A Season of Spells (A Noctis Magicae Novel) by Sylvia Izzo Hunter

Author:Sylvia Izzo Hunter
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-12-05T23:00:00+00:00

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With Morvand’s help Gray bestowed his gear in a corner of Ollivier and Lécuyer’s tent—less slatternly in appearance than its occupants’ own persons might have suggested, it reminded Gray very strongly of a certain species of undergraduates’ rooms at Merlin—and shifted the two camp beds to make room for a third. Gray eyed the dimensions of these and repressed a sigh; like the cots aboard the Asp and many a bed in the posting-inns where he had lately been sleeping, they were at least a foot shorter than himself. Then, with a brisk Kenavo deoc’h!—Until we meet again—Morvand left the two lieutenants to their own devices, and conducted Gray to the presence of their Captain.

Mage-Captain Tremblay was a lean, dark man of perhaps five-and-thirty, upon whose face life and military service had scored deep lines as well as a single long, thin scar from temple to cheek. Impeccably and immaculately clad, not a hair out of alignment, he was difficult to imagine as the immediate superior of Lécuyer and Ollivier.

Seated behind his camp desk, he frowned at Morvand through the entirety of the Colonel’s compliments and the forms of introduction, then frowned at Gray, and at last said dismissively, “I cannot spare any of my men to nursemaid a civilian attaché.”

Gray counted ten, in Greek, before replying, “I have not the least intention of disrupting your operations, Captain; my charge is to observe the movements of forces in the Duchies on behalf of Lord Kergabet in London, not to interfere in any way with yours. Colonel Dubois has suggested that I might join your night-scouts on this evening’s patrol—that is, if you have no objection?”

The frown deepened. “Has he, indeed,” said Captain Tremblay. His voice was a deep, irritable rumble. “And why in Hades should he do that, hmm?”

Gray glanced aside at Mr. Morvand, whose rigid, wooden-faced stillness suggested either suppressed terror or suppressed mirth. The mages are nearly all in Captain Tremblay’s company, he had said, and then had begun some sort of explanation which had never been concluded. The most logical conclusion, however, was simply that His Majesty’s army considered it wisest to place mage-officers under the command of one who understood their ways—not to speak of their tricks.

“I should never presume to speak for Colonel Dubois,” he said, “but I expect, sir, that I have been seconded to your company, and to your night-scouts in particular, because my particular talents are well matched with theirs.”

Captain Tremblay, he observed detachedly during the silence that followed, had a face very like an osprey’s.

Then the Captain produced a short, sharp bark of laughter, brought his palm down flat upon his thigh, and said, “An owl-mage, by Jove! I should never have guessed it.”

“Nevertheless, sir,” said Gray mildly.

“Sit,” said Captain Tremblay, waving one hand at a battered camp-stool in the corner. Gray fetched it out, set it before the desk, and, rather doubtfully, folded himself onto it.

“Off with you, Mr. Morvand,” the captain continued. “My duty to the Colonel, that is, and I shall see Mr.

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