The White Spell by Lynn Kurland Read Free Book Online Page A

time the sun had set, he was sore, out-of-sorts, and so filled with a desire to wrap his blistered fingers around a certain mage’s neck, he was almost tempted to tell that spell of death to go to hell so he could chance a bit of shapechanging and be off to do what needed to be done.
    And if that weren’t enough to add insult to injury, someone had stolen his good boots.
    He accepted Doghail’s invitation to see what all his labor assisted, though he couldn’t imagine it could possibly be anything he would be interested in. What he wanted to do was take himself off to that pitiful scrap of floor, cast himself down on it, and sleep like the dead. If he were overrun by mice and other vermin, he honestly didn’t care. It might send him off more speedily to that place in the East where he could rest from his labors. At the moment, nothing sounded better.
    But unfortunately his form was frighteningly resilient and his will to live apparently too strong to be overcome. He suppressed the urge to sigh and simply followed Doghail without comment.
    They stopped at the end of a very large expanse of dirt that lay adjacent to the stalls. It must have been quite valuable dirt considering the entire bloody thing had a high roof, no doubt to protect the ground against the weather. All Acair knew was it was a place he hadn’t wanted to become familiar with earlier because he’d suspected it would take him half the night to muck it out and if he were found too close to it, that was exactly what he would be doing. Fortunately for his hands, it was being used at the moment for what he could only surmise was horsey exercise.
    There was a tall, slender figure out in the middle of it, running a horse in circles around himself. It looked like foolishness to him, but what did he know? Obviously there were things he didn’t understand about the whole endeavor, things he certainly didn’t want to learn.
    He looked about for a distraction and found it in the persons of the two men standing to one side. He looked them over ruthlessly and decided that one of them had to be the lord of the place, Fuadain. The man’s clothing was likely the best Sàraichte could produce, his boots certainly better than what Acair was currently wearing, and his mien one of a man who was accustomed to havinghis way. If he had magic, it was of a very common, vulgar sort. Acair saw nothing that gave him pause, even in his current state of not having anything but threats with which to defend himself.
    The man standing next to the assumed Fuadain of Sàraichte was a shorter, rotund sort. Acair dismissed him immediately, mostly because he found that his attentions were relentlessly drawn back to the lad working the horses.
    He realized with a start that
he
was a
she
and he wondered how he had missed that the first time around. That it was a girl and not a man handling what he could see was an irascible stallion left him wondering quite seriously about her state of mind.
    â€œYou stupid girl, run him harder!”
    Acair looked at Fuadain and decided that whatever else he might ever come to think about the man, he most definitely was never going to be fond of him. There were ways a man comported himself with the fairer sex and there were ways he didn’t. Acair was very clear in his own mind about which was which.
    The truth was, he loved women. He loved their small-talk, the way they smelled, how they moved. He had spent a great deal of time winding yarn, judging stitchery, refilling cups of coffee and tea. And that was just for the genteel ones who weren’t coming at him with spells to rival his own or plotting behind their fans to take over thrones. He had never met a horse gel before, but he wasn’t opposed to the idea, especially after he beat some manners into the lord of the hall—
    â€œI wouldn’t.”
    He glanced at Doghail. “I beg your pardon?”
    Doghail looked pointedly at Acair’s