The Western Wizard by Mickey Zucker Reichert Read Free Book Online Page A

his chair. “And you? I imagine you believe you would be powerful enough to rule Pudar.”
    Colbey hesitated, the concept so foreign he had never considered it. The answer was obvious. “Certainly, Sire. But I have no inter—”
    “You arrogant
wisule!
” Verrall leapt to his feet, using the vilest insult Colbey knew. By calling him after a rodent so skittish it would abandon its young rather than face a threat, the prince had accused Colbey of cowardice. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
    Even had Colbey deigned to grace the rhetorical questionwith an answer, the prince did not give him the opportunity.
    “You speak of might. You talk about generals usurping kings. You won’t support the rightful heir to Pudar, nor even his conniving cousin. Clearly, what you plan
is
treason! You want the throne for yourself!”
    The accusation seemed too ridiculous to answer. Tossing his hands in exasperation, Colbey turned to leave. Even as he moved, he caught a glimpse of the prince beginning a gesture to his guards. His other hand fell to the hilt of his sword.
    Colbey spun back to face the threat.
    Santagithi hurled the contents of his mug. Wine splattered over the Prince of Pudar, staining his silks and leathers. Purple droplets wound across features that went nearly as dark. His hand whipped from his hilt, waving in flustered outrage. Sputtering, he turned on Santagithi. “Why? How dare. . . !” Apparently remembering he was addressing a man with as high a rank as himself, he kept accusation from his voice. “Why?”
    The guards formed a circle around Colbey, but they kept their distance and did not pull weapons.
    Santagithi stood, large and dangerous even when compared to a tent full of soldiers. His voice sounded more booming than usual in the stunned hush that fell over Verrall’s warriors. “I apologize for the soaking, but I found it necessary to rescue a dozen innocent men from death, and you, too.”
    “From death?” Verrall shook off wine by snapping his arms through the air. “What death?”
    Colbey folded his arms across his chest, awaiting Santagithi’s explanation with bland curiosity. Around him the guards squirmed, obviously unnerved by his casual disinterest in them.
    “If anyone in this tent had drawn a weapon, Colbey would have had no choice but to take it from him. I doubt he would have sheathed his unblooded.” Santagithi’s level tone surely did more to dispel tension than his words.
    But Verrall took offense. “So you think I’m weak, too.”
    “No.” Though he addressed the prince, Santagithi’sattention strayed to the soldiers as he assessed a threat Colbey had naturally considered from the moment he had entered the tent. “I’m not a Northman. I can see strengths Colbey would never understand. What you lack in sword skill, you make up in wisdom and diplomacy. And I know you’re shrewd enough to realize that nothing good could come of attacking the hero of the Great War.”
    The prince’s eyes narrowed. Wine dribbled to the floor, leaving purple rings on the dirt as Verrall sought the words to end the conflict and still keep face.
    Colbey remained silent, allowing Verrall the courtesy of space and time. Santagithi also said nothing, presumably for similar reasons.
    At last, Prince Verrall spoke, “Very well. Colbey, you’re dismissed. As to you,” he sat, twisting his head toward Santagithi. “I want you to gather your men and head home. I don’t want you or your people in my city.”
    Santagithi grimaced. Knowing the cause, Colbey tried to explain without sounding as if he was undermining the prince’s decision. “Sire, we’ll be gone as soon as we can. But Santagithi’s baby grandson is in your city. Surely, you’ll let us retrieve him before we leave.”
    The pause that followed seemed to span eternities. Until now, Colbey had tried to avoid violence. But the idea that Verrall might try to prevent him from gathering one of the three remaining Renshai raised his ire. For