Drift: River of Falcons Book 1

Brandy and Tea

The Palace was dark that evening except for lantern-light in a set of windows high in one of the tallest towers. Within, Magus sat in a ladder-backed chair, his black leather boots propped on a time-darkened oak table. Across the table, facing him, stood a row of ragged children: Three boys and two girls. They eyed the sorcerer nervously and shifted from foot to foot. A thin, red-haired apprentice stood behind them, casually blocking the doorway.

Magus smiled. "My faithful servants," he said, "I am sorry to wake you so late at night, when you would normally be sleeping in your comfortable beds."

The children exchanged puzzled glances. They were housed in the stables and their beds consisted of nothing more than straw.

"However," Magus continued, "it has come to my attention that your families are eager for you to visit. Each of you has brothers or sisters who must miss you terribly. That is why you are being released. Do you remember how to find your homes?"

They nodded.

"Good. My apprentice will walk you across the bridge. From there you are to go straight home."

"Yes, sir!" one of the boys said as the children began to move toward the door.

"There's just one thing," Magus added. The children paused. "The night is cool and fog is coming off the river. I wouldn't want you to catch a chill. You must drink a little brandy before you go." He glanced at the apprentice, who uncorked a black bottle and poured dark liquid into five silver cups, which he handed to the children.

"Drink it." The apprentice's voice was gruff. "Hurry up. All of it! Don't keep Master Magus waiting."

Magus frowned at a pair of black gloves sitting on the table beside the bottle. The apprentice had forgotten to put them on.

The children choked and coughed as they drank, but emptied their cups dutifully. The apprentice placed the cups on a tray, picked up a lantern, and said, "Follow me." The children trooped after him.

Once they were gone, Magus took his own gloves out of a pocket, pulled them on, and carried the tray to the fireplace. He placed it on top of the unlit logs, removed his gloves and added them to the pile, stepped back, and muttered a fire-starting charm. The logs burst into flames with a whoosh, and the gloves disappeared in a glitter of orange sparks. He muttered another chant and the flames rose higher. The tray and cups began to melt. Silver dripped into the hot coals beneath the burning logs, where it bubbled and steamed until all that was left was blackened ore.

Magus threw open window. Peering out into the night, he spotted the bobbing light of the apprentice's lantern. It reached the bridge, climbed half way across, paused for stragglers, and made its way down the far side to where the dark outlines of houses and shops marked the beginnings of town.

When the lantern began its return trip, Magus reached for his staff, propped it on the windowsill, and sighted along it. As soon as the apprentice reached the middle of the bridge, Magus muttered something. A loud crack accompanied a pulse of bright yellow as a bolt of lightning darted into the night.

The bolt zigzagged toward the apprentice and, attracted to the metal, struck the lantern he was carrying. There was a distant scream as the lantern's reservoir of oil exploded in flames. The apprentice staggered toward the railing of the bridge, teetered on the edge, and fell over. The flames brightened momentarily, then winked out when they reached the surface of the water. There was a distant splash, followed by silence. Magus closed the window.

"It wouldn't do to have him bring the fever back here," he muttered, glancing again at the unused gloves. "And anyway, dead people keep the best secrets." He nodded grimly at the wisdom of his own words as he returned to his chair. Sitting back, he put his boots up and called in a loud voice, "Servant! I require a glass of brandy!"