From behind the curtain, in the bowels of his shop, I heard his voice,
augmented magically to inspire fear and excitement. It's a cheap gimmick.
"Who hath dared disturb the work of Garkesku the Great, mightiest
wizard of – Oh, Minalan. It's you. Good day, sir."
"And good day to you, too, Mighty Wizard," I said with just a trace of
smirk. He looked down at my road-stained clothes and my well-worn
weapons belt and suddenly became afraid. His hands disappeared in his
robe.
"Uh, what can I do for you today, Master Minalan?" he asked nervously.
"Perhaps some service I can perform for you?"
"No, you can't. And knock off using the Soothing Voice spell. It doesn't
work on me, and you should know better."
"If it's about Vano's bull, let me first tell you that Vano is a well known
liar. I—"
"It's not about Vano's bull, but now you've intrigued me," I said,
crossing my arms in front of me. "Pray tell, what would Goodman Vano be
lying about?" Vano ran a farmstead just outside of Boval Castle, and his
kine were the envy of the Valley. I'd treated his prize bull for lazyfoot, a
common disease of mountain cattle, just a few weeks before, and he had
seemed quite satisfied at the time. Obviously, Garkesku was telling tales
behind my back. Not that I was worried – I do good work, and the farmers
knew that.
"Oh, nothing, nothing," he assured me. "Merely a misunderstanding.
Now, I'm sure you didn't come all this way to discuss cattle, Master
Minalan. What may I do for you today?"
I ignored the jibe and delivered my news. "You may not have heard, yet,
but the night before last Minden Hall was attacked by goblins. And killed
almost forty people." That got his attention.
"Forty? Slain by goblins? That's horrible!" he said, and honestly looked
horrified. I could almost hear what he was thinking, too: Forty clients
killed! That's horrible! He caught himself, as something occurred to him.
"Wait. Wasn't the village warded?"
"Of course," I answered, evenly.
"Ah," he said, condescendingly, "the farmers up there are a sturdy but
stubborn folk. No doubt they will reconsider their wards when they are
done burying their dead." He tried to suppress a small smile, and almost
succeeded. "Well, that is unfortunate. I've always been rather adept at
wards, myself. Years of practice, you know. Experience you don't get in the
Academies. Perhaps I can spare some time if you'd like to study with me
about some of the more advanced functions . . ."
"Damn it, Garky, those wards were perfectly sound, and would have
stood up to even the likes of you," I said forcefully. It had become a sore
point in our strained relationship when the village elders voted to let me
provide the wards on the village for free, when winter broke, instead of
paying Garkesku to do his usual half-hearted job. "My wards are twice what
yours are, and you know it. They were military grade. And they were sliced
through by the gurvani shaman."
"My wards would have stood up to the attacks of such a primitive," he
sneered, openly this time.
"Not a primitive armed with a witchstone," I pointed out, bitterly. "The
shaman had help. Irionite."
I almost enjoyed watching the blood drain from his face. "Witchstones?
He had irionite? A goblin witchdoctor? How do you know?" He was scared,
but his first impulse was to challenge my veracity. Idiot.
"Because I took it off of his body after I slew him," I said, trying to
sound casually dangerous. I suppose I succeeded, because he turned even
paler at that. If there was any doubt before about who was the superior
mage, it was gone now. Still, he tried to turn this to his advantage.
"So you have this . . . witchstone. Well, such things are exceedingly
dangerous, as I'm sure you've heard. They shouldn't be tampered with
lightly. Why don't you leave it here with me, where it's safe, and perhaps I
can study it and find a way to neutralize its power--"
"Not in a thousand years," I said amicably. "I have had some
experience with irionite, if you recall. In the hands of the Mad Mage. He
was a Adept-class mage, too, and the power drove him mad. I have no
desire to turn it over to you and risk the safety of everyone in the Vale. I
shall keep it, for the moment. As a matter of fact, I'm on my way to the
north end of the valley to talk to the Tree Folk about it. I'm hoping they can
shed some light on this disturbing attack.
"But the important thing – the only important thing – is to be ready
against another attack. If the gurvani have stumbled across a cache of
irionite, our lives aren't worth a broken wagon wheel. There are dozens of
tribes in the hills to the west and south of us. If they ever got organized,
with irionite behind them they'd be unstoppable.
"So why have you come to me, if not to enlist my aid?" he asked,
sniffing haughtily.
"Because I have a feeling that Sire Koucey will retain you to build up
the defenses of Hymas, so I thought you'd like a little advance warning,
enough time to make some preparations. Professional courtesy, and all."
Garkesku looked like I'd kicked him in the groin, an expression of
anguish and despair that would have been funny under other circumstances.
He could see his shop in flames, his clients dead, and himself a povertystricken refugee in the eastlands, competing against serious magi for the
first time in his life. The thought terrified him.
"I'm sure it was just a simple raid," he tried to dismiss. Even he didn't
believe it.
"It was a large, well-organized group. My professional opinion tells me
it could be a scouting force for a much larger attack. In that case, Sire
Koucey will have to prepare a defense, and will likely be sending for you
soon to assist. I would impress upon you the importance of strong wards in
such a case, Master. Your strongest wards, and no cheese paring." That was
a local expression – when cheese merchants made the rounds of the
creameries in the Vale, it wasn't unheard of a farmer to trim the cheese
lightly after it was weighed and neglect to inform the merchant.
"Wha-? Oh, of course, I--." He looked like he swallowed a spinefish.
"Wait! You said you . . . did recover the piece?" he asked. "Intact? A
witchstone?" He looked around, as if there were Censors hiding behind
every door. "Can I see it?"
I almost said no, but I could understand the irresistible allure. I nodded,
and pulled out the pouch. Never taking my eyes off of him I displayed the
rough chip of green amber, and his eyes nearly blazed at the sight of it. He
swallowed several times before finally pulling his gaze away.
"My goodness, this is an amazing find!" he whispered. "Absolutely
amazing! A thing of such power . . . you know, I think it best if a mage of
more experience than one so young should really be the one to explore the
properties of--"
"Stop it, Garky." He hated it when I called him that. "As far as the
Censorate is concerned, possession of irionite is illegal. Since there isn't a
Censor in five hundred miles, I'm going to overlook that . . . but I'm not
about to give it to you. The stone is mine."