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eBook Category: Science Fiction
eBook Description: An orphan must demonstrate her magical affinity for the winds--and survive a test of wills.

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Dragon Magazine #84, April 1984; Quiet Magic, SRM Publisher, Ltd, June 1999, 1980
Fictionwise Release Date: October 2007

40 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [33 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [37 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [19 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [175 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [20 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [79 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [90 KB] , hiebook (KML) [74 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [46 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [17 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [21 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [49 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [32 KB]
Words: 6220
Reading time: 17-24 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

He did not look a great deal like his poster-portrait, but only Petrie noticed that--or cared, once she had--and Petrie was odd by anyone's counting.

What mattered the most to everyone, Petrie included, was that he had come at last. Three weeks after his pictured announcements, here he was in town: the World Famous Kitemaster, Warlock of the Clouds, Advisor to the Crowned Heads of Exotic Realms (both earthbound and cloud rimmed), Master of the Winds. To Petrie, this last title was by far the most important. Oddly, not even she wondered why such an exalted personage should waste his time and fabulous powers awebinding the resident of Tailies Landing.

Home to Petrie was the Orphanage of St. Dudley, and she sat now with her fellow orphans under the watchful eyes of Sister Ignacia Marie, buying her continued presence with rigid stillness, staring at the Master as if her huge purple eyes were velvet-lined cages in which she would keep him for herself, forever.

He was tall, though not as tall as his picture had promised, and slender to the edge of emaciation. His hair and beard were curly, but the red-brown curls of the poster were, in reality, more than merely speckled with grey. He was dressed in a blue-and-white pin-striped tuxedo. His shirt was only three snowy ruffs: one at each wrist and a larger one, pinned with a bluestone brooch, at his slender throat. The cape Petrie had hoped for was not immediately in evidence.

As he spread his arms wide and his fingers below the lace were long, slim and callused by lightning. On the third finger of the left hand--on the side where Petrie sat--he wore a battered silver band.

Petrie held her breath as he gestured--barely more than a whisper-ripple of outstretched digits--and the lanterns dimmed. The slightest, most delicate of breezes moved around the tent, cool on sweating bodies. Petrie sniffed as it touched her; smelled vanilla and ozone.