I just don’t know how Ursula Vernon, aka T. Kingfisher, does it. Every single book/story by her I’ve read I’ve loved, and usually read far too quickly as I try to devour it all in one go.
This is the story of Oliver, the minor mage of the title, and his quest to bring water back to his village. One of his problems is that he isn’t exactly sure *how* to do that, and then there is the fact that he doesn’t really know many spells at all, seeing as he is only twelve years old. And he had intended to go and try to end the drought, but being forced into it by a mob wasn’t what he had expected.
I loved Oliver’s character, and I loved his armadillo familiar and their relationship. Full of love and companionship and the odd snark.
I loved the threat of the ghuls. I loved the pigs! I loved how the real horror always seems to be other people.
I loved the murder ballad ghost, and her story.
I loved the clouds!
I loved this story. You should read it.