Free Dragonborn by Toby Forward

behind a dark oak dresser, carved with intricate figures. Mrs. Martin stepped forward and put her arms around Sam, folding him to her, his face against the starched cotton of her apron. He remembered the day that Flaxfold had left, and that she had hugged him, too. The only other hug he could remember. He wanted to push her away, but more than that he wanted her to hold him for a very long time.
    When she finally let him go, he kept his head down.
    â€œWas that a memmont?” he asked quietly.
    â€œShh.” She wiped away her tears.
    â€œI’ve never see one before.”
    She took him further from the kitchen, through another door and into a sitting room.
    â€œTell me,” she said, “quickly. Who are you and where are you going, and why are you with the roffle?”
    He hesitated.
    â€œNo time,” she said. “Quickly.”
    Sam told her everything, from the day Flaxfield had died. He explained that he was learning to be a wizard, and that he had no master now.
    â€œThese others,” she said. “Won’t one of them take you on?”
    Sam paused and tried hard to explain why he did not want to go with any of them, why he did not trust them, but he didn’t really understand it himself.
    â€œThey said I was a liar,” he said. “That I was no apprentice. That I was making it up. But then at the same time, they seemed to know that I was telling the truth. I can’t explain.”
    â€œAre you telling the truth?” She looked directly at him. “Or were you a houseboy who meddled with things you shouldn’t know about?”
    Sam glared at her.
    â€œDon’t take offense,” she said. “The world is full of liars and cheats. I don’t know you yet. But I think you are telling the truth. Help me to be sure.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œDo some magic for me now.”
    â€œI can’t.”
    She sat back and sighed.
    â€œI can. But I mustn’t. It’s not there to play tricks or to show off with.”
    She nodded. “Good. You got that right. All right. This chimney smokes and we can’t use it. You clear it for me, in return for your breakfast and your clothes. How’s that for a wizard’s work?”
    Sam thought about it. It was the sort of thing that Flaxfield did all the time for the people who called on him, so it seemed all right. Of course, he wasn’t a wizard, and strictly speaking could not take on work, but he had more than enough magic for this.
    â€œAll right,” he said.
    He took a candle from the mantelpiece, and a tinderbox. Striking the flint, he made a flame. Lit the candle, placed it in the hearth, and held his hands close to the stem, cupping the flame. He raised his eyes; the candle lifted, rose up the chimney, and disappeared. All the air in the room seemed to gather into a fist and rush up the chimney, punching its way through. Mrs. Martingasped for breath. Outside, the chimney erupted into a volcano of soot and ash and smoke, which paused, clenched, and then swirled high, high above the house, until it formed a small black fist of cloud. The candle hovered above the chimney stack, sank slowly down and placed itself neatly on the mantelpiece before sighing and giving up its flame, like a cat closing its eyes.
    In the distance, Starback watched the smoke and ash, scratched a disappointed ear, and waited. After a few minutes the air above the chimney began to shudder, as though heat were rising from a fire below. Starback waited for it to die down, but it continued. He watched, carefully.
    Sam’s face was the gray of the dead ash in the grate. His fingers twitched; he breathed unsteadily. He stared at the ash and felt it was looking back at him. Mrs. Martin sat in silence. He smiled uneasily at her, and she nodded.
    â€œAre you all right?”
    â€œYes,” he said. “Of course.”
    â€œYou’d like a drink?”
    He nodded. His eyes stayed on the grate, on the ash. He