A Spellmonger Short Story By Terry Mancour Copyright © Terry Mancour 2013 I had lived in Sevendor for over a year, now, and while I had visited every other Yeomanry in my domain, I had yet to visit Westwood Hall, which is one of the closest manors to the castle. It wasn’t a purposeful slight – I had been busy. But now that the battle was over, the dragon slain, the harvest well in and the winter stocks filled, I had a need to. It was time to collect my new apprentice, and Westwood Hall was her home. I felt obligated to go escort her personally, meet her kin, and do my best to ease her into life at Sevendor Castle. She was just thirteen, after all.
Dara had returned in triumph to Sevendor after the Battle of Dragonfall, laden with honors and riches. I mean that last literally, as the wealthy folk of Gilmora had gone out of their way to laud the girl they called the Hawkmaiden, and a lot of that laud was in the form of the heavy gold chains the Gilmoran ladies found in style at the time. Since the danger of dragons and the depredations of the gurvani invasion of that fertile land had driven the traditionally gracious folk of Gilmora to crisis, Dara had found herself gifted with no less than seventy gold chains, many heavy with semi-precious stones. I had seen her try to wear them all at one time, and the poor girl nearly broke her neck.
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