“It was conveyed to me that you’re in the market for some spells, eh?” He gives me a smile that is clearly meant to be welcoming, or perhaps just disarming. “Well, I just so happen to have come across an item that may be to your liking.” He motions to the bearded man, who pulls a large, leather-bound tome from the sack and sets it on the table between us. It has an ornately embellished cover but no title. It has a flap and ring closure with a pin holding it closed. “Take a look,” he says and pushes it near to me.
I can tell already it’s a spell book. Some other wizard’s hard-earned arcane knowledge. Depending on the wizard, it could be full of forbidden magicks and untold power. Most likely, however, it was taken from a wizard without the experience and know-how to secure their spellbook from thieves. It might merely have first-year cantrips and the other garbage that bored me to death at Val Maxis’s tower.
I remove the pin, fold back the flap, and open the tome. It is neither well-worn nor stiff. The first page tells me nothing of the previous owner, for it is blank. The next page, too. Thumbing through, there doesn’t appear to be anything written on the pages.
Looking up at the man with the missing fingers, I say, “I have no use for an empty spellbook.”
He smirks and brushes his dark hair out of his eyes, “Might wanna take a closer look there, mate.”
Hmm, I hate not noticing something. Being highly observant in a skill I have cultivated since childhood, when I realized I had a natural aptitude for it.
I cast a spell to detect magic and the book begins to glow brightly, indicating it is magical in nature. Even an empty spellbook would do so, because it is enchanted. However, scrutinizing the pages, I can also make out the impression of something else, but it’s elusive. Concentrating on the faint, arcane patterns, I can begin to make out the warding that is concealing the contents beneath. Unfortunately, the time and effort needed to break an unknown ward is something that could take days, using the techniques I know. Val Maxis was not forthcoming on teaching those types of things, but there had been some discussion of it in The Combat Mage.
One shortcut I recall it mentioning that can be applied in a pinch, but won’t give the spellcaster the leisure to decipher arcane traps or codes, is to try to read the magic directly.
Luckily I prepared the spell for doing just that, anticipating I would need to appraise the goods being peddled to me. I cast the spell to read magical writing, while still sensing the magic of the spellbook. The arcanum practically leaps off the page and I can start to piece together some of the contents.
The first few pages have common cantrips that any spell caster would know. I recognize their arcane signatures immediately. I flip farther into the book and can see that there are quite a few spells that I already know, but several that I do not. A couple of them make use of fire arcanum, which I can’t work effectively, but at least half a dozen that I should be able to learn. The spellbook is only about a quarter full, so clearly the wizard had not been too advanced.
“Now you see,” says the man at the table.
I peer up from studying the tome, the magic detection spell still active on my sight, and make a quick note that none of them appear to be carrying any magic weapons. “Yes.”
“Chock full of arcane goodies for a wizard like you, no doubt.”
“How’d you get it?” I ask. I’m curious if the wizard is dead or might be looking for it.
The man sits up straighter and flips his hair out of his eyes, “Obtained honestly, it was. Found its way here from Dromatica where its original owner had found his way into wretchdom.”
Interesting, and plausible. Baat castes are quite strict and failure to succeed often results in a demotion of social class. Falling to wretch doesn’t necessarily indicate whether the wizard was proficient at magic or not.
A wizard will have been considered a noble of some kind, most likely. To be made into a wretch, the lowest of the castes who have no rights and are not really considered people, is rare for a learned magic user. At least up until I left. In my time in Tarstin, I’d only ever heard of a noble fall as low as slave.
As I think on it further, my employers in Tarstin most likely became wretches when they were rounded up. Dromatica didn’t execute criminals, even for demon worship, because life expectancy for wretches is not long anyway.
I glance at the other two men for signs that this story is a lie, but their body language doesn’t reveal anything to the contrary.
“Which house was this person from?” I ask. The bearded man shoots a look to the one in shadow, and the one at the table flinches for just a moment. It appears they did not expect a buyer in Elysium to have any real knowledge of Baat social structures. One doesn’t need to have spent much time in any of Dromatica’s cities to learn that houses and great houses are responsible for running everything, from dealing in wretches to developing magical artifacts to diplomatic relations with other nations.
I had been in the employ of House Indreth, a minor subhouse of House Imull. I had been employed as a scholar and spent my time studying demonic scripts, so never truly got a sense of how prominent a house it was. Since they were trying to use demonic power to improve their station, I can guess they were not terribly so. I might not know the house this wizard was from, even if they told me, but I at least know that asking after the house is a smart question.
The man across from me shakes the hair out of his eyes and stalls, “Why do you ask?”
I’m not really keen to tell them that were it from a prominent Great House known for magic, such as Adrassi, it would most likely be worth more than one from a no-name minor house. They’ll just lie to mark up the price. Instead, if I say that I’d be reticent to buy from a prominent house for fear it will be tracked, they’ll lie and say it is from a minor house and not to worry—and probably still try to mark it up for being clean. The smart thing to do is to let them try to guess what my motivations are, and allow them reveal more than they intended.
I say nothing, but look calmly at the man sitting at the table.
After a long pause, he waves over the wiry man, who begrudgingly leaves the shadows to approach. He bends down and the two have a whispered discussion while I look on.
I can’t hear what they discuss, but I do get a good look at the wiry man. He has brown hair tied back at the nape of his neck, piercing amber eyes set astride a hawk-like nose, and slightly-pointed eartips that indicate he most likely has some elven heritage. To that end, he may have better vision at night, or in dimly lit areas such as this one, which is why he prefers the shadows.
Watching the exchange is quite interesting because it not only forces the elfkin to reveal himself, but also reveals that he is the leader of this band. The subtle deference that the man with the missing fingers gives, as well as the glance the burly man gave earlier, and the obvious hierarchy of knowledge makes the group dynamic come apparent.
I update my plan. I should enthrall the leader and stun the muscle if it comes to that.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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