The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) by Meredith Mansfield Read Free Book Online Page A

Why?”
    Arcas shrugged and cast an apologetic look at his father.
“To tell the truth, I’m not very good at it, no matter how hard I try. I
haven’t even started making my own tools yet. Everyone else my age has already
made at least some of their own tools. But I can drive a sharp bargain.
I could be a much better merchant than I’ll ever be a smith. Now you, if Father
says so, you could be a great smith.”
     
     

Chapter 7: Noticed
     
    Stretching his stiff muscles, Montibeus stepped inside the
upscale tavern that served only the Fasallon. It’d been a long day and he
wanted to relax a bit before being rowed across the bay to the Palace of the
Fasallon. He was surprised to find his oldest friend there. Veleus rarely drank
in public. He was sitting at a quiet table in the corner, so Montibeus went to
join him.
    “What are you doing here, Veleus? We don’t see much of you
in here,” he said.
    “I’m thinking about getting drunk,” Veleus answered. From
the slur in his voice, he had a pretty good start on that.
    Montibeus sat down across from Veleus and moved the
nearly-empty wine bottle aside—and out of Veleus’s reach. “That’s really not
like you. What’s wrong?”
    Veleus looked up. “I saw a ghost today.”
    “A ghost?”
    Veleus slumped back in his chair. “A might-have-been. Just
outside the Smiths’ Guildhall. I usually try to avoid that quarter. . . well,
you know Lucina’s family were smiths. But Orleus had ordered some new blades so
we went by there on the way to the harbor. There was a boy at the gate. I
couldn’t help thinking, if she’d stayed, Lucina and I might have had a son like
that.”
    Montibeus shook his head. “You know better, Veleus. If you
and Lucina had a son, he would never have been a smith. He’d have been raised
in the Temple. That’s the law. If he had any Talent, he’d have stayed there.
Even if he didn’t, it’s unlikely the High Council would have permitted him to
become a smith.”
    Veleus drained his cup. “He looked just like me—well, like I
looked back then. He even had my eyes.”
    Montibeus almost choked on a mouthful of his own wine. Grey
eyes! In the Smiths’ Guild? Then the boy had to be a half-blood, whether
Veleus’s or not. But how could a half-blood escape the notice of the Searchers
for so long? And, more important, what should they do about it, now? The boy
would be too old to train, but he couldn’t be left outside the Temple,
especially if he had any scrap of Talent. That was far too dangerous. If the
boy was already a member of a guild, things could get difficult. But those were
questions for the High Council. Montibeus would have to find out more about
this boy and then report it. As High Priest and the most public face of the
Fasallon, that was part of his job.
     
     

Chapter 8: Rites of Passage
     
    Vatar stared gloomily at the rain outside the cozy kitchen,
trying to guess whether Uncle Lanark would open his forge for work today or
not. He hadn’t heard the boom of thunder yet. Or seen the eerie blue-purple
light that could sometimes be seen on the tops of the roofs. The big bell of
the Guild Hall hadn’t rung in warning, either. At least not yet.
    On the plains, there was always plenty to do, even in the
rain. In fact, the Dardani were accustomed to ride in all weathers short of a
blizzard. Or when the snow was deeper than their horses’ hocks. Though, from
the way Arcas had clung to his saddle when he rode off to the plains with
Vatar’s family a few weeks ago, maybe he wouldn’t be riding in weather like
this for a while.
    Of course, there was good reason not to be in a workshop
full of iron during a thunderstorm, as he’d learned early in his lessons at the
Smiths’ Guild. Vatar sighed. Since his family had left for the Zeda waterhole,
he’d spent nearly all his time either working in Uncle Lanark’s forge or at the
Guild Hall. Even most of the friends he’d made here were other apprentices.
Well, if Uncle Lanark