Chapter Six
Coragan straightened the blackened piece of twisted leather he had removed from the wreckage surrounding him. Wishing a more comfortable position from which to examine his find, he dragged aside a charred wooden crate, upended it, and sat down. The storage room surrounding him, deep in the bowels of the wizards’ guild house, held the wreckage of the fire. Several immense piles of debris, ranging from charred crates and chairs on one side, to cracked and blistered stonework on the other, filled most of the room. Several floors above, workmen were already beginning repairs on the tower chambers.
“What have you got there?” Galladrin asked. The rogue stood knee deep in soot-covered wreckage with one hand bracing his weight against a half-eaten mahogany desk, while his foot searched for balance a little further into the pile. After some careful maneuvering, he managed to clear a small patch of floor with his toe and gently eased his foot down to straddle several burnt boards that barred his way. Keeping his eye on the rusted old nails jutting from the board edges, Galladrin began to shift and test his weight.
“It looks like a book covering of some sort,” Coragan answered. “It’s made of leather but I can’t read the writing on it.”
“Maybe it’s a spellbook,” Galladrin said from the midst of his activities. “They’re always said to be written in some tongue indecipherable to us simple folk. What’ya think, Reg ... Do you mind if I call you Reg?”
“Actually, I do. My name is Regecon.” The wizard leaned against the door with his arms folded at his chest, watching the men as they worked. “If you prefer to be formal, however, Councilman or Guild Master will suffice. As for the book ...” The mage leaned forward to look down at the item in Coragan’s hands. “Yes, it is a spellbook. One dealing with the numerous incantations Arcalian had acquired concerning the discipline of seacraft. You will probably find others of a similar nature ... they would be the only books of which anything might survive in the wake of the fire.”
“Thank you for your insight, Councilman.” Coragan tossed the book cover aside.
“Yeah, Reg. Thanks,” Galladrin said, drily.
Regecon stared at the rogue with only a hint of irritation in his eyes. “As much as I would like to stay here and have my authority flouted by you, I have a meeting with several council members this morning. I will send Mathagarr to retrieve you for dinner—I expect to be informed of whatever you find after we dine. Until then, my friends, good day.” The mage nodded once in farewell, and then turned toward the door.
“One question before you go, Councilman,” Coragan said.
With his hand on the door handle, Regecon turned. “Yes?”
Coragan motioned to the surrounding debris. “We aren’t going to find anything dangerous in here, are we? I mean, we aren’t going to turn up something that might explode in our face, will we?”
The wizard shook his head. “Arcalian did not keep many items of great power in his chamber; a few, but most of those have already been removed.” He glanced at the charred book covering. “Or destroyed. You may find one or two items possessing a minor enchantment of some type, but no more, and nothing exceptionally dangerous. Just be careful and don’t start indiscriminately mixing any chemicals or powders you might happen across. Actually ...” The mage paused, considering. “If you wish, I could send one of the other mages down to assist you.”
Coragan shook his head. He didn’t want a mage leaning over his shoulder, watching his every move, even if one would be useful. “No, that won’t be necessary.”
“Very well, then. I shall await your report.” The wizard strode from the room.
“You know, Coragan,” Galladrin said, “having a wizard with us might be helpful.” He certainly would feel more comfortable if there was someone present who knew more than a smattering about magic.
Coragan grimaced. “No. I hate mages.” The bounty hunter returned his attention to the rubble, sifting through it with his bare hands.
“So you’ve said ... many times,” Galladrin replied.
“You don’t find them strange?” Coragan asked as he studied a second book cover he had turned up. Again, he found an abundance of strange indecipherable symbols on it, and again he tossed it aside.
“Strange? Yes. Worthy of my hate? No.” Galladrin cleared his throat. “Actually, now that I think of it, Regecon seems relatively normal for a mage ... not that I’ve met very many.”
“He’s still a mage. Stick around. You’ll see what I mean.”
Galladrin stood motionless for several moments, still straddling the collection of jumbled boards as he pondered Coragan’s words. He stared long and hard at the door through which the mage had departed. Then, with a quick shift of his weight and some contortions which would make a less agile man wince, he brought his second foot up and over the tumble of broken woodwork. He glanced at Borak reclining against the far wall. As the rogue before, the huge warrior seemed absorbed by the exit through which the mage had left.
“Well, are you going to help?” the rogue asked. “You could at least examine that old desk there.”
Borak grunted once in answer and then lumbered toward the desk. He gripped it with both hands and heaved. The surrounding wreckage gave way with a crash and the desk rose high in the air. Borak turned, balanced it on one shoulder, and strode to a clear spot in the room. He promptly sat down and began sifting through the contents of the desk’s few remaining drawers.
Satisfied that the warrior was fully engaged, Galladrin squatted down onto the balls of his feet to begin searching the wreckage from his new position. Gingerly, he reached down and picked up a small bronze candlestick holder. He wiped it with one hand, examined it to make sure it was only bronze, then tossed it aside. “You sure you want to inventory all this stuff?” he asked, grimacing at Coragan.
“Yes. There may be some clue to what started the fire in this mess, and we can’t afford to miss it.”
“It’s going to take all day.”
“At least. Maybe two.”
Galladrin let out a sigh. It was a gargantuan task. The rubble in his corner alone piled nearly a foot above his head. A great deal of it appeared to be shattered woodwork and miscellaneous chamber trappings—not at all likely to be informative, but very time consuming if they were to examine and catalogue every object. Again, the rogue grimaced, this time to himself, as he considered the enormity of their chore. Reaching down, he picked up a small pottery jar which had miraculously survived the blaze intact. He studied it a moment, noting the texture of the grey clay and the strange markings on its surface, markings which bore a striking resemblance to those on the charred book coverings. He paused, considering what the wizard had said regarding minor items of magic. Holding the jar up before him, he tapped it with his finger, lightly at first then a little harder. The jar—actually it looked to be some sort of lidded mixing dish containing a foul smelling paste of some kind—remained firm. Galladrin crinkled his mouth in surprise; after a fire such as the wizard described, he would have expected the dish to be exceedingly brittle—unless of course it possessed an enchantment that made it more durable. Frowning thoughtfully, he lined up one of the wooden boards on the floor and held the jar up, at the height of his waist. He let it drop.
The jar struck the board with a clap and bounced away, apparently unharmed. Intrigued, the rogue retrieved the jar and examined it for scratches. Finding none, he hefted it into his right hand then tossed it toward Borak. It arced high through the air and traveled nearly half the room length before it landed with considerable force on the stony floor. It clattered loudly, skittering across the room, but still appeared undamaged.
Borak looked up, scowling.
Coragan also looked up. “By the Sickle, Galladrin, what are you doing?” The bounty hunter peered from the rogue to the jar, and then back again.
“Just testing that little dish there. It’s got a whole bunch of weird symbols on it and it didn’t break when I threw it across the room. I suspect it’s magical.”
�
�Regecon said they removed all the magic items.”
“He said most, not all.” Galladrin scrambled from his position and clambered over to the jar.
“Galladrin, what now?”
“Just one more test.” The rogue reached the object and picked it up in his right hand. He tested its weight, then drew back his arm to throw. Only after it had left his grasp, and was hurtling full force through the air, did the rogue reconsider what he was doing; but by then, it was too late.
“Galladrin! Don’t break—”
The small jar hit the stone wall with a clap. To the astonishment of all present, it bounced from the stones and rolled away unharmed.
“Impressive,” said the rogue.
Coragan’s eyes widened. “Very. But why would a pottery jar need so strong an enchantment?” The bounty hunter stood, then walked over to pick up the jar. He unscrewed the porcelain lid and sniffed the contents. “Ugh! All it contains is some really awful-smelling paste.”
“Wizards are strange folk. Who knows why they do anything?”
“Let’s put it aside and ask Regecon about it later.”
The rogue nodded agreement, then returned to his previous position to continue searching. Moments later, he found another wonder. He brushed away some soot to reveal another leather book covering seeming more charred and scorched than the others. He picked it up, straightened it, then let out a grunt of surprise. “What in the ...” His voice trailed off as he studied the leather.
“What is it?” Coragan asked, looking up from his own rummagings.
“Look at this thing, Coragan. It’s burned right through.”
“It was in a fire, you dolt.”
“Would a fire do this?” the rogue asked, and bent the book covering over twice to form a rough outline of a book. Then as the bounty hunter looked on, Galladrin stuck his hand through both sides of the covering and let the leather hang, suspended from his arm like some noble’s strange armdress. “There’s a hole on each side. They line up perfectly, and they are both the same size.”
“What?” Coragan asked in surprise. Even Borak looked perplexed.
“Have a look yourself.” Galladrin folded the leather together and awkwardly tossed it to the bounty hunter. Its odd shape caused it to fly in a haphazard fashion and land several feet from where Coragan sat, but it was not difficult to retrieve.
Coragan sat down and studied the covering a moment, tracing his finger along each of the circles that had been burned through the leather on opposite sides. “You’re right,” he said. “No natural fire could have caused that.”
While Coragan examined the item, Borak moved over next to him. The huge warrior peered over the bounty hunter’s shoulder to scrutinize the strange find. Coragan offered the leather to Borak, and the man took hold of it in his huge paw. After staring for several moments, he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
“What do you think?” Coragan asked, not really expecting an intelligible answer.
“Strange.” Borak’s deep voice almost sounded rusty from lack of use. He grunted once, handed the leather back to the startled bounty hunter, and lumbered back to the desk.
“I guess we can ask Regecon about this as well. In the mean time, let’s start sorting the rest of this stuff in earnest,” Coragan said, standing up. “We’ll need to make several piles, then write everything down.” He paused to glance around. “We’ll need at least one pile for all these book coverings alone, another for broken shelving and irrelevant furniture—like the crates and those boards over there, another for the stony rubble, one for broken furniture—like that desk, and one for miscellaneous trappings like your pottery jar. Once we get that done, it shouldn’t be too hard to get everything written down and categorized.”
“And just like that, he’s giving orders again,” Galladrin murmured softly to himself.
“What was that?” Coragan asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Galladrin said, forcing a smile across his features. He began to follow the bounty hunter’s instructions.
They spent several hours working through the rubble, sorting it into the separate piles of which Coragan had spoken. When they finished, they stood, covered from head to toe with dust, grime, and soot, to stare at the assortment of debris. A pile of broken stone slabs and loose rocks stood in one corner directly across from a pile of burnt wood and wrecked shelves in another. The desk stood nearly alone in the third corner, with but a burnt night stand and the splintered remnants of a small bookcase for company. The pile of charred leather book coverings filled the fourth and final corner of the room, but perhaps most interesting of all was the pile in the chamber’s center. It consisted of the many varied trappings Arcalian had used to decorate his study. These odds and ends included items both common and rare, from a bronze candelabra to a small silver statue of a lithlyn forest god, a rare find indeed. Galladrin, who had found the statue, had been entranced by the detailed etchings along its body, etchings as fine as a field spider’s web, yet far more durable. Such high quality work, no doubt the product of a lithlyn silversmith, made the small dancing figure worth far more than its weight in gold. Indeed, with the added value of the tiny emeralds circling its base the statue’s coin value would probably put their pay to shame. Galladrin studied the figure for quite some time, until Coragan reminded him that Regecon would not be very impressed if the men he hired tried to steal from the guild.
Galladrin murmured that he had put aside malicious thievery long ago, and carefully placed the statue in the center pile. Nevertheless, it was a long time before he finally looked away.
“Now we have to start writing this stuff down,” Coragan said, wiping his hands across his dirty, grey shirt. “Come, someone in this guild must have a set of quills and ink we can use.”
Just then the door opened and Mathagarr strode in. “Dinner is nearly ready. The guild master is expecting you upstairs within half an hour.”
Galladrin glanced down at his own soot-covered clothing, then at his companions, similarly covered in grime. “I think we’ll need to get cleaned up first,” he said.
“Very well,” Mathagarr said. “I shall lead you to a bathing chamber. Come. Follow me.”
Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 7