“Brace yourself,” Lord Timothy said, as the horse walked towards the light. “This may be ... interesting. And illuminative.”
Gennady opened his mouth to ask what Lord Timothy meant by that, but the horse went through the light before he could form words. There was a flash of blinding light—he squeezed his eyes shut, too late—and a sensation of pain, then nothing. The pain felt odd, as if he’d imagined it. The sensation was gone almost before he was aware of it. He opened his eyes, blinking in shock. It had been mid-morning in the Cairngorms, but now it was late afternoon and ... and they were riding towards an even larger town. This one was secure, he thought. There were no walls protecting the residents from wandering bandits.
“Welcome to Dragon’s Den,” Lord Timothy said. There was a hint of disappointment in his voice. “Your home for the next few months.”
Gennady leaned forward, drinking in the scene. There were towering mountains in the distance, their peaks lost in the clouds ... it took him longer than it should have done, he thought mournfully, to realise that they weren’t the Cairngorms. They’d travelled hundreds of miles in a split second the moment they’d ridden through the lights. He stared at the mountains, then turned his attention to the town itself. It was crowded with people, more people than he’d seen in his entire life. And they all looked wealthy, wearing fine clothes and riding horses and ... he felt another stab of shame. He really didn’t fit in.
The people didn’t seem to notice—or care—that two magicians had just ridden into their town. They were doing ... whatever they were doing, without paying any attention to Gennady. He was relieved, despite himself. He felt so utterly out of place that he almost wanted to ask the sorcerer to take him back home. And yet ... Lord Timothy had bought him. Gennady wondered if that made him the sorcerer’s slave. He was willing to be a slave—or worse—if the man taught him to use magic. He’d do anything to learn, anything at all.
Magic sparkled through the air. A magician stood in the middle of the street, performing tricks for children. Gennady watched in awe as flames rose and fell, the fires darting around the magician's hands and into the magician's mouth without burning the man. The kids whooped and cheered, drawing his attention to them. He felt a surge of sudden hatred, blinding in its intensity. They were so free and happy, enjoying themselves ... running wild, instead of the work he’d had to do from birth. The kids looked more than old enough to work the fields ... it wasn’t fair they were free to do whatever they liked, while he’d had to work and be beaten for not working enough. Even the count’s son had to work ...
He looked away and blinked in surprise as he saw two teenage girls—they looked to be around the same age as Primrose—wearing dresses that exposed the tops of their pale white breasts. A third wore trousers. Tight trousers. He could see the shape of her legs ... He stared in shock, torn between fascination and a grim belief they were prostitutes. No decent woman would expose so much of herself, not in the open. Even a wife wasn’t supposed to get naked in front of her husband. They had to be loose women, the kind of lady the cities bred ... he swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away. He’d heard the stories, but ... they didn’t look unpleasant. They didn’t look as if they were going to corrupt him with their city-ways.
His voice shook. “Those girls ... are they whores?”
Lord Timothy laughed. “No,” he said, in a tone that suggested Gennady had asked something very stupid. “Judging by their clothes, they’re the daughters of wealthy merchants.”
“And they’re dressed like that?” Gennady found it hard to believe. He’d met a couple of traveling peddlers. They’d always dressed like villagers. “They’re ...”
“That is the fashion,” the sorcerer said. His voice suggested boredom. Gennady didn’t believe it. “They’re trying to attract husbands. They’ll wear their hair up once they’re married.”
Gennady forced himself not to stare at the girls. It wasn’t easy. He’d heard all the stories, all the bragging from the lads, but he’d never had a chance to look himself. Hogarth had claimed to have seen every girl in the village without her scarf, let alone the rest of her clothes, yet ... Gennady was sure he was lying. The women of the village were decent. They were decent because they had to be. The girls behind him ...
Primrose would never dress like that, he thought. He tried not to admit, even to himself, that he would have liked to see her like that. She’s a decent woman.
He felt his heart start to beat faster as the horse cantered through a pair of gates and into a small courtyard. Primrose would wait for him. He was sure of it. He’d go back to the village with power and ... and she’d wait for him. There would be no objections to the match, once he was a sorcerer. Her father would be proud to have a sorcerer for a son-in-law. And anyone who objected would be made to pay. Gennady smiled, remembering all the humiliations that had been heaped on him. He’d make them pay. He’d make them all pay.
A wisp of magic brushed against him as the horse came to a halt. Lord Timothy swung his legs over the beast’s side and dropped to the ground, then held out a hand to help Gennady clamber down. The horse snorted rudely, but stayed still as a pair of stable-boys came around the corner and took the reins. Lord Timothy gave them each a silver coin, then directed Gennady to follow him. Gennady was stunned. Silver coins? He’d never seen so much money in his entire life.
Lord Timothy led him straight towards a large stone building and in through the door. More magic brushed against him, feeling decidedly unfriendly. Gennady shivered, making sure to stay close to the sorcerer as they walked into the lobby. A middle-aged woman in long green robes was sitting at a desk, reading a parchment scroll. Gennady frowned as she looked up, then stood. She looked old, yet young. Her face didn’t carry the scars and pox marks that blighted his mother and sisters.
“A newborn for you,” Lord Timothy said, curtly. He glanced at Gennady, then pointed to a chair. “Sit there and wait.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Gennady said.
“He has good manners,” the woman said. There was a faint hint of mockery in her tone. “They’ll stand him in good stead.”
Gennady felt his cheeks burn as he made his way to the chair and sat down. He was used to being mocked—he was the only village boy to be mocked by the girls—but ... he put it out of his mind as he tried to relax, catching sight of his reflection in a shiny surface. No, a mirror. It wasn’t the first he’d seen, but it was the largest. He forced himself to look at himself through new eyes. His skin was marked and pitted, his eyes dull, his hair a bird’s nest, his clothes stained with mud and blood and the gods alone knew what else ... he looked like something the cat had dragged in. Pathetic. He looked pathetic. No wonder they'd mocked him. Shame prickled as he waited, resolving he’d clean himself up as quickly as possible. If he was going to be a magician, he was going to look the part.
It felt like hours before Lord Timothy and another woman, wearing blue robes, came over to him. The woman looked him up and down, then nodded. Gennady looked back, sensing the magic around her. She looked formidable, like a farmwife in her prime. And yet ... there was something about her bearing that suggested she wasn’t used to hard work. The magic did it for her. It was hard, impossibly hard, to deduce her age. She seemed ... timeless.