The Magic Council (The Herezoth Trilogy) by Victoria Grefer Read Free Book Online Page A

seeing
their escort again. When Dorane came to the basement he always came alone, and
the last time he paid the three brothers a visit, poor Hune could no longer
stand the implications of his message about magic entitlement. Staring at the
wall, hardly audible, the boy protested, “My brothers aren’t more special than
I am.”
    The
small, shaking voice took Dorane aback. “Of course they’re not more special
than you. I know your secret, Hune, the secret none of you should have to hide.
All three of you can make objects move without touching them.”
    “No,”
said Hune. He looked at the sorcerer’s sandals now, still unsure of himself.
“They can move things, the two of them. I can’t, but that doesn’t mean I’m
worth less.” The boy raised his eyes, finding courage as he spoke. “Mother says
it doesn’t matter whether I have magic, and she’s right. You listen to me,
she’s right! My brothers don’t matter more than me. I ride a pony better than
they can, and the governess says I’m better with sums than Valkin was when he
was eight. I’m good at other things.”
    Hune
could say nothing more; he had started to cry. In a minute he was shaking all
over, with tears streaming down his face in two unbroken lines. Neslan threw an
arm around him while Valkin rose, also trembling, but with anger instead of
sadness. Dorane tried to salvage the situation. “I never said people without
magic have less value. I never once said that.”
    Valkin’s
face had turned as red as his youngest brother’s, the brother still sobbing on
Neslan’s shoulder. “Go away!” Valkin yelled. “Won’t you just go away? Haven’t
you done enough? Don’t you see you’ve upset him?” And the sorcerer had left:
left nine days ago, per Valkin’s tally.
    “I
hope Dorane doesn’t come today,” said Hune. “I hope he never comes back.” He
lay back down, settling himself as comfortably as possible beneath his blanket.
His mattress wasn’t quite plush enough to take the hardness out of the stone
floor, or to flatten its bumps and grooves.
    Neslan
yawned. Then he said, “If he does come, he won’t speak as he used to. He didn’t
mean to make you cry, you know.”
    The
middle child yawned again, and the yawn spread to Valkin, who said, “I don’t
care if he meant to make Hune cry. He’s a beast for keeping us here. I hate
him, I hate him worse than Ursa. Ursa couldn’t have kidnapped us by herself.
Hang them both! I’m tired. We’re all tired. Don’t worry about the bear, Hune. I
know the thing’s a monster, but it can’t get in here.”
    Hune
knew the bear could not get in. He closed his eyes, stretched his legs, and, to
ignore the sound of the creature’s growls, started thinking about his pets,
especially Moon, his pony. Valkin, and even Neslan to a point, made fun of
their brother for choosing a name that rhymed with his, but what else could
Hune have called the animal after seeing the crescent-shaped white spot on top
his long nose? The mark looked exactly like the moon, especially against the
pony’s black fur. Hune missed Moon. He missed brushing him, and he missed the
way Moon would brush against his shoulder after he fed him a carrot.
    Hune
missed Rock as well, the stable hand’s son. Hune would climb on his pony and
Rock would take Neslan’s—Neslan never complained because he never caught
them—and they would lead their mounts to the open field behind the
stables, and break off low-hanging branches to use as swords, and pretend to be
knights from the old days fighting dragons. Funny, how the dragons always felt
real to Hune. He could picture them, thirty times his size; the sun’s
reflection off their hard, red scales dazzled him. Hune could see the powerful,
thick tails arching over their backs, smell the smoke on their breath, see
their fangs long and sharp as daggers, but the dragons never frightened him
like Ursa’s bear did.
    Neslan
was pondering the question neither of his brothers could