Free Dragonborn by Toby Forward Page A

took a poker from the fireplace and stirred the gray dust. He felt as though he had brought something into the house. The magic had called to it. He leaned nearer.
    The roffle put his head around the corner.
    â€œVery good fit,” he said, pointing to Sam’s new clothes. “Do you have a son, Missus?”
    â€œNot now,” said Martin, following him in.
    â€œTidy in here, too,” said Megatorine.
    â€œWhat’s to do?” asked Martin.
    Sam sipped the water, his hand trembling still.
    â€œStay here, do,” said the weaver’s wife.
    â€œYou’ll learn a trade,” Martin promised.
    â€œNot the right trade,” said the roffle. “Let’s be off, boy.”
    â€œYou don’t make wizards in schools,” she said. “You need a proper master. You need to be an apprentice, not a schoolboy.”
    â€œMagic’s magic,” said the roffle. “He’ll learn well enough.”
    Sam shrugged and gave Mrs. Martin an apologetic look.
    â€œIt’s all right,” she said. “But if you ever need somewhere to go, this is the place, remember.”
    â€œThank you.”
    Sam and the roffle made their way through the kitchen, back to the door. Martin took Sam’s arm, half turned him, and spread a cloak on his shoulders.
    â€œKeep you warm at night,” he said.
    Mrs. Martin gave him another swift hug and walked away quickly.
    Sam turned his head at the bend in the road for one last look at the little cottage.
    â€œYou broke your promise,” said the roffle.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI told you to let me know if you saw a memmont. I’ll have to watch you.”
    In a tower high above a field that stretched to the forest, a slim, dark figure sat with closed eyes at a plain table. Her ash-gray robeflowed in soft folds from her shoulders. She leaned back, raising her arms and putting her hands to her hair.
    â€œHe’s on the move again,” she said.
    She looked at the black figure that loomed by the closed door.
    â€œWhere?”
    The question was no human voice, but a clacking as of snapped bones.
    â€œI didn’t see the place. He used loose magic, and I slipped in. I think he saw me, but he doesn’t know yet. He’s on the run.”
    The clacking noise indicated laughter.
    â€œI have people ready,” she said. “One of them will see him soon enough. Then we’ll know.”
    â€œCan I have him?” the creature clattered.
    â€œEventually. Once I have the seal from him and I can leave this place.”
    Bakkmann spat a black gout of bile.
    â€œThey’ve found them.” Ash sniggered. “My beetles have found them.”
    She scrambled on the floor, fingers trying to crawl between the slabs. She licked the stone. She tapped it with her knuckles. A black beetle poked above a gap and she grabbed it, jamming it into her mouth. She scuttled over to the window and looked out.
    â€œBring them here,” she whispered, fragments of beetle spraying from her mouth as she hissed. “Bring the wizards here. I want them.”
    Yellow slime from the beetle oozed pleasantly down her chin.
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Pages from an apprentice’s notebook
    A WIZARD’S NAME. Everything has a name, even down to the smallest singling, which is so small that no one has ever seen one. Most things only have one name. A wild pig is a pig, a beetle is a beetle, and grass is grass. But the closer things grow to the world of people, the more interest people take in them, and the more names they get. So, a pig is a pig; but he may also be Snuffler, while another pig is also a pig, but she may be Snout. And a takkabakk is a beetle, but not a beetle. So it is with a mountain. This one may be Mount Marlew, while that one is the Peak of Terrim. Grass is always grass, but in a field of horses it is grazing, while once it is cut and stored it is hay.
    People have this way of giving more and more names to the same things.