The Visitor Read Online Free PDF

white horse, Gowl said to nobody in particular, “I’m going to be like him!”
    â€œYeah, right,” said Skiffle. “Not with your record at school you’re not.”
    Gowl turned to aim a punch at his detractor, catching a glimpse as he did so of some functionary or other bearing down on them from the far side. “Look there,” he whispered, pointing. The moment their heads were turned away from him, he moved between two large bales of straw and then sideways between two more that supported several overhead, becoming invisible in the instant.
    The functionary was swift, and he had help arriving from another direction. Within moments they had four boys by whatever part was uppermost, and were marching them away toward the command post, where the four captives found that Gowl wasn’t with them. Boyish honor, admirable, certainly, though quite often misguided, required they keep quiet about this. None of them bothered to consider what Gowl would have done if he were in their place. Gowl, as was his habit, was not in their place, which he considered only right. By the time the school director was notified of the charges against the captives, trespass being the least among them, Gowl had sneaked back to school and was sitting innocently in class.
    A good deal of nefarious nonsense had taken place at the school recently (the largest part of it Gowl’s doing), and the school director thought it time to make an example of malefactors. Skiffle, Banner, and Brant were given twenty stripes each in the school forecourt with the student body counting the lashes aloud, and little sand bur Fortrees (who had no mother, and whose father didn’t consider him worth saving) was sent away for bottling. His words to the demon who came to bottle him were, “Tell Gowl I didn’t cry.” The demon, though he chose not to deliver the message, took it upon himself to inquire into the matter, with results which surprised Gowl, though not until many years later.
    This particular event gave Gowl his lifetime ambition. From that time on, his schoolwork improved because he kept one or two good students doing his work under threats of extreme injury. He also became increasingly adept at keeping layers of people between himself and any possible blame. He was going to be that man on the white horse, and he kept that purpose before him for three decades of his life as he rose to the rank of Over Colonel in charge of the Division of Defense. He postponed marriage until he could do so advantageously, at thirty-five, to Scilla, the twenty-year-old daughter of the Comador Clan Chief, on whom he thereafter begat a seemingly endless stream of daughters.
    The general cultivated influential supporters, and it was one of these, the then-Warden of the College of Sorcery in Apocanew, who told Gowl of Hetman Gohdan Gone. An invaluable resource, the warden said, in helping others achieve their ambitions.
    â€œHetman Gone?” Gowl queried, brow furrowed, slightly annoyed at hearing a name he knew nothing of. “I’ve never heard of him!”
    â€œWell, no reason you should, he’s a lone, strange fellow,” said the warden. “I wouldn’t know of him except he invited me to his place. Not a well man, I’d say. Seldom goes out. Gout, maybe. Keeps his place hot as a furnace. I met him when he had some sorcerous materials that he wanted to donate to the college. It’s the most extraordinary material, spells that really work, old grimoires, biographies of mages. Let me tell you, General, he had more of The Art in his hands than in all of Faience Museum! Eh!
    â€œHe told me to let him know if he could ever be of help to the Regime, eh? Now, putting you in charge of affairs would be of help to the Regime, wouldn’t it?”
    â€œNow how would he do that?” snarled Over Colonel Gowl. “The current general, my kinsman Thulger Turnaway, is still in good health and strong as an