6
Faithless, contorted magic! Baradir wasted some time in bitter rumination upon his corrupted arts. Of what use was it to be a sorcerer if one’s spells always went awry, and were reliable only in their tendency to land one in a worse situation than that from which one would like to escape? He kicked furiously at the sand-like substance beneath his feet — sand in semblance only, for his feet met with nothing of any great solidity, and his attempts to abuse it met with no satisfying thunk, no cathartic spray of sand into the air.
At length he collected his temper, and his scattered wits besides, and could look about himself with greater sense.
Unexpected destination. He’d imagined himself likely to emerge somewhere in the Silversands, the pale desert in which the water-fairy had dumped h
