Nestor scowled. “Pah! Let me worry about Dalbaeth. That pipsqueak has never forgiven me for besting his father long ago. But have no worry. I can handle him, with or without an apprentice.” Nestor turned to gaze down at Dora. He shook his head. “Besides, just look at how small she is. And those tiny hands. Useless for spells. Probably not even good for housework.”
“That’s not so,” Dora piped up. “I can clean. And cook. Just watch.”
The mage gazed at her thoughtfully and his grey eyes glinted with blue. The wind’s wild howling seemed to double and redouble. The child waited, staring up at him fearlessly.
“Oh, very well,” he said. “I suppose I can’t send you out into the night, can I? You can sleep on that pallet close by the hearth, girl. And not a peep out of you, hear? There’s important work to be done and I don’t want to be disturbed by some little flibbertigibbet.”
“I ain’t no flibber—gibber—whatever,” she said. And smartly, with a toss of her bright head, she gathered up the tea bowls and popped them into the white stone washtub on its sturdy wooden stand. She busied herself with scouring and drying them. When she was done, the bowls shone in the candlelight, cleaner than they’d been all winter. Without another word the girl climbed onto her rush bed, curled up in her cloak, and was asleep before the mage could unleash even a simple spell of somnolence upon her.
“For the night,” Nestor muttered, shaking his head emphatically. “But only for the night.” He leaned back in his big chair by the fire, opened his book of spells, and slipped off into sleep before he had finished reading through the first charm to summon easy dreams.
In the morning, Nestor awakened to the scent of oatcakes baking and milk warming. The spell book was in his lap, and his knees ached with old and familiar complaints.
“Tea’s ready,” said a strange voice. It was high and lilting, with just a hint of a lisp.
A small hand held out a tea bowl filled with steaming brew.
“Eh?” Nestor stared down in puzzlement at blue eyes and upturned nose. “Girl, what are you doing here?”
A look of impatience crossed her face. “You told me to stay. Remember?”
The last shadows of sleep fled and the mage began to recall the events of the night before. The new apprentice, yes. Very small. Scrawny. A girl, of all things!
“Renno! Renno, where are you?”
“Here, master.” The small man hurried into the room carrying a load of firewood in his arms.
“You must take this girl back at once.”
“I can’t, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t. Where can I take her? The market is closed until month’s end. I told you so last night.”
The wizard closed his lips over his irritation. “Hmmm. Yes, that’s right, I suppose. Of course.” He toyed with his beard. “Well then, girl, you’ll have to make yourself useful here. I don’t suppose you know any spells for cleaning, do you?”
“Spells?” The girl’s blue eyes were wide and guileless. “I never magicked, sir. And don’t want to, neither.” Her fair brows lowered in a frown and she shuddered. In a low voice she said, “S’evil.”
From Renno came a sound that could have been a smothered chuckle. Nestor scowled at him. But before he could say anything, his manservant hurried through the front door and disappeared into the yard.
“Well, it can be evil, I suppose,” Nestor conceded. The mage scratched his beard thoughtfully. “In the wrong hands. Just as well you don’t want to magick. Girls make poor wizards. And I’ve no patience for training a witch. Not at my age.”
She gave him a shrewd look. “How old are you?”
“Just never you mind, missy.” Nestor waggled a finger at her. “That hearth needs sweeping. And the bookshelves could use a dusting.”
“The entire house is filthy,” she said, nodding cheerfully. “I’ve never seen a mess like this. A good thing you bought me to look after you.”
Nestor was tempted to discuss the possibility of using a spell for silence when Renno erupted into the room, looking frantic.
“Fougasse!” he cried. “He’s aloft!”
Nestor blinked. “The dragon? Surely not.” The mage moved toward the door and peered uncertainly into the pale blue sky, shading his eyes. “It’s not swarming season. It can’t be. Dragons never fly in cold weather.”
On the horizon, what appeared to be a bird flapped lazy wings that reflected the morning sunlight. Nestor squinted. The bird appeared to have a long sinuous body. As it drew nearer, the mage could make out a reptilian head and baleful red eyes.
No, not a bird. Not a bird at all.
The wizard sighed. “It is Fougasse indeed. I should think he would have better sense than to bother me before I’ve had a proper breakfast.”
“Is it really a dragon?” Dora asked. Her eyes were huge with wonder. “I’ve never seen one before.”
“Well, don’t stand there gawking, child. Get yourself back. He just might eat a tempting morsel like you.”
With a squeak of fear Dora hurried behind the wizard, clinging to the back of his white robe.
The dragon circled above them, eyes glinting, scaly neck gleaming in the sunlight.
“Greetings, Nestor,” it called. The dragon spoke in the old tongue.
“Fougasse,” the mage said. “What sends you aloft in this cold?”
“Red light in the eastern hills. And now I see what it is. The trees are ablaze.”
“What? How?”
“Elven mischief. The woods will be consumed.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
The dragon let out a draught of steam in what would have been approval. The red eyes blinked once, and the scaled wings beat furiously in the cold air as the creature wheeled and shot upward across the sky. A moment later it was a golden speck on the smoky horizon.
“Foolish elves up to midwinter nonsense,” Nestor said. “Probably playing with spells. I’ve warned them before. Renno, saddle the mule—a proper winter saddle, hear? With two—no, three—blankets.”
“You’re going alone?” The manservant fixed his dark button eyes upon the wizard.
“Would you come with me, then?”
Renno looked abashed. “I have my family’s welfare to consider, your wisdom.”
The mage smiled. “As I thought. Stay, then.” He glanced toward the girl. “If I’d a proper apprentice, I would bring him along. But not this child.”
Dora’s lower lip jutted forward. “You should take me,” she said sulkily. “You need someone to look after you.”
Nestor reared back as though wounded. “I do, do I?”
“Yes. What if the mule fell and broke a leg? What if you got lost in the woods? Who will cook for you? Who’ll hold your staff at night? Who’ll lead the mule when you tire? Who will—”
“Certainly not you!”
“Well, remember then: if you become lost and tired and hungry it won’t be my fault,” Dora said. She turned and hurried into the house.
Nestor spat an oath into the chill wind. “Renno, forget the mule! I’ll go by air.” The mage held his arms up until they arched like wings. He uttered a strange, liquid cry. And where Nestor had stood a moment before was now a great, grey-feathered bird with sharp golden eyes. Soundlessly, it beat its wings until it was high above the house, moving toward the East at a steady pace.
Together, the manservant and child stood in the doorway and watched the great bird dwindle until it was a speck without shape or color, far away. Renno turned to Dora and nodded.
“A good trick for an old wizard,” he said thoughtfully. He patted Dora on the shoulder “Best to be about the cleaning, child. I’ve got to cut a load of firewood or the mage will suffer chilblains upon his return.” Whistling a somber tune, Renno shouldered his black metal axe and vanished into a stand of grey-trunked trees at the far edge of the clearing.