrust out before him. He wore a tall black hat on which a red jewel winked in the torchlight. He had a neat black beard, long black hair, and eyes as fierce and as furious as those of a hawk.
It was the man who stole rainclouds and tried to force queens into marriage.
It was the angriest man Fenn had seen in a while.
It was the master of the black tower: Morgrim, the court sorcerer.
Chapter 2
The sorcerer gave his staff a vicious twirl and pointed it at Fenn’s chest, clearly ready to destroy an army. Fenn gritted his teeth against whatever hideous hex was about to kill him. How much would it hurt? How unnatural would it be? He ought to run, but he could barely move. He hunched, eyes closing of their own accord, and clutched the horse’s sacking mane as if the coarse twine could help him keep a grip on life.
At least he’d die astride a horse.
But nothing happened. The rain pattered cool on his head and hands. He opened one eye, then the other, and risked a glance at Morgrim. A shadow of doubt passed over the sorcerer’s narrow face. It was almost confusion, if a hunting hawk can ever be said to look confused.
“Well?” Morgrim said.
His tone said “and how dare you keep me waiting”. It was clear Fenn was expected to make the next move.
“Er, evening, sir. My lord.” Fenn ducked his head. “I’m right sorry for the intrusion.”
“You’re sorry?”
There was such vicious scorn in the sorcerer’s voice that Fenn flinched.
Morgrim cocked his head to one side, raptorlike. He hadn’t lowered his staff. “Who are you?”
“Fenn Todd. Er...your grace. Sir.” Gods, what were you supposed to call a court sorcerer? “Um...your honour.”
“Fenn Todd.” Morgrim sounded as if he were sizing it up to put in a spell.
Fenn shivered. Should have given a false name. Why hadn’t he thought to give a false one? Now Morgrim would be able to find out that Fenn had a criminal record and all. Oh Gods, this was going to be bad.
“And what is your purpose here?” Morgrim snapped.
“There ain’t one, your worship. It was a mistake. The horse brought me. I didn’t mean to trespass. I’ll go, eh? Quick as you like.”
