“Yes.” Gennady saw his father pale. He’d forgotten the honorific. The entire family would be cursed if he didn’t fix it, quickly. “Yes, My Lord.”
The sorcerer nodded, sternly. “How much do you remember?”
Gennady forced himself to think. He’d been in the forest. He’d seen Primrose. Hogarth had attacked him. Hogarth had nearly killed him. He’d ...
“Power,” he said. Blue sparks seemed to dance in the shadows as he remembered Hogarth screaming. The brute had deserved it. And worse. Gennady liked the thought of making Hogarth suffer. He’d done it. Yes, he’d done it. “I remember power.”
“Yes.” The sorcerer smiled, very briefly. “Power.”
Gennady swallowed, hard. “What happened?”
“Magic,” the sorcerer said. Behind him, Gennady saw his father flinch. “Gennady, you’re a magician.”
Chapter 2
The sorcerer—he’d announced himself as Lord Timothy of Whitehall, when Gennady finally worked up the nerve to ask—didn’t waste any time. As Gennady recovered from the beating, Lord Timothy murmured to Gennady’s father and arranged for Gennady to leave the village. Gennady wasn’t sure how he felt about that, even though he could feel the magic pulsing in his heart. He wanted—he needed—to go to school, to earn the respect everyone seemed to give Lord Timothy, but there was a part of him that didn’t want to go. He could pay court to Primrose now ...
A thought struck him as the sorcerer led the way out of the shack. “My Lord ... what happened to Hogarth?”
Lord Timothy shrugged, as if it wasn’t important. “Oh, your power gave him a shock and he took a nasty blow to the head. His mind was a bit scrambled, as were his memories. I don’t think he recalls clearly what happened.”
Gennady felt a flash of vindictive glee. He’d seen men who’d banged their heads a little too hard. Some turned violent, some ... just sat there, doing nothing. Eventually, they were exposed. Hogarth deserved to suffer for daring to lay hands on Primrose. She didn’t deserve to be shackled to a brute for the rest of her life. Hopefully, Hogarth would never recover completely. It would do him good if the pack of thugs he’d been nurturing turned on him and rent him limb from limb.
“Take a last look at the village,” Lord Timothy said. “Your father sold you to me. To Whitehall.”
“Oh.” Gennady was too tired to care. Much. “Where ... where are we going?”
“Whitehall, eventually.” Lord Timothy shrugged. “Take a look around. When you return ...”
I’ll be a sorcerer, Gennady thought. The village looked deserted. Only a handful of older women were in sight, picking herbs from the tiny gardens beside their shacks. They were careful not to look at the magician ... at both magicians, as if looking at them would draw their attention. Gennady felt an odd little thrill as he turned away. People were respecting him. And when I come back, I’ll be a big man.
He followed the sorcerer as he walked towards a big black horse. The creature eyed him nastily, as if it knewGennady had never ridden a horse in his entire life. There weren’t many horses in the region, save for the beasts ridden by the aristocrats. Lord Timothy helped Gennady into the rear saddle, then scrambled into his own and took the reins. The horse neighed loudly as it broke into a trot. Gennady grabbed the sorcerer’s back as the beast picked up speed, trotting through the village. The sorcerer grunted, but said nothing. Gennady was too scared to care.
The road seemed to grow wider as they rode down the hill, heading away from the village. Gennady had explored much of the surrounding area—he’d been looking for places the others couldn’t go—but it wasn’t long before the landscape became unfamiliar. He’d known better, back then, than to explore too far from the village. If he’d been caught in another’s territory, he’d have been lucky to simply escape with his life. It would have been harder for a girl ... his heart twisted as he thought of Primrose. What had happened to her?
“I believe she was the one who suggested they call me,” Lord Timothy said, when Gennady asked. “I was only four villages away.”
“And you came.” Gennady smiled, feeling a flush of affection for the sorcerer. “Thank you.”
“I had to come.” Lord Timothy didn’t sound as if he cared. Much. “Recruiting newborn magicians is part of my job.”
Gennady smiled. Primrose had saved his life. He was sure of it. His father ... he smiled again as he remembered the fear on his father’s face. All the beatings ... Gennady could avenge them now, if he wished. He could go back to the village and teach his father—and everyone else —a lesson. It was what they would have done, if things were reversed. No doubt they would have killed him, if Primrose hadn’t called the magician. The law was strict—newborn magicians were to be reported at once—but fear of magic ran deep. His father might well have killed him before he could wake, if there hadn’t been another option.
The sorcerer’s answers got shorter and shorter, the further they moved from the village. Gennady took the hint and shut up, resigning himself to looking around as they rode through ever-larger villages and towns. He’d never really understood, not intellectually, how large the world was before. His universe had been limited to the village and its surrounding environs. But now ... he stared in disbelief at towns that housed hundreds, if not thousands, of people. They looked so ... wealthy compared to his family. He looked down at his tattered shirt and trousers, patched and handed down through the generations, and felt a stab of shame. He looked like a rube. The city dwellers would laugh at him. He promised himself he’d beg or borrow new clothes as soon as he could. And yet ...
I have no money, he thought. It was rare to see money in the village. He’d certainly never handled any. The villagers normally bartered for food, if they couldn't grow it themselves. How am I going to get new clothes?
The road grew wider still. They cantered through a thicket, then found themselves looking down on an even larger city. Gennady couldn’t believe his eyes. The cluster of buildings was immense. They couldn’t all be houses, could they? He thought he spotted an inn or two, but he didn’t know. The giant mansion in the centre of the city looked ... weird. A castle? It didn’t look anything like the count’s castle, the one he’d gazed upon with awe and trepidation. It looked as if whoever had built it had no reason to fear attack.
He leaned forward, half-expecting to be taken into the city, but the sorcerer picked a road that led around the walls instead. The city’s stone walls looked impregnable, as if they had nothing to worry about from anything. Gennady had grown up on horror stories of raids from the forests, of villagers who had sometimes attacked other villages because they were starving and desperate or simply didn’t have anything better to do. He’d heard all the stories, but ... he’d never seen it happen. He’d never really believed it happened. And yet, this city looked ready for attack. The handful of guards on the walls peered down at them, then saluted. They didn’t seem to realise he was from a village.
A faint pulse of magic flashed through the air as they rounded the city and headed towards a glowing square of light. A pair of guards stood next to it, but otherwise ... he felt the light calling him, and he wanted—needed—to go to it. He felt almost as though he was going home. The sorcerer pulled on the reins, slowing the horse. Gennady loosened his grip, suddenly aware of aches and pains in muscles he hadn’t known he had. Clearly, horses were not the romantic creatures of children’s tales. Or maybe noblemen had tougher arses. He doubted it. They weren’t that different.