Page 37 of Seducing the Sorcerer
Morgrim gave him a long look. It felt as if Morgrim was trying to think of a way to explain something that would take a lifetime to tell, something joyful and inexpressibly sad, something bafflingly complex and laughably simple. Something cruel, that Morgrim wanted to tell him with compassion.
But in the end all Morgrim said was, “Yes.”
Fenn was silent. He looked down at his plate which was nearly empty. Lucky, because his appetite had vanished. Wild magic. Hero, villain or laughing stock. He didn’t want to be any of those. No, not even a hero, although the other two were obviously worse. All he wanted was to be alone in a paddock somewhere with some horses.
Well. Was that really all he wanted? He found himself glancing again at Morgrim, sitting cornerwise from him at the long empty table. Maybe there was something else Fenn wanted. For starters, he wouldn’t mind having Morgrim gazing at him in admiration a couple more times.
Ah, but while Morgrim was clearly no laughing stock, he could easily be a villain.
“This wild magic,” Fenn said, slowly, “The magician’s intention don’t matter?”
“It matters.” Morgrim seemed to slump slightly in his chair. “But it isn’t everything. No. The best-intentioned magic often comes to nothing.”
Fenn thought he’d finished, but Morgrim lifted his hand, apparently indicating the shadowy rafters above their heads.
“Take the rain clouds, for example,” Morgrim said. “Here. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
Fenn froze. The clouds folk say you’ve stolen? Oh aye. I noticed.
“’Course,” he managed.
“I conjured them. My intentions were good. But the spell hasn’t succeeded yet.”
“Oh?” Fenn felt as if he were teetering on a knife edge. Was he about to learn some awful truth about his host?
Morgrim made an irritable gesture. “What good are they here? None at all! But I can’t get them to spread.”
Hope blossomed in Fenn’s chest. “And you want them to spread to end the drought? To help folk?” he asked. Just to make sure.
“Of course,” Morgrim said, impatiently.
Fenn felt as if he was letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Morgrim hadn’t stolen the clouds at all. He was trying to help. It was so obvious now Fenn knew. And it was easy to see how it might have been misconstrued too. Because there was cause and effect here, just not the way around that some folk thought.
“Right. Of course. Aye. Of course, you are,” Fenn said.
“You seem relieved, Mr. Todd.”
“’Course I am! It’s terrible hard, this drought. Crops failing. Animals dying.” And you’re not the bastard who caused it. You’re not some rich fucker who don’t care.
Morgrim drew himself up. “Perhaps you have heard rumours.”
“Er...well,” Fenn mumbled. “Rumours?”
“That I’ve stolen the rain clouds.” Morgrim said. “That I am responsible for the drought.” He breathed out through his nose, like a man forcing himself to be calm. “It is not true.”
Fenn did his best to look shocked. “Well, there’s always them as like to think the worst of folk. Anyway, for myself, I’m right happy you’re doing something about it.”
“I haven’t done anything useful yet. As I say, I can’t get the clouds to spread.”
There it was again. That sad look in the man’s eyes, as though someone he loved had died. Maybe someone had, because of the drought. Despite the efforts the queen and government had made with grain and water, some poor buggers had lost everything and ended themselves. In fact, this was probably why Morgrim had looked so miserable through the window last night. He couldn’t break the drought. Fancy feeling responsible for that. Poor bloke. No wonder he was a bit haggard and jumpy.
“No. But you will,” Fenn said.
“Such faith.” Morgrim took a mouthful of wine.
“But you’re Morgrim, ain’t you? Most powerful magician in the land.”
“Yes.” Morgrim swallowed, put his wineglass down. “Mr. Todd. I must ask you something. Something important.”
