Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin)
Page 15
Borak closed his eyes, drew a deep breath and sighed. The night air was crisp and clean, and scented strongly of pine, a refreshing odor which reminded him of his homeland. The wind felt calmer tonight, not as furious as it had been in recent evenings; far more delicate, far more playful.
Slowly, he opened his eyes to stare at the stars above. Poets down through all the ages had compared them to diamonds and other jewels. Borak, however, thought such a comparison hardly did them justice.
Across the room, Galladrin adjusted his position on the cot. “Really, Coragan, can’t we just forget about Morgulan. He seems little more than a wizard’s strange fetish.” Borak looked over at the rogue and frowned; something in the man’s voice hinted of agitation. Borak had noticed a growing tension of late. Neither Coragan nor Galladrin seemed to have taken conscious notice of it, but both men seemed a little quick to anger around each other. Something was building. Borak did not know what, but he wished it would run its course then quickly leave.
Galladrin continued, “I mean, by the Sickle, the man’s been dead for nearly a thousand years.”
“Well, Galladrin,” Coragan began, turning in his chair to face the rogue, “I would think Morgulan’s importance would be fairly obvious, since his name has come up twice today. First we know Arcalian had that book on him, his empire, and all his doings—”
“So?” Galladrin asked, interrupting. Borak noticed the rogue’s face flush when Coragan spoke. Perhaps he had not intended it, but the bounty hunter’s words had come out somewhat pompously. Then again, given the current mood, it may have been quite intentional.
Coragan frowned at the rogue, then picked up the sheet of paper he had been studying and continued, “Secondly, we have this ...” He held the paper up and began to read.
“The Sceptre of Morgulan consisted of a rod of gold affixed with two half skulls. Each skull-half bore a face—one grinning wide, the other nailed shut—attached to the other along its severed edge, so that the whole resembled a single two-faced skull. A solitary iron spike connected this twofold image of darkness to the top of the rod. The sockets of each face entombed a pair of gems; the grinning half bore two rubies and the closed half two sapphires. To balance the skull, the base of the rod was set with an emerald the size of an egg known as The Heart of Skulls, held in place by the carven image of a dragon’s claw. Between the ‘Heart’ and the Skulls, along the length of the rod, one found the ancient inscriptions of the talisman’s magic. It is from this script, that the powers of the sceptre sprang.”
“So Arcalian has a piece of paper describing some loony monarch’s sceptre. I repeat, the man died one thousand years ago.” Galladrin definitely sounded angry about something, something that had little to do with the current conversation. Borak could feel it.
“You really are slow at this sometimes, aren’t you?” That didn’t help.
“Am I, now?”
“Look,” Coragan said, “it’s fairly obvious that Arcalian had an interest in Morgulan. This paper is a loose sheaf, yet it reads like a book description. The script begins nearly a third of the way down and stops a similar distance from the bottom. Book margins are never that wide. At most, they might measure the distance between the two middle digits of your finger. No more.”
“What’s your point?” Galladrin asked, tightly.
“The point is,” Coragan replied, “this sheaf wasn’t removed from another book. It is obviously something Arcalian copied down. Meaning, this is something he thought important or worth studying.”