Winter Witch by Elaine Cunningham

counsel now.”
    “Did you by chance study with Canalora Rivista?”
    “Everyone who enrolls at the Theumanexus studies with Lady Canalora,” Declan said. “Lady Lore teaches the principles of magic, and she tests first-year students on their mastery of basic spells and cantrips.”
    “That is true,” the wizard admitted. “But it’s also widely known. You could have heard that from anyone. Cast a simple spell, and I’ll let you go.”
    Declan shook his head. “I left the Theumanexus because I didn’t wish to become a wizard. In fact, I have sworn off the use of magic.”
    “Isn’t that convenient,” Zimbidge sneered. The wizard’s attitude was not the most vexing thing Declan had experienced since nightfall, but it touched his honor in a way the other indignities had not.
    “Forgive me if I misjudge your intent,” Declan said coldly, “but it sounds as if you were calling me a liar.”
    “I most certainly am,” the wizard retorted. “One moment you employ magic to cushion your descent from a spell-stopped horse, and the next you tell me you’ve sworn it off altogether?”
    “But—”
    The protest that leaped to Declan’s lips died unspoken. There was no denying that his fall from the horse had seemed too slow and his landing too gentle. It certainly wasn’t painless, but a holding spell placed on a horse in mid-gallop should have flung him harder and farther.
    The wizard took a small, tightly rolled parchment from a tube hanging at his belt and swept it over Declan’s head. He unrolled the parchment, glanced at the runes that winked into being, and cast an accusing, sidelong glance at Declan.
    “According to this, you’ve also cast two other spells in the past few hours. A cantrip to light a fire and a defense against enchantment.”
    Declan remembered taking the torch into the pergola to look for Silvana.
    “Now that you mention it, I do recall lighting a torch,” he admitted. “That’s a routine bit of magic any first-year student could accomplish. Since my mind was preoccupied, I did it without thought. But a defense against enchantment? That takes considerable effort. I think I’d remember casting such a spell, and I do not.”
    “Maybe he was in a warded building?” one of the guards suggested. “If he was in such a building when the wards were triggered, would the lingering effects of that spell cling to him?”
    “Only if he cast it,” the wizard said. He considered Declan. “Did you by any chance set warding spells around a building? Activating those wards might read as casting a spell.”
    “Sworn off the use of magic,” Declan reminded him.
    “Perhaps you set these wards before you developed these mysterious and convenient scruples?”
    He folded his arms and met the wizard’s accusatory stare. “No.”
    “And you did not knowingly cast the slow-falling spell?”
    “I have already told you that I did not.”
    The wizard tapped the parchment. “Then how do you explain the result of this scanning scroll?”
    “Inferior workmanship?” Declan suggested.
    The rustle of wings drew the guards’ attention upward. Skywing fluttered down to perch on the frozen horse, settling on the saddle’s pommel like a falcon. The little drake stared balefully at the wizard. Declan could not hear what the dragon was telling Zimbidge, but the wizard’s face reddened.
    “There’s no need to take that tone,” Zimbidge said stiffly. “Of course I have heard of Mareshka Zarumina, although I have never heard that she took apprentices.”
    A few more moments of charged silence passed between the drake and the magic-wielding guard. Finally the wizard gave a curt nod and sent a glare in Declan’s direction.
    “You’re free to go. But walk your horse through the East Shore, or you’ll be stopped again.”
    As Declan walked toward the stallion, he wondered whether the horse’s awareness had been frozen along with its body. If not, the experience would be terrifying for the animal, worse