Free The White Spell by Lynn Kurland Page B

would be the first to admit that dwarvish magic was very odd. He supposed he could spend a century trying to unravel it and still not have all its secrets. Not that he intended to spend any time at it anytime soon.
    That Cothromaichian twinkling was something else entirely. Now that he was being shadowed by something created by that damned Soilléir of Cothromaiche, he thought it might be not unthinkable to give as good as he got. The moment he had his power back to hand—not that it wasn’t at present, of course; he was just not stupid enough to use it—he would turn his sights back to that very enticing prize.
    â€œYou’re free to take the afternoon off, if you like.”
    Acair could scarce believe he was allowing someone else, a stablehand of all people, to enter his chamber without permission, much less tell him when he could move about freely.
    Well, again,
chamber
was too lofty a term for his bit of passageway strewn with what he hardly dared hope was decently clean straw, but he supposed he couldn’t ask for anything more. Perhaps not complaining loudly and at length about the conditions to anyone who would listen could be counted as his good deed for the day.
    Doghail tossed him a handful of copper coins. “Your pay. Thought you might want it early.”
    Acair looked at the coins he’d caught. “For an entire se’nnight,” he managed.
    â€œYou agreed.”
    â€œI must have been mad.”
    Doghail only grinned at him and walked away. Acair considered what he was holding in his hand and shook his head in disbelief. He was well-versed in all the different coinages of the world at large and he preferred Nerochian strike simply because those lads were congenitally incapable of deceit and could be counted on to always mix the full complement of whatever metal the coins boasted. He used other coins when discretion called for it, but he had to admit he had never imagined that the mint at Tosan could produce coins that had so little value. Hardly worth the trouble of pounding some random lord’s visage into them.
    Well, if there were a decent pub in town, it would be the beneficiary of his largesse. Anything to get away from the swill he’d been imbibing for the previous several days.
    His father would have been absolutely appalled by what he’d been reduced to, which was reason enough not to enlighten the old whoreson. He also would never divulge the same to any of his brothers. They would never recover from their laughter at his expense.
    He heaved himself to his feet, groaned because he couldn’t stop himself from it, then stretched his abused back until he thought he might manage to walk with any success. He pulled his cloak from off the nail it had been using as a resting place, half surprisedsomeone hadn’t filched that as well, and left his piece of passageway.
    He supposed it was less thought than habit that had him pulling himself back into the shadows before he walked out in full view of those standing by the edge of the enormous arena, as Doghail had called it. He had called it many things as he’d finally been pressed into the service of walking over every foot of it, looking for horse droppings to scoop up.
    â€œShe doesn’t ruin the horses, but perhaps that is just dumb luck.”
    Acair recognized Fuadain, that unimportant lord of whatever they called his derelict manor that found itself on the less-desirable side of Sàraichte. He didn’t recognize the guest, but the man obviously believed himself to be exceptionally important. Whether it was due to money or title, Acair couldn’t have said and he didn’t care to investigate. His interest only extended to wondering when they would shut up and move on.
    â€œFetch one of the mares,” Fuadain commanded. “One commensurate with Lord Cuirteil’s stature. But your stature in the world, not at table, eh, Cuirteil?”
    Acair watched Fuadain elbow his guest