Willard stared, uncomprehending. “You mean a magical creature?” said the Kwendi. “Like a shadow or trysting servant?” “No, no, no—I mean, yes, but… You see, I was afraid of him at first, but he’s very sweet and kind, and he would never do magic on you if you didn’t want it. He is very respectful. Abellia made him, I think, out of sticks and clay.” Caris halted and watched their reactions. Sir Willard raised an eyebrow. Harric expected the old knight to explode, but he merely nodded. “Seen such…in the Iberg capital. Harmless. Servants for cooking.” Willard closed his eyes again and rocked forward in the saddle as if he might faint. Brolli retrieved the water skin before Willard dropped it. One gray eye opened and found Brolli. “This witch…Abellia. Your…first Iberg?” “I see some on gallows. We kill one in Gallows Ferry, yes?” Willard grunted. “Never so many here. Come for your…magic.” Brolli nodded. “They are a magic-using people, yes?” “But you…you bottle it.
