Free The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) by Victoria Grefer Page B

Neslan.
    “I
would not!”
    “You
would.”
    “It
doesn’t matter,” said Valkin. “There aren’t any trolls to come across.”
    “You
two….” said August. She laid the closed book beside her, and Hune, who by then
had rid his clothing of vegetable matter, climbed on her lap. He said:
    “My
favorite part of the story’s when Adage meets the giant, and he tries to run
away from him too, like always, and he slips again and loses his grip on
Lankon, and Lankon goes soaring through the air like a great falcon and cuts
the giant’s head off, which isn’t a bad thing, really, since the giant’s a
great bully to the villagers. And Adage makes up a great yarn about how he
battled the monster, and everyone thinks he’s wonderful, but the plan goes
wrong when the villagers ask him to kill the dragon that’s been stealing all
their gold. So Adage gets scared again and rides away from the town as quickly
as he can.”
    “We
can read that part tomorrow,” said August.
    “I’m
sick of old Adage,” said Valkin. “I want a story about a real hero, not that
lousy coward.”
    “But
Adage is funny,” said Hune.
    August
suggested, “How about Sir Brogle and his quest for the beginnings of magic?”
    “That’s
a good one,” said Neslan.
    “I
don’t have it to read,” August admitted. “But I know it well enough that I can
tell a decent version of it. All right, how does it start?”
    “Sir
Brogle was bored,” said Valkin. “Because he’d rid his village of foul beasts.”
    August
said, “So he was. He was bored. He had a friend named Mage, who was a great
sorcerer, and when Mage learned that Brogle had nothing at all to do, he said
it would be a great help to all good magicians to discover how magic began,
because none of them knew. A league of evil sorcerers knew, but kept the secret
to themselves. If Brogle wanted, he could go off and search for the answer. A
clue, an artifact of some kind that could set him on the right path, was
rumored to be far off in the Caves of Snowdown, but there were monsters and
evil sorcerers with astounding power to guard it. In fact, Mage would go with
him if he liked, to help….”

 
    * * *

 
    At
the same time that August was reading to the princes, distracting them for a
few precious minutes from their homesickness, Ursa, Dorane, and Arbora were
meeting in one of the mansion’s smaller rooms, which Ursa had converted five
years before into a study of sorts, a miniature library, though she herself was
no great reader. Dorane was the trio’s devourer of words, and most of the books
Ursa owned she bought mainly to loan to him.
    One
of the study’s walls held large windows, so that the room had a cheerful air
due to abundant lighting. A sun-faded rug and tapestry gave the space a homey
touch that made it feel more utilized than it was in actuality. The three
occupants had pulled their cushioned chairs to face one another, and looked
sluggish despite the sunlight because they had recently eaten. Dorane tried to
read the titles of some books stacked behind Arbora, but could not because of
her mountain of thick brown hair, which instantly drew anyone’s attention when
they first saw her. Arbora always looked a little shabby, devoting herself to
activities she considered more important than her appearance.
    Ursa
was just the opposite. The younger woman had a vain streak, and her dresses
were always pressed, her long rust-colored locks brushed until they shone. Ursa
was well aware her home village held no prestige, and though she felt no shame
for her rustic roots or speech style, she feared others would judge her by
where she had grown up. She turned up her nose at Dorane’s threadbare wardrobe,
and hinted she would gladly supply him with a better, for her own sake, so she
would not have to suffer “lookin’ at the old one,” but Dorane refused to be
anyone’s charity case. That was why Ursa, to be kind, had to lend him books
instead of gifting them. Dorane always