5
A Gift of Poison
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L
ife has a funny way of throwing one’s plans into the air and watching them crash into the ground. Ewan felt that way now as he rode back to Crossroad. He faintly remembered hearing a conversation about magic and Ewan was determined to find out if there was any truth to the drunken man’s claims.
It was insane that he was even pursuing this course. Magic, along with wizards, had disappeared long ago.
Leaving his mount in one of the stalls behind the inn, Ewan entered the building. The crowd was thicker, if that were possible, then when he left. The air was hot and smelled of sweat and ale. Ewan shouldered his way through the press of bodies. By the time he reached the bar, he’d been groped by several drunken wenches and his shirt was wet with spilled ale.
