Free Turning Points by Lynn Abbey

strangeling called Spellmaster. He was unbound by gods and locale, or by spells or anti-spells. His was true empathy; he truly Cared about each person who came seeking his help. Part of his curse for being given the power was that he
had to
care. This curse—and so he called it—of being unable not to care for and about others was part of his pact with whatever god or Force he had bargained with, and it was not always a pleasant trait to possess. He was unable to do magic of the variety referred to as “black”—meaning that his spells were good or “white” magic, only.
    Strick also did well. Sanctuary’s Spellmaster, sometimes called “Hero of the People,” became a wealthy man and remained well off despite losses over the years in the various properties he had acquired. The losses resulted from the “natural disasters” that had plagued poor little Sanctuary-on-the-sea, as well as the thefts of conquerors—thefts that they called “confiscations,” of course.
    Over forty years ago he had married a noblewoman of an old Ilsigi family. She died, as too many women did, in childbirth. The unpredictable twists and turns of love being what they were, the Spellmaster had taken as second wife a “reformed” Dyareeling. He was able to make her ritually imposed scars invisible, although of course she paid a physical price—the Price. It was bearable to them both, and to the Spellmaster’s adopted daughter, and to the two children this second wife bore him. He had been abroad oversea, making certain arrangements with some people of the Inception Island group, when the Irrune “rescued” Sanctuary from the horror that had been the Dyareeling cult’s rule of the gods-despised city.
    The latest foreigners to take over here also did their best to put an end to every member of the cult of the Blood Goddess Dyareela, with a great deal of success. Victims included the wife and children of the renowned white mage Spellmaster. All, including his adopted daughter, died in the Irrune-kindled fire that claimed his luxurious country home.
    He was never the same man after…
    But he did take in a skinny young orphan and train him as apprentice. Only that lucky lad—whose name was Chance—knew that his “father” had paid a great deal of money to have various punishments inflicted on various Irrunes, because his talent allowed him to wreak white magic only. When years later the adopted son made his bargain with the unknown that made
him
a white mage, his dark brown mop of hair turned white overnight
and
he gained girth with a rapidity that was a boon for the makers of breeches and tunics and belts. It was the Price he paid for the ability.
    The Spellmaster, who had never ceased his grieving, named Chance son and heir, and bade him use the name Strick and never, never charge greedily for his services. And when he thought his successor was ready and he had done this and that with the properties he owned in and about the town, Strick killed himself.
    The new Strick had long since become the friend of the strange dark man who was a longtime friend of the almost legendary Spell-master. The day Chance changed his name to Strick, their friend changed his to Chance, and moved into a better area of town than any he had previously tenanted. They met frequently to dine and drain a few cups, and The Bottomless Well was one of their favorite places.
    Leaning well in toward the aproned, balding Aristokrates of Mrse-vada, Lone said, “Whatever you do, do not so much as glance at the men I am about to ask you about. At the back of the room— look only at me, Aris!—is the man in the blue robe with the white hair the one called Spellmaster?”
    Looking at his questioner as if to assess the stability of the chip the youngster wore on each shoulder, the counterman said, “Yes.”
    Strick and Chance had forbidden him to reveal that he and
    Chance owned this place, a fact known to perhaps seven people, three of them city clerks. Strick was