The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare by April Leonie Lindevald Page A

to explain later. Sorry to say I need you back in your little house, Ondine. We have more work to do this evening.” He held the water skin out to her, and shaking her curls with exasperation, she disappeared inside. The sun had dipped low and the courtyard was fully in shadow now. Tvrdik noticed the young girl still sitting rather dejectedly on her bench, as he gathered the rest of his possessions. No time now to find out her story. Perhaps another day. He stuffed the last morsel of cheese in his mouth, tossed the gold coin in the air, caught it as it tumbled down, and started back toward the giant doors of the Hall of Audience.

    Not five minutes later, the enormous door swung open again in the Hall of Audience, and Jorelial Rey, still in conversation with Mark, found herself again summoned to private conference with her doorkeeper. His eyes were as round as saucers as he addressed her, “Pardon again my intrusion, Lady…”
    Annoyed at the turn the day had taken, Jorelial was not her best self as she snapped, “What is it this time?”
    Warlowe stammered, “My lady, that man I spoke of earlier…”
    “I thought I said…”
    “He gave me this, and bade me present it to you by way of introduction.” The doorman handed her the small metallic object. Jorelial took one look at it, turned it over in her hand, and gasped, “Holy cat-tails and dragon’s bones, Warlowe! Did he say where he got this?”
    “No, Mistress. Just said he thought it would interest you, and repeated that he had urgent business to discuss with you on behalf of the original owner, at your earliest convenience.” Warlowe blinked.
    “At my earliest convenience, indeed…” Rel swore under her breath as she spun about. “Mark, I am afraid we will have to continue our discussion at a future time. Something has come up – you understand?”
    Mark rose at once and attempted a little formal bow, almost unbalancing himself, “At your pleasure, lady, and I hope to call you ‘sister’ very soon.” She stared after him, deep in thought, as he disappeared through the large doors, and then turned back to Warlowe. “I apologize for my ill temper; it has been an excruciatingly long and trying day. You did exactly the right thing. Give me two minutes and then show him in, please. Oh, and could you please find the steward and tell him not to wait dinner for me? And if you happen to see Tashroth hanging about out there, could you tell him for me that I will join him on the north tower as soon as I can? Thank you, Warlowe.” She touched his arm in genuine appreciation. He bowed to her and stepped outside, raising a single eyebrow on the way out in response to the suggestion that he speak to a dragon.
    Jorelial looked at the coin in her hand one more time, then strode over to the formal throne on the dais. It would be important to start this particular interview from a position of authority. The door creaked open again, and Warlowe reappeared, ushering in a stranger. As the man crossed the long room, she had a moment to take his full measure. He was tall and lean, dressed in some sort of odd rustic clothing that was patched and threadbare. He carried a collection of packs slung over both shoulders and on his back. His age was difficult to assess, as one moment he looked quite young, and then, in another light, lines of care appeared on his face that made him seem much older. Around his head was an aureole of hair so pale as to be nearly white, while his piercing blue eyes peered out from behind gold-rimmed spectacles that seemed to give him a perpetually surprised look. Facing this man, Jorelial felt a powerful impulse both to laugh and to cry. Instead, she tried to look stern. The man approached, made a perfunctory bow, and spoke first. “Jorelial Rey, I hope you will forgive my forwardness, but I am sent here on a mission of grave importance.”
    She narrowed her eyes at him and brandished the coin, “Where did you get this?”
    “From him whose