Chapter Seven
Mathagarr led the three men to a large bathing chamber complete with three small pools of warmed water. The companions stripped and scrubbed themselves down with soap and washcloths. While they were so occupied, two servants entered the chamber and laid out three sets of fine clean clothes for them. The servants then collected the companions’ dirty clothes and left the room. Mathagarr remained, arms folded at his chest, patiently waiting. The companions finished washing themselves, dressed, then squabbled briefly over who would present their finds to the wizards. In the end, Galladrin relented and let Coragan take the honors. Then, Mathagarr motioned for their attention. “If you are ready, I shall take you to the dining room.”
“Lead on,” Galladrin said before Coragan had a chance to speak. It was a small gesture, but the rogue took some satisfaction from it; he had been getting a little irritated with Coragan lately, particularly when the bounty hunter took it upon himself to issue orders and act as if he were leading the investigation. It wasn’t that he disapproved of having Coragan in charge—Coragan had been the leader type ever since he’d met the man—it was the fact that Coragan had had to be practically dragged into this adventure in the first place and was now expecting to be the one in charge. After all, I was the one who first agreed to this thing, Galladrin thought. If anyone should be the leader here, it should be me. In the end, though, what really mattered was whether or not they could come up with anything to satisfy the wizards. Once that was done, they would receive the rest of their money and be on their way. He could put up with Coragan for twelve hundred gold dragons. For that much money, he could put up with just about anything. The rogue let his thoughts drift as he walked, exploring the possibilities of the wealth that would soon be his.
Mathagarr led them into a modest-sized room where a small group of people sat around a large cherry wood dining table. Galladrin recognized Regecon sitting at the head of the table, but none of the others. Three seats remained open, and at Mathagarr’s direction, Galladrin sat on the cushion of a comfortable wooden chair on Regecon’s right. His companions sat in the two chairs that remained.
A pristine white tablecloth decorated with intricate patterns and twisting designs covered the bulk of the table. Around the edges, fine silver cutlery had been placed side by side with exquisite porcelain dishware.
Galladrin wondered briefly if his current place of honor at the table had any deliberate meaning behind it, but quickly dismissed the thought. Although as highfalutin in their ways as any noble dreamed to be, the wizards did not seem to set as much value in the norms of etiquette… at least when dealing with such a trivial thing as supper. Some of them insisted on being addressed as “sir” or “Mage” or “Councilman” or what-have-you, but that seemed to be the extent of their snobbery in day-to-day affairs. Put them in a court or council, however, and Galladrin felt sure their true nature would show.
They dress funny, too, he thought, taking note of the other individuals seated around the table.
At first glance, he was somewhat taken aback by the seemingly garish display of clashing colors amongst the wizards’ raiment. Then, remembering a conversation he’d had with Coragan the previous night, he realized the colors were probably related to the respective disciplines of each mage. Coragan had said that there were many different schools of magic. From what he knew of the school in Drisdak it appeared this one concentrated on the studies surrounding the four elements of earth, air, fire, and water. If that were the case, and the color of their robes had something to do with their disciplines ... Galladrin stared at Regecon’s red-orange robes with the intricate black-laced designs along its edges. I suppose that make’s you a fire mage, he thought, then took a moment to study a segment of black lace that looked like lettering. He wondered what all the extra adornment might mean; of all those present it appeared only on the fire mage. Perhaps it is indicative of rank ... Guild Master. Galladrin turned his attention to the other men and women seated at the table.
Opposite himself, on Regecon’s left, sat a beautiful woman with dark hair and sparkling sapphire blue eyes. She dressed in simple dark brown robes which, oddly, seemed to absorb the surrounding dim light and shroud her in a cloak of darkness. This unsettling effect was only offset by the small beacons of light along her right sleeve cuff and left lapel where the insignia of the wizards guild glared, knitted in gold lace. Galladrin mused over the strange garb. I suppose those deep browns make you an earth mage.
The next person in line, also a woman, wore plain grey robes. Short, pudgy and obviously well into middle-age, the grey-haired woman still had a distinctively regal air about her. As Galladrin puzzled over the robes, he once again noted the presence of the golden wizard sigil on breast and wrist. He considered it briefly, then tried to decipher the woman’s art from the color of her robes. Grey? Would that be air? I certainly wouldn’t pick that color for water. I think that discipline belongs to this fellow here.
A man in blue robes sat kitty-corner to Galladrin with his elbow on the table and his hand propped up under his chin. An older man, with rapidly greying dark hair, he had a strange unhappy-looking furrow in his brow. Of particular interest to the rogue was the notable absence of any insignia or lacing of any kind. His robes were just a simple blue. Definitely water, Galladrin thought. I can almost see the ocean in his robes. Fire, earth, air, water… yet another wizard sat at the table.
Galladrin looked to the far end of the table at the man who sat on Borak’s right, no doubt the oldest individual present. With sparse bleached white hair and a long, flowing white beard, his countenance seemed the perfect image of the wizened mage. However, he wore robes of an uncharacteristic metallic silver in color, and bore what appeared to be etched runes and writings in addition to the golden mage’s insignia—not nearly as much as that worn by Regecon, but enough to cause Galladrin to notice. Despite his ancient appearance, his eyes sparkled with a lively fire and he caught Galladrin’s gaze and returned it with an appraising look of his own. Galladrin nodded once to acknowledge the old wizard’s presence then returned his attention to the rest of his surroundings. For the moment, the man’s discipline would remain a mystery.
The table they sat at stood in the center of the chamber. Across the way, a fire burned in a large stone fireplace set behind the mysterious elder wizard, and its warm glow suffused that portion of the room. At the opposite end of the chamber, two iron braziers burning on iron tripods provided sufficient, if somewhat dim, lighting. Several richly embroidered tapestries adorned the far wall, and Galladrin eyed them appreciatively, noting the vibrant dyes and expensive weaves of material. The tapestries stood out in sets of three on either side of a large glass mirror which harbored a copy of the dinner scene in its depths. Galladrin smiled at his own reflection and then started as a servant passed between.
The man scurried about the room, with several other servants, all doing some last minute preparations for the small repast. One clean shaven man dressed in exceptionally well kept clothes hurried over, carrying a cumbersome multi-pronged candelabra, and placed it on the center of the table, unlit. He fumbled for a lighting candle, but Regecon waved him aside. A simple sweep of the mage’s hand and the seven candles sprung alight. Definitely a fire mage, Galladrin thought. The rogue motioned for a plain-looking young girl with a pewter pitcher to fill his goblet and then focused his attention on Regecon as the wizard began to speak.
“I hope you will excuse some of these last minute preparations,” Regecon said gesturing to another young girl carrying a tray of napkins for the table. “There was a small fire in the kitchen, nothing serious mind you, but it has caused considerable delay in the preparation of this meal. I am not one for excessive formality, but I do feel the need to apologize for your places not being set.”
“You seem to be having quite the time with fires lately,” Coragan said, with an amused smile.
“Indeed, I am,” Regecon answered, then motioned for the pitcher himself. The servant girl quickly filled the
wizard’s goblet to the brim.
“Speaking of fires ...” The woman in brown robes brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “How goes your investigation, friends?”
Regecon spoke before Coragan could respond. “Please, Ambrisia, this is a dinner first. Let us keep talk of the inquiry until after we have dined.”
“Very well, Regecon,” Ambrisia said, patiently waiting for the serving girl to finish filling her own goblet. “However, you might wish to do some introductions before we get any further under way.”
“Yes, that would be proper,” Regecon said, rising from his chair. “May I have your attention, friends and guests.” What little conversation there was immediately ceased. He gave a brief and courteous introduction, one which noted the honor and respectability of each of the three men before the council. The only notable difficulty occurred when he stuttered over Galladrin’s chosen profession. After a brief cough, the mage finally introduced him as a man from Pallernia rather than something as unseemly as a rogue. Galladrin, amused by the whole ordeal, whispered a mocking comment in Regecon’s ear, but the mage continued on unfazed. After the council nodded in welcome, Regecon turned and presented each one of its members to the three companions. The first to be presented was Ambrisia, the woman in brown robes on Regecon’s left who had asked about the fire. When introduced with the title of Earth Mistress, Galladrin could not help but smile. He continued to smile as the others were presented: Jacindra, Mistress of the Air, Toreg the water mage, and the last, the elder wizard, Morcallenon, the guild’s head diviner.
Thus, the final wizard dons his hat ... Morcallenon, the wizard with the black time problem. For some reason the rogue had pictured the diviner as a younger man, perhaps as young as Regecon, if not younger. He had obviously been wrong. Galladrin took a sip from his goblet, then frowned when he discovered it was only water. You would think the wizards could afford something with a little more character.
The introductions completed, dinner shortly appeared. It began with a large stuffed ham, a sumptuous platter of sliced fruits, and an assortment of buttered slabs of bread. As one servant began serving the food, a second, almost as if in response to Galladrin’s private thoughts, brought out a large, dark bottle of wine and an array of crystal goblets. Starting first with Regecon, the man proceeded around the table in an orderly fashion, pouring drinks to each person in turn. Galladrin grinned as the man poured the dark red liquid into his goblet.
From start to finish, the meal was nothing short of extraordinary. The fruit tasted crisp and clean, the wine exquisite, and the buttered bread had a smattering of spices which accentuated its taste and brought out the flavor in the other foods as well. But of all the foods present, the one that stood out the most was the roast ham. Buttered and roasted to perfection, the smell alone made Galladrin’s mouth water. The rogue had been so impressed with the fare he had asked for seconds, then thirds.
Galladrin sat back and stretched as the servants cleared off the dishes and silverware. They returned moments later bearing a large cake and a stack of small dishes. Within moments, the rogue found himself staring at a dark slice of cake desperately trying to imagine how he could eat it after the meal he had just consumed. Resolving himself to the task, he went to work with knife and fork. It was slow going, but the cake tasted good enough to make it worth the effort.
While he ate, Galladrin had ample time to look around and study the other people at the table. When he had first met Regecon, he had suggested the fire was a diversion for murder and now he wondered if anyone present might be the culprit. He stared at the sorceress Ambrisia as she took a drink from her goblet. She didn’t look like the murdering type, but he knew that looks could be deceiving. Perhaps she’s a scorned lover, he mused, then was forced to repress a mischievous chuckle. This fire was proving interesting, ripe with possibilities of mystery and deceit. It was almost as fun as stealing the Red Eyes of Jakaran from the Pallernian Temple of Kos. That had been an adventure.
Galladrin took another sip of water from his goblet then stole his gaze to Jacindra. A sorceress of the air ... might be able to fan a fire to a blaze, he thought, but that would be unnecessary if she knew what she was doing. Maybe she could make a quick escape out a window. He pondered the idea, then considered the next mage in line.
Now what of this Toreg character. I’ve never seen a man before who could look so unhappy eating such a fine meal. One would think the fact that the man’s skills lay with water would count heavily against him using fire as a smoke screen. Then again, maybe that’s what one was supposed to think. Galladrin stabbed the final bit of cake with his fork and lifted it to his lips.
Well, that leaves Morcallenon ... and Regecon. Galladrin licked his lips. They would seem to have the most ability to accomplish the task. Regecon, a fire mage, seemed to have the most ability to set the blaze. Of course, if he suspected Regecon, the man who had hired him, he might as well consider Coragan and himself as well. Hell, maybe Borak did it ... No, if anyone had the position of advantage in this it would be Morcallenon. What better way to disguise a murder than to be the one designated to divine its happenings? Of course, then it would make more sense to lie rather than make up a ridiculous rumour about black time ... After deliberating for a few more minutes, Galladrin finally decided he was being precipitous; he needed more information before he started making accusations. However, if forced to guess right now, he would go with Morcallenon.
“Well, my friends,” Regecon said as the last bit of cake disappeared from the table and the servants began clearing the dishes for the second time. “I believe it is time to return to the matter of the fire. How goes your inquiry so far? Did you find anything of interest in the tower wreckage?”
As agreed, Coragan answered. “As a matter of fact, Guild Master, we did ... several things, actually.”
“Yes?” Regecon asked.
“The first object of note may be totally unrelated to the fire, but we found it strange enough that I thought we should ask you about it.” Coragan pulled out the small pottery jar Galladrin had uncovered in the debris. “This innocent looking pottery dish seems to be protected by some rather powerful magic. Not only did it survive the fire, it seems very nearly unbreakable.”
“Nothing is unbreakable,” Ambrisia said.
“Yes, Ambrisia is quite correct,” Regecon said. “No matter the spell, all things meet their end in time.”
“What I meant was that this dish is much sturdier than your average pottery piece. Galladrin threw it at a wall down stairs with full force, and it bounced off unscathed.”
“Interesting,” Regecon said, reaching for the jar. “May I?” he asked, and took the jar from the bounty hunter’s hand.
Regecon leaned back in his chair as he examined the item. “This is intriguing ...” he said, “All these symbols on the outside appear to be magical writings and wards. Nothing of flamecraft or windcraft from what I can tell, but these here look like earthcraft and seacraft sigils, and there is a whole slew of symbols I don’t recognize at all. Where in the wreckage did you find this?”
“It was just buried near the back of the room,” Galladrin said. “Not that it matters. The whole pile has been moved once already. Right?”
“True,” Regecon said, conceding the point. Then he asked, “What’s inside?” The wizard unscrewed the lid, took one whiff of its contents, then reeled back, choking. “Ghah! This is really foul!”
Coragan smiled thinly in agreement. “It’s not exactly the most pleasant odor I’ve ever smelled either.”
“May I?” Ambrisia asked, gesturing for the jar. Regecon screwed the lid back on and handed it to the woman. The earth sorceress took it in hand and began to scrutinize it while Jacindra peered over her shoulder in interest. “Those are definitely earthcraft symbols,” Ambrisia said, “Strength and Reinforcement ... Yes, it would take quite a bit to destroy this little jar. I didn’t think Arcalian possessed such learning in earthcraft. I wonder how he had this made? Here, Jaci
ndra.”
As Jacindra took the jar from Ambrisia’s hand, Morcallenon spoke. “Wouldn’t you think it best if I had a look at it? After all, this seems to be more in my field than any of yours.”
Jacindra glanced toward the diviner, then frowned. “I suppose you do have a point.” She handed the jar to the elder mage.
“Thank you, Jacindra.”
“You are the diviner, Morcallenon, it is only reasonable.”
Morcallenon lifted the jar up and began studying it in the light. “Your assessment is quite correct, Regecon. There are both earthcraft and seacraft symbols present. We have Ambrisia’s expertise to tell us the earthcraft is for protection; the seacraft symbols, however, seem to deal with cleansing of some sort and unlike the earthcraft symbols, they are tied to a great number of these alien sigils. I am baffled, though. I do not recognize any of these other symbols. None of them come from any discipline in this guild.”
“It is possible that Arcalian purchased the jar from another guild,” Toreg, the water mage, said. “No doubt one which deals in magics different from ours.”
“You forget, Toreg,” Morcallenon said, “as a diviner, my discipline must necessarily cross a great many different fields. I can tell immediately that these symbols have nothing to do with woodcraft, soulcraft, seercraft, or any of the four primary elements. Whatever discipline they are from is one that is most obscure.”
“Perhaps they are the product of Arcalian’s own making,” Jacindra offered. “He was a skilled wizard, prone to lengthy research.”
“Are you suggesting that Arcalian invented a whole new discipline of magic?” Toreg asked with surprise. “I admit the man had talent, but what you are implying is absurd.”
“Absurd to you, perhaps, but not impossible,” Jacindra replied coolly. “We must not forget Aristoceles. With his help, who knows what Arcalian could have accomplished?”
“Yes, we mustn’t forget the awesome power wielded by the befuddled philosopher,” Toreg said acidly. “Perhaps it invokes a spell to prove its own existence, I’m sure we’d all be amazed.”
“Toreg,” Regecon said in a quiet but stern voice, “it might be best if you’d try to show a little respect for the departed—”
“Departed? How do we know he’s dead?” Toreg said. “One body is unaccounted—”
“Aristoceles is dead,” Morcallenon said abruptly. Toreg started in embarrassment and the old mage continued, adding energy to his words. “I was able to penetrate the reverberations of the residual black time this afternoon and identify the second body in the fire. I informed Regecon of my findings shortly before this meal. It is Aristoceles.”
A quiet hush fell over the dinner table at the diviner’s pronouncement. At last, Toreg spoke, his face red from embarrassment. “That is most unfortunate ... but at least we know for certain now. Aristoceles is dead, and Arcalian is missing.”
“I will miss that dear old man,” Jacindra said sadly. “He had the most amazing ability to turn even the most serious debate upside down, always unintentionally of course, but he provided great comic relief from serious matters.”
“I always thought him quite knowledgeable,” Ambrisia said. “In his own field, of course,” she amended.
“He was one of my oldest friends,” Morcallenon said. “I shall miss him sorely.”
Regecon bowed his head. “Yes, we all shall miss him. He was a good man.”
A long moment of silence followed the guild master’s words, during which Galladrin felt very uncomfortable and out of place. He felt as if he were intruding on some private scene intended for the wizards and none others. At long last, however, Regecon looked up and cleared his throat. “Although, we grieve the loss of our departed friend, it is best we return to the matter at hand. Morcallenon ...”
Just then a commotion arose at the doorway. A woman with raven black hair and green emeralds for eyes stood arguing with a servant, apparently trying to gain entry to the room. The servant, however, refused to yield.
“It’s all right, Siendra, let her through,” Ambrisia called. The servant girl stepped aside, apparently unfazed by the smug look the dark-haired woman bestowed upon her. “Korina, what is the problem? You know I told you I had an important meeting and I was not to be disturbed.”
“I know, Mistress,” the woman called Korina said as she stepped forward just behind Morcallenon’s shoulder, “and I apologize for the intrusion, but Durek and I were leading the other apprentices in today’s lesson as you asked and we can’t get the books on golem construction. They are locked in your private study, and you have the key.”
“Oh,” Ambrisia said, “I had forgotten about that. Here you go.” The earth sorceress produced a large iron key and slid it along the length of the table to Korina. The young woman leaned over and scooped it up.
She turned to leave, but cast a quick glance at Morcallenon as he fingered the strange sigils on the jar. For a moment it seemed her eyes widened in surprise, but they returned to normal so quickly Galladrin doubted what he had seen. In any event, she left the room before he could ask her about it, and no one else seemed to notice.
“I am sorry about the interruption,” Ambrisia said, “but I must take the blame. I had told her and Durek to instruct the class in my absence and they really needed to get those books.”
“It is no matter, Ambrisia,” Regecon said. “A minor inconvenience at the worst. Please, Morcallenon, continue.”
“Yes, Guild Master,” Morcallenon said. “As I was saying, these symbols on this dish resemble nothing I have ever encountered before in all my years of divining. I do have access to some texts, though, concerning some of the more obscure arts. If you would give me a couple days to research the sigils, I may be able to come up with something.”
“That would be very helpful,” Regecon said. “And what of the paste? Will you be able to tell us anything about that?”
“A detailed analysis will take several days,” Morcallenon replied, “And I do not have the time to perform both tasks. You must decide which is the more urgent. I can, however, perform a preliminary analysis right here. It will only take a moment, but it will not be very detailed.”
“Please, do so,” Regecon said. “Any information you obtain may prove to be of value.”
With gentle care the diviner unscrewed the lid of the porcelain jar, setting it on the table before he leaned down and inhaled deeply of the jar’s powerful fumes. He murmured a quiet incantation to himself and gently scraped his index finger along the inner rim, procuring a small amount of paste which he lifted to his face to study. He then closed his eyes, clenched the pasted finger in a fist and began to hum. Moments later, his eyes snapped open and he brushed off his hands on the napkin at his side. The paste came off easily in dry white flakes.
“Rose petals and garlic,” Morcallenon said.
“What?” Toreg asked.
“Rose petals and garlic,” Morcallenon repeated. “That’s all I can gather. Those are the main ingredients in the paste. I can tell nothing else without a detailed analysis, which, as I said, will take considerable time.”
“Thank you, Morcallenon,” Regecon said. “That will do.”
“What use could rose petals and garlic possibly have?” Toreg asked incredulously. “They are no more difficult to come by than maple leaves and birch bark.”
Morcallenon shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t the vaguest idea.”
“It seems your find will remain a mystery to us for now, bounty hunter.” Regecon turned toward Coragan. “Did you have anything else we could puzzle over?”
“Only this.” Coragan carefully pulled the leather book covering out of the small sack at his feet and unrolled it on the table. “As you can see, this book covering—I assume it is from a spell book—has two nearly identical holes burned through on either side. The shape and similarity of the two holes make it doubtful that it was caused by the fire.”
Regecon leaned forward to peer intently at the leather. “Indeed, t
hat is most unusual. Does anyone have any ideas?”
“Perhaps a focused energy blast of some type might be responsible,” Jacindra offered, “such as a lightning strike or fire bolt.”
“That is one possibility,” Ambrisia said, standing to lean over and examine the covering herself. “That would account for the damage around the edges and the uniformity of the hole. But how would such a thing happen? Was Arcalian engaged in some pitched battle in his study? I find that highly unlikely.”
“Anything is possible, Ambrisia,” Jacindra said. “Need I remind you that his entire study was consumed in the fire.”
“Perhaps Arcalian was fed up with Aristoceles and his riddles, so he decided to enlighten the man’s perspective with that lightning wand of his,” Toreg said, then smiled coldly. “Aristoceles, being no fool, tried to ward it off with this book.”
Morcallenon’s brow furrowed in anger. “I find your joke in poor taste, Toreg. This is a serious matter.”
Toreg began to respond, his voice taking on an air of detached calm. “Whatever you might think of me, Morcallenon, I am not a prankster. I am quite serious in what I suggest. Aristoceles is dead and Arcalian is missing. We might want to consider the possibility that our noble colleague Arcalian was involved in something a little less than honorable, something that may have led to murder.”
“Do you realize you are accusing a guild master of these heinous acts?” Morcallenon’s voice raised in anger.
“I make no accusation, old one,” Toreg replied coolly. “I merely suggest that we might keep an open mind to the possibility of treachery on Arcalian’s part.”
“I think you are a fool reaching for stars with your bare hands,” Morcallenon said.
Finally, Galladrin spoke up, “With all due respect, Mage Morcallenon, sir, I think Mage Toreg has a point—”
“I don’t need your endorsement, rogue,” Toreg said, dismissively.
Galladrin blinked in surprise, both at the rudeness of the remark and the reference to his former lifestyle. “What?” he asked.
“I said—”
“Toreg, behave yourself,” Regecon said.
“I don’t think—”
“I said behave yourself and you will. I am the guild master now. If you force me to prove it, you will regret it.”
Toreg closed his mouth but glared coldly at Regecon. The guild master returned the look with equal force until, at last, Toreg looked away, shaking his head but saying nothing more.
“You may continue, Galladrin. Please excuse the interruption,” Regecon said, turning to the rogue.
“Yeah, sure,” Galladrin said, still confused at the water wizard’s response. He cleared his throat once before continuing. “As I was saying, Mage Toreg may have a point. It would seem an unwise thing to me to abandon any idea, however much we might not like it. We should examine every possibility until we find the truth. Of course, we have to understand that any accusations made without evidence can only be made in the spirit of conjecture, and should not be taken as assaults on an absent person’s character.”
“I agree,” Regecon said. “As distasteful as it is to me to suggest that Arcalian might somehow be involved in the deaths of Aristoceles and Havarin, I think we should at least examine the idea sincerely and objectively.”
“It seems unlikely to me,” Ambrisia said, “but it can do no harm.”
“I still think it foolish,” Morcallenon said.
“And you, Jacindra?” Regecon asked.
“I think you tread a very fine line,” the sorceress of the air answered. “If Arcalian can be suspect, I see no reason why any of us can’t be. You run the risk of setting off a devil’s inquisition you can’t control.”
Regecon nodded. “You raise a good point, Jacindra. However, we should note that no evidence seems to indicate any of us in any way as of yet. Arcalian’s absence, on the other hand, is sufficient reason to begin an inquiry.”
“I will agree with you there,” Jacindra said, nodding. “I would like to discover what became of our former guild master.”
“Then it is agreed,” Regecon said, “Arcalian is our first order of business. Consider him your first bounty Coragan. Find him and bring him to us if you can.”
Coragan nodded. “Consider it done.”
“Umm ... Regecon?” Galladrin asked.
“Yes?”
“Did you come to some conclusion regarding the book covering?”
“No. I think it best if we have Morcallenon examine it.”
Morcallenon snorted once. “Do you have some preferred order for my appointed tasks? They are going to take some time. As it is, I’ll have to have Porthion finish the remaining work with the black time problem. For myself, I need to examine the jar, the paste inside, and now this book. Each of those tasks requires at least a day, more likely two or three. You do realize this, don’t you, Regecon?”
“I’ll give you one more day to finish your own work with the black time,” Regecon said. “After that, leave the rest to Porthion and proceed with the jar, paste, and book, in that order. Don’t worry yourself about how long it takes. We will have to be patient.”
“Very well,” Morcallenon said.
“Did you find anything else?” Regecon asked Coragan.
“We found some papers that survived the fire in a desk, but I wanted to look at them myself before I brought them to you.”
“If that is the case, then I guess our meal is ended,” Regecon said, rising. “We shall talk again on the morrow.”
Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 8