The Choice of Magic - Michael G. Manning Page 0,181

himself. Then he stood and placed the box in his seat and finished the wine in his glass.

The baron was on his feet. “What are you doing? I haven’t given you permission to leave!”

“Sorry, milord,” said Will. He put his glass on the camp desk and headed for the door, but he turned back before he stepped outside. “I’m not a warlock, and I won’t be made a sorcerer either, which is an even greater evil. I know you mean well, but you’re wrong.”

And then he left, while Lord Nerrow stared at his back as though he had grown two heads.

Thanks to Isabel he had the day off, which suited him just fine as he didn’t want to face his squad mates—or anyone else for that matter. Plus, he had just pissed off the man in charge of the army in Branscombe. The last thing he wanted was to go somewhere he would be found and given new orders.

So, he went into Branscombe instead. He stopped at the armorer’s shop first and found Jeremy, since that was the only apprentice whose name he knew. After a frustrating conversation, he finally convinced the man to look up how much Isabel had paid for the rush job on his mail shirt. He left in a state of shock. “Thirty-seven gold,” he murmured to himself. There was no way he would ever be able to come up with that much money.

“Accept no debts,” Arrogan had told him. He felt like he understood better now. The human world might not have the same black and white rules that Faerie operated under, but the wisdom of those words was still true.

With seven clima in his purse, Will went to the only place he could afford, a cheap pub that catered to soldiers. The sign in front had no letters, but the name was obvious from the garish painting—it was called the Red Goat. He went inside and ordered two ales. “Space them out for me,” he told the barmaid.

Even drinking slowly, though, he finished them in less than an hour. Unwilling to spend more, he got up and left. The world had a slightly fuzzy feel to it now. I’m starting to see why Sven liked his drink so much, thought Will. As he started to step out into the street, he spied an unusual sight.

Four armored guards were escorting two women. One was a slender girl with brown hair and a round face. She seemed young, probably in her teens, and her dress was made of the finest material he had ever seen, dyed in shades of yellow and green. It had to be Lord Nerrow’s daughter. My half-sister, he thought idly. Remembering the baron’s visit to his mother’s house the year before, he tried to remember her name but failed.

She was spoiled, though. That part of his memory was still clear.

The woman beside her almost missed his notice. She was taller and wore a subdued dress of dark gray material with no jewelry or other ornamentation. It was a match for her hair, which was darker still, almost black. When she turned to look at her younger companion, Will saw her face. Isabel.

He studied them for a moment. Isabel looked as though she was playing the part of the young noblewoman’s handmaid. Typical for her, he observed. Why was she so protective of her identity?

Before he knew what he was doing, he began following them, keeping his distance. The younger woman seemed fascinated by the shops, but none of them held her interest for more than a few minutes. She looked bored, and Will could see her complaining to Isabel as they walked. He was close enough to hear their voices, but the noise of the street made it impossible to pick out what they were saying.

An old woman, obviously a beggar, approached them, and Will saw the guards begin to push her away, but Isabel ordered them to let her speak. Nerrow’s daughter reached into her purse and pulled out several coins, but Isabel put her hand out to stop her. She spoke to the old woman for a moment, then they moved on without giving her anything.

So much for charity, he noted. He continued to follow them, until they stopped at a bakery where they bought several loaves of bread.

They almost saw him when they turned and headed back in his direction. Will was forced to duck into the closest shop and pretend to be interested in tallow candles until they