Mallara and Burn: On the Road by Frank Tuttle Page A

make you study," said Mallara. "And
read. You'll think you've read every book in the world, and then
they'll bring you another stack," she said. "You'll learn
mathematics, and natural history, and how to raise and shape power.
You won't see much daylight, for a few years. I didn't."
    Pots shook his head. "I don't
understand."
    Burn snickered. "That's the truth, boy. That
is the entire profound truth. I'll make it simple. You're leaving.
Right now, with us. We're going to take you on our rounds, teach
you to wash behind your ears and tie your boot-laces, and next
summer you're going off to the Order's study-dungeon. If you behave
yourself maybe one day you can make your own staff and give your
goblin friend here some facial features. That clear enough?"
    "I'll be a sorcerer?"
    Mallara shook her head. "Maybe. Maybe not.
But either way you'll be educated, well-fed, and far away from this
place."
    Pots stared at his goblin, which smiled and
nodded yes.
    "First magic lesson," said Burn. "Talking
staffs made out of people-parts and found buried under rocks are
best left alone."
    Pots grinned. Mallara tousled his hair and
rose from her crouch. "Second lesson," she said. "Leave before the
villagers return," she said. "Not that I'm particularly sympathetic
to any bunch that takes in orphans as slave labor," she added. "In
fact -- Burn, can you find this Mayor's red-lettered wagon
again?"
    "Easily," said Burn. "I'll just look in front
of taverns."
    "Do it," she said. "Find him. Tell him to
wait for me."
    "Ooh," said Burn. "She's got her dander up,
Mister Pots. You and dough-boy behave, while I'm gone."
    Burn buzzed away. Mallara sighed, eyed her
tattered clothing, and glared at the thorn-bushes peeking through
the tree-trunks. "Let's go," she said. "We'll find supper and new
clothes in the next village."
    Pots and his goblin hesitated. Mallara
watched the boy gaze back at the smoking creek-bank and the rushing
water and the cool, shaded woods beyond. Pots may have been
overworked and ill-used, mused Mallara, but Bertat was home, and
leaving home was a moment Mallara remembered all too well.
    "It's time to say goodbye," said Mallara
softly.
    Pots wiped his nose on his sleeve, turned on
his heel, and marched toward the woods, his goblin at his
heels.
    Mallara smiled a weary smile, patted her
staff, and followed slowly after.
     
     
    THE END
     
    Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed ON THE
ROAD. Please visit my website at www.franktuttle.com , or
send me an email at [email protected] .
I’d love to hear from you!
     
    If you enjoyed ON THE ROAD, please check out
WISTRIL COMPLEAT, also available here at Smashwords!