large ear inquiringly.
Even as a dog his ears are too big for him, thought Lalo. Fascinated in spite of
himself, he watched as the animal sneezed again and trotted across the room. The
tavern door obligingly opened itself, then snicked shut after him. And then
there was only the crackling of the fire and the whisper of rain against the
windows to keep him company.
I dreamed it, thought the limner, but the armband still lay before him, striped
with all the colors of the lines that sectioned Sanctuary. And what is my color,
the color of magic? Lalo wondered then. But there was no one to answer him.
He dropped a few coins onto the table and stuffed the armband into his pouch.
Then he jammed his hat on over his thinning hair and wrapped the damp cloak
around him. Now it smelled of dog as well as of wet wool.
And as that scent clung to the cloak, the mage’s words stuck in Lalo’s memory.
His step quickened as he headed for the door. He had to warn Gilla-he had to get
home.
“You tell me, Wedemir-you see more of the town than I do. Is your father right
to be afraid?” Gilla paused in her sweeping and leaned on the broom, staring at
her oldest son. Her two younger children were sitting at the kitchen table,
drawing on their slates with some of Lalo’s broken chalks. Chalk squeaked and
Wedemir grimaced.
“Well, you still need a pass to get around,” he answered her, “and who’s
fighting whom and why seems to change from day to day. But having the real
Stepsons back in their barracks seems to have calmed the Beysibs down.”