Free Dragonsight by Paul Collins Page A

mouth came close to his ear. ‘I don’t know how you got here, stranger, but you’d best get back the same way. They’ll lock you up soon as look at you. I’ll not be surprised if the priest-guards haven’t already been called.’
    Daretor handed her a silver coin and she gave him change. Though it seemed he drank at ease, inside he was in turmoil. What did she mean? In what way did he stand out and what law was he breaking that would warrant imprisonment? Obviously, coming into the inn had been a bad idea.
    He drained the tankard and left. He hurried down the side of the building to a rear lane abutting the back of the inn. He had gone only a few steps into the lane when a hand shot out of a doorway and grabbed his coat. He was about to lash out when his assailant hissed: ‘Follow me, if you want to stay free.’
    It was the serving maid. Daretor hesitated, but the sound of many feet on the cobbles helped to make up his mind. He ducked into the dark doorway and followed the woman down a corridor and up a creaking flight of stairs. Finally, she led him into a cramped attic space. There was a sleeping pallet on the floor, a few personal effects, a wash basin, a makeshift table and chairs, and a pile of scrolls and pamphlets.
    She motioned him to a chair.
    ‘Are you the courier?’ she asked, panting. Cautiously, she peered through a shuttered window. The laneway had become noisy.
    He blinked at her, thinking swiftly. ‘Are you the contact?’ he said in response. She laughed then and moved away from the window. In that moment her face lit up and he saw that she was quite striking. Her eyes sparkled and some colour had come into her cheeks. She sat in a wicker chair and looked at him.
    ‘You have no idea, do you?’ she asked finally. Her accent seemed to have disappeared.
    He decided to give up the pretence. ‘I find myself in an unfortunate situation,’ he said.
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘I mean, I didn’t come here by normal means.’
    ‘I know that, too. You would never have gotten across the border, let alone within the city gates unless you’re a very clever spy. Are you a very clever spy?’
    ‘Neither spy nor, it would seem, very clever. At least, I’m not clever enough to avoid detection by serving maids.’
    ‘How then did you arrive?’
    ‘I was magicked here,’ Daretor said. She sat up straight, seeming uneasy for the first time.
    ‘Are you a wizard?’ she asked.
    ‘No,’ he replied. ‘I am a simple fighting man, but a wizard sent me here. He is an enemy of ours … of mine. He tricked me, sending me here. I am on a quest and he seeks to thwart me.’
    ‘Where were you?’
    ‘Dremari in the Passendof Mountains.’
    She stared. ‘That far? Magic can do such a thing over so great a distance?’
    ‘So it would seem and much more besides. But I am the wrong person to ask.’ He paused, looking at her. ‘Can you tell me why my appearance would cause trouble?’
    ‘It is not so much your appearance as the fact that you are a foreigner. That is not a crime here, but it would justify any patrol demanding to see your papers. You would, of course, have none.’
    ‘How did you know?’
    ‘The way you talk. All newcomers are placed in detention for months at a time, during which they receive … rather forcible re-education. After that, you would not sound as you do.’
    ‘Why are they re-educated?’ Daretor asked.
    ‘To cure them of magic, of course, though many do not survive the cure.’
    It was his turn to stare at her.
    She shrugged. ‘Magic is forbidden here, unless you are a priest. To work magic is to risk imprisonment and heavy fines. Big magic, of the kind that brought you here, would earn you the death penalty.’
    ‘Where am I? What is your name?’
    ‘My name is Elorsa and this is the city of Ishluk.’
    His heart thumped, causing his eyes to widen. ‘Southern Gratz? I believed I was in Delbrias. The writing back at the tavern …’
    ‘Delbrian and Gratzian is similar,’ Elorsa