Player's Ruse Read Online Free PDF

desperate attempt to save a burning building, I discovered she had succeeded beyond her wildest hopes, for magic had risen in me to enhance the water I was dashing on the flames.
    ’Twas Fisk who brought me to see that for all its freakishness, ’twas not a cause for despair, but I had sworn never to use it, in the hopes that it might someday vanish as strangely as it had come.
    No new manifestations had occurred in over a year, and for the most part I ignored it. I had even become accustomed to seeing that bizarre glow in the magica ink in the tattoos on my wrists. But there were times, as now, when I used my normal Gifts and felt it stir in answer. The chill of fear that touched me made the cold of the storm seem trivial. I squelched the uncoiling serpent of power firmly, and sought once more to forget about it.
    I was aided in this by the way Rose buried her face against my back and clung to me, and further distracted by True, who was trying to bury his whole body in her skirts. True appears to be a cross between a hound and one of the large, lean breeds built for running, and he’s not a small dog—he all but pushed both of us out into the wet.
    After a time the storm’s first fury lessened, but the rain settled into a steady downpour that showed no sign of abating. We’d been using our winter cloaks as part of our bedrolls, and it took some time to extract them. The tight-woven wool would shed even this downpour for a time. Unfortunately the road, formerly dusty and firm, was now a river of mud so slippery that I’d swear it was laced with goose grease.
    The horses managed well despite the occasional skidding hoof and the way True darted beneath their feet, but I worried for Chant’s weak leg if he should slip. We could go no faster in safety, and I judged we were still several hours from our destination when water began to soak through my cloak at the shoulders.
    So when I saw a great fire, leaping on a ragged hillock that crowned one of the sea cliffs, my first thought was of shelter. And yet . . .
    Fisk followed my gaze. “What could be burning on top of that lump? Did the lightning set a tree on fire?”
    “Not in this rain,” I said. “Lightning fires start slow. In a sheltered bit of wood one might smolder for some time—in any exposed place the rain would put it out.”
    We’d all stopped now, squinting at the top of the distant outcrop, the rain pattering on our faces. We couldn’t see the source of the blaze, for the road had wandered inland and a ridge of rock concealed it. But the fire was so large that tips of flame leapt above it, and the back of my neck prickled.
    There was something very wrong about that fire. No Gift but that of sensing magic is truly reliable, as I’ve proved often enough, but never before had my Gift of warning spoken so strongly as it did then. Had I been a dog, I’d have flattened my ears and tail and growled—indeed, the impulse to do so was so strong, I glanced at True, to see if he was doing it.
    Not being Gifted, he was trying to find a dry spot beneath one of the low bush-trees that lined the road. True’s short coat served him well in warmer weather, but in the cold or wet he was easily chilled.
    “Mayhap some shepherd built a hut up there,” said Rose.
    “But why would he build such a big fire?” Fisk objected. “Why would anyone build—Wait, maybe the shepherd’s hut caught fire. In which case he’ll soon be heading for town to get help. I hope he’s not the type to steal horses.”
    My brows knit. Could that be what I found so wrong? Was someone trapped by the blaze, needing our help?
    No. The moment the thought occurred, I knew ’twas not what caused the sense of wrongness pulsing through my mind. I gazed at the fire, trying to pin down my elusive instincts, until Fisk cleared his throat, and I looked up to find both my companions staring at me.
    “Nodded off?” my squire asked tartly.
    My lips twitched despite my unease, but still . . .