The White Spell by Lynn Kurland Read Free Book Online

than insist they avert their gazes when he passed, who could blame him? The only thing he loved more than a well-stocked, inaccessible solar full of priceless treasures was a rollicking good skirmish with a mage who didn’t make him yawn.
    He was, in truth, a simple man.
    â€œYou’ll earn ten coppers a week,” Doghail said. “Can’t do more or I won’t eat.”
    â€œCoppers,” Acair repeated. “
Coppers
?”
    Doghail made a noise that could have passed for a laugh. “Coppers,” he repeated. “You know, those wee coins worth nothing?”
    â€œAh,” Acair said, feeling somewhat at a loss. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a coin of so little value. He tended to operate in piles of gold sovereigns, but that was obviously not going to be his lot at present. As he’d said before, he was in Hell for the duration.
    â€œGenerous, I know,” Doghail said dryly. He nodded toward the barn’s innards. “I’ll show you where you’ll bunk, then you can be about your business.”
    â€œDelightful,” Acair said. He followed Master Doghail through what seemed to be an endless maze of stalls containing an equal number of what looked to him to be rather disagreeable-looking equine . . . things. He caught sight of a lad or two apparently doing what he was going to be required to do and was powerfully tempted to take his chances with that damned spell and bolt for civilization.
    Doghail stopped in front of what could have only been termed a minor passageway in a very poorly funded butler’s pantry. Indeed,
passageway
was too grand a term for it and
closet
didn’t describe the painful smallness of the place. He was half tempted to call it a
stationary dumbwaiter
, but he couldn’t find his tongue to speak.
    â€œLuxurious, isn’t it?” Doghail said, without a shred of irony in his tone. “Fortunately for you, all the lads with seniority were sacked, leaving this place free. You look, if you don’t mind my saying so, like you’re accustomed to only the finest.”
    Acair gave up trying to express his thoughts. They weren’t pleasant ones anyway.
    â€œYou’ll want to change, no doubt,” Doghail continued mercilessly. “Wouldn’t want to get anything on those very fine boots of yours, I’m thinking.”
    â€œChange into what?” Acair asked.
    â€œI’ll find you something.”
    Acair would have put his foot down at wearing another man’s boots and cloak, but he supposed he wouldn’t need a cloak for long and he wasn’t keen for anything to land on his own footwear, so he exchanged his handmade Diarmailtian leather boots for something that felt a bit like a cobbler’s experiment gone terribly wrong.
    Doghail smiled, then handed him a pitchfork. “The tool of your trade, my lad.”
    Acair promised himself many,
many
hours of thinking on a proper repayment for a certain Cothromaichian prince who possessed spells just waiting to be appropriated, then took the pitchfork and followed his employer to a stall containing a horse that looked as if it were none-too-pleased to see him. He looked at Doghail. “You want me to go in there?”
    â€œUnless you’ve some other way to remove their droppings that I’m not familiar with.”
    Acair considered. This was a place where a bit of magic certainly would have come in handy, but there was nothing to be done about it. He eyed the horse inside that stall and had a rather unfriendly look in return.
    â€œOr you could present yourself at the manor and see if Himself might need someone to clean his privies.”
    â€œAh, I think not,” Acair said without hesitation. There were some things that even he wouldn’t do, no matter the consequence.
    He nodded to Doghail, took a firmer grasp on the handle, and hoped he would survive the day.
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