Thieves of Islar: Book One of The Heirs of Bormeer by James Shade Page B

once-beloved matriarchy were said to have been powerful wizards or sorcerers. But at some age everyone realized they were just stories.
    Jaeron, however, knew the truth. Through his study and training amongst the acolytes of Teichmar, Jaeron had learned that some magic was real. Every once in a while, and generally along particular genealogical lines, an individual would be blessed, or cursed, with a magical talent. Some, like Avrilla, could unnaturally influence people’s minds or hearts. Others had more physical manifestations, like the ability to manipulate fire or mend bones or purge infections.
    A few, very rare, cases had multiple abilities and these were very strong. The Church viewed these individuals as very dangerous and did everything it could to identify them and send them to the Cathedral at the Bormeer capital for seclusion. Records within the Teichmar library also confirmed other truths, too. The Tainted were real. Some people chose to exchange a portion of their essence, their soul, to Malfekke in return for a transformation of their own flesh and blood. These creatures were actively hunted and exterminated by both the Church and the Bormeeran government.
    Jaeron had read accounts confirming that some priests had access to powers that seemed magical, as well. Within Teichmar, certain blessings and ceremonies had effects that could only be explained by divine intervention. Most worrisome amongst those entries were records confirming that the priests and priestesses of the Forbidden religions had similar capabilities. To Jaeron’s mind, that could mean that even though worship of those deities was no longer legal, the deities themselves might very well be real.
    “You are welcome to stay. I’m sorry that the barn isn’t more comfortable, but please let me know if there is anything else you need.”
    The farmer’s statement back to Avrilla broke Jaeron’s musing. He stepped to the edge of the loft and looked down. From this vantage, Jaeron could see the back of his sister’s head and shoulders. Leaning casually on his pitchfork, a man stood facing her. He appeared sturdy, but worn, like clothes that had been left in the sunlight too long. He had a ruddy face, etched with concern, but he was smiling at his sister.
    Avrilla reached out to grasp the man’s hand. “Thank you, sir.”
    The farmer graced her with a bigger smile and a nod, then turned and left the barn to begin his workday.

Eighteen
    D windeKale felt the trickle of sweat begin on his neck and slide down his back. He would blame the weather, or the woolen tabard he wore as part of the uniform of the Cerulean Couriers. But the fact was that Larsetta i n’ Shil made him nervous.
    As a message courier, Dwin was used to a variety of assignments and environments. He was tasked with long horse rides from Dun Lercos to any location within Bormeer and had seen the best and worst of his country’s geography. He had faced or escaped from some of its most dangerous animals. He had visited the warfront and come home unscathed. His duties were performed for the government, sometimes for military reasons, but mostly to enable urgent communication at the behest of the Prime Minister, the High Court, or the Office of Revenue.
    Dwin did not like the idea of the Cerulean Couriers being used for personal gain and there was no doubt in his mind about in’Shil’s purposes. Despite the direction of his superiors, and notwithstanding the affluent lifestyle evident in the apartments that surrounded him, Dwin felt that the woman before him had less than noble intent in the use of his services.
    Plus he did not like the way she watched him. Like he was a roast fowl set out on a platter.
    Larsetta in’Shil sank back in the luxury of the divan. The down-filled cushions absorbed her shape as she stretched back against the yathri fabric. The morning sunlight filtered through the light color of the sea-folk’s material, clashing with the woman’s black and scarlet