Glimpses Read Online Free PDF Page B

room. Once there he stopped
and gazed around with his mouth open, taking in the towering stacks
of manuscripts around the room, and the crucibles, books, and
general clutter covering the work benches. The polished brass
astrolabe on the mezzanine above glinted dully in the grey light
coming down through the round glass dome that capped the tower.
“You live here?”
    “I work here. I live downstairs. Come
along.”
    Holding Seregil by the elbow, Nysander got
him downstairs to Alia’s old room. He found a blue-and-white
apprentice robe in one of the clothes chests and gave it to him.
Seregil took it with shaking hands and looked down at it as if he
couldn’t fathom what it was. It appeared he was still a little
dazed.
    “Put it on, dear boy. Leave your clothing
here for the servant and come to the room across the hall when you
are ready.”
    Nysander went out and closed the door to give
him privacy, then walked across the corridor to the sitting room.
The servant had stacked wood and kindling in the fireplace. He
tossed in a fire chip and flames quickly licked up.
    Seregil came in a few minutes latter, dressed
in the robe, his wet hair looking as if he’d tried to comb it into
some order with his fingers. The soft robe had been Saren’s and was
too big on him, but at least it was dry and warm. Seregil was still
shivering, so Nysander guided him to one of the armchairs in front
of the fire and spread a lap robe over Seregil’s knees.
    “Better now?” he asked, swinging the kettle
on its iron hook over the flames to heat.
    “Yes, thank you.” Seregil pulled his knees up
against his chest, and wrapped his arms around them, looking very
much younger in his oversized robe, bare toes just visible below
its hem, curled over the edge of the armchair. “So, you use magic
to stop the rain, go from here to there, and clean up your floor,
but you make the tea yourself?”
    “Yes. It comes out much better that way.”
Nysander settled in the chair across the hearth. “Magic has its
place, but not for everything. Besides, I enjoy it.”
    “Oh.”
    They sat there in awkward silence for a few
moments, but soon Seregil was looking around the room with apparent
interest. That was odd.
    “What do you think of my mural?” the wizard
asked.
    Seregil glanced at the thin band of paintings
that ringed the room. It possessed more than a minor magic; it was
the room’s chief defense. Seregil should have been mesmerized by it
by now.
    “It’s pretty,” Seregil replied. “Whoever
painted those dragons must have seen a real one. They’re better
than anything I saw at the palace.”
    Nothing. No effect at all. Nysander had never
seen this before. That, and the way the translocation had sickened
Seregil were most interesting.
    “Tell me, Seregil, have you had any training
in magic?”
    “Me?” Seregil gave another of those humorless
laughs. “I’m no wizard.”
    “That is very odd, my young friend, because
you do have some ability. I saw it in you the first time we
met.”
    “With all respect, my lord, you’re
wrong.”
    Nysander let that go for now. “Do you know
any wizards in your land?”
    “A few.” The mention of his homeland drove
the smile from his face, which only increased Nysander’s curiosity.
Someone must know his background.
    “When you feel better, I will show you the
museum. I think you will find it of interest.”
    “Thank you, my lord.”
    The kettle was hissing. Nysander took the
brown teapot down from its shelf and added some Zengati leaf and
hot water.
    “That’s good quality,” Seregil noted.
    “And how do you know that?”
    That won him the hint of a smile. “Fine tea
smells good.”
    “I suppose so. Seregil, I would like to try
something. A test of sorts. Would you please say the words altra
amal?”
    “Altra amal.”
    For just an instant every lamp in the room
and the fire flared purple.
    Seregil’s eyes widened. “I did that?”
    “You did,” Nysander assured him, leaving out
that the