Marked for Magic. Daisy Banks

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ village I have not killed you…yet.”

      Her low laugh caught at him as he headed for the stairs. He packed a dozen small pots of salve and a variety of bottles of popular potions and healing brews to barter. After a few moments to decide which, he folded three of the scarves. He never took too many. The trades seemed better if the villagers saw the fabric as a luxury.

      The basket ready, he took it down to the kitchen, left it on the table, and went to change his robe. For today’s purposes, he put on his second best—wine red with a hood. The black leather belt he wrapped around his waist, he only wore on serious occasions. He added his silvered dagger to its black sheath and set his pouch beside it so the dagger lay at his hip. He pulled out the leather thong and combed through his hair.

      The villagers would see him powerful today. A mage with an apprentice, if he could call her that, should strike a little fear. He would relish their reactions. Nin lived under his protection since they cast her out. He’d see they would respect her place.

      She waited in the kitchen. She’d bathed and changed into the loose, shapeless brown gown. The homespun rag hung like a sack. His old blue tunic was a far preferable garment. She bent to peek into the basket. Arching an eyebrow, he shook his head so she backed off from her investigation. Her mouth formed a perfect O as she stared at him, and the glamour shimmered, revealing the gold of her hair among the gray.

      “What is wrong?” He glanced down at himself and forced his level of concentration to steady.

      “Nothing, you look…You look…”

      He gave her a nod, pleased the gray spikes had returned. “Like a Mage. Thank you, Sparrow. It is time to go. While we trade, we will get you enough cloth to make a new gown. The brown one is as foul clean as it was when dirty.”

      He indicated for her to carry the basket and, as they left, pondered why he should find the sack-like gown so offensive. He locked the door.

      * * * *

      Their walk to the village uneventful, Nin’s surprise grew at how quick it seemed. For when she first trod this path, the journey had been the longest she’d ever made.

      Had it only been two days ago?

      The gate of the village palisade came into view. She halted because her knees shook. “Thabit,” she whispered, “you won’t let them kill me, will you?”

      He paused his steps and shook his head. “You must have courage, Sparrow. Hold your head high when you walk with me. I swear, not one of them will harm you. Now come.”

      She forced herself to calm, and once he had pulled the hood on his robe up to cover his head, they walked on.

      All talk ceased as they entered the tiny market, made up of six wooden tables for stalls. The squawks of chickens and geese, a dog howling in the distance, the high-pitched wail of a child, all seemed loud. The villager’s silence continued.

      Keeping her head bowed and her gaze on the back of his boots, she followed close behind Thabit. He stopped at the end of the row of tables. She tugged at the straps on her shoulders and handed him the basket. He set it down at his feet and opened the lid to display the contents to those who may wish to look.

      She longed to hide in his pocket.

      Surprise, fear, and the odd flash of guilt, all lurked in the hostile glances toward her. A small boy who stared dropped the bread crust he chewed on and gave a furious yell. The day-to-day sounds of talk resumed as his mother dusted off his chunk of bread.

      Nin sighed, glad things had not been worse on their arrival. The squat, wooden-framed buildings and homespun-clad people remained familiar. Nothing had changed for them. Such a lot had changed for her. They could have no idea how different she already was from the girl they drove away.

      Aunt Jen walked straight by without a greeting, the small basket Nin remembered so well clutched tight to her narrow bosom. She bowed her head with sorrow. The censure of the mark remained.

      Cousin Lettie approached and peeked up at Thabit. Though Lettie did not speak, her tiny nod in Nin’s direction before she bent down to examine the scarves gave a little hope for the future.

      “Nin, you’re alive!” Alicia rushed across the square.

      The three people who bargained at the stall beside the Mage’s, all turned and stared, someone gave a loud tut.

      “Do not allow her to make a fuss, simply nod. You can speak with her privately when the goods are traded,” he murmured from the depths of his hood. He turned to a woman to accept a large keg of butter in return for a pale lilac scarf.

      “Yes, Alicia, I’m alive.” Even to her, the words sounded cold, but he’d said she should do it. “I’ll find you later,” she whispered.

      Alicia backed away in a series of quick steps, her blue eyes full of hurt.

      When Nin turned back to the basket, Lettie had gone. Aunt Jen owned nothing valuable enough for her cousin to trade for one of the scarves. Satisfaction brought a small private smile, and she fingered the soft fabric of hers. Wrapped around her waist today, his gift hung bright like a rainbow.

      He leaned down, his voice low, only for her. “Well done, Sparrow. They must learn respect for you now, even those who were once friends.”

      Alicia backed farther off, her slight form hidden in the shadows. Another woman stepped up to their basket and bent to examine the goods. The woman stooped on creaking joints to take out a jar. She held the jar and looked in question to the Mage. He inclined his hooded head.

      “For the aches of the winter and old age,” he explained, and in majestic silence shook his head at the studded leather belt the woman offered to trade.

      “What’ll you take?” she asked.

      “I want cloth, grandmother, a goodly length, enough for a robe. Oh, and I want it red.”

      The large woman set the jar down before she waddled off.

      “Yes, red will be good,” he murmured.

      Nin darted a glance up. Did he mean the cloth for her?

      Gray-haired Agnes approached, and her stomach flipped. The need to run screamed through her. She inched closer to Thabit, who tilted his head to her.

      “Do not make a move, not a flicker. Do you hear me?”

      The whisper warmed, and her trembles stilled.

      He stood straight as a yard pole and inclined his hooded head to Agnes. “You have my thanks, wise woman.”

      Agnes froze. People stared, and an instant, heavy silence swelled through the air.

      Nin kept her gaze on Agnes, who now shivered. For the way the Mage spoke, deep voice and powerful as a god, would still the most courageous heart.

      Thabit nodded his head again to Agnes, who took a small step back. “My thanks for the gift you sent me, wise woman. Be sure I will train her well. Once she is skilled, I am certain she will be prudent and not bear any grudge for those who may have been unkind.”

      The urge to laugh was painful to stop. Nin СКАЧАТЬ