Wolloff grumbled and transferred the books from one of the chairs surrounding the simple table near the door to the kitchen and pantry.
“Sit,” he ordered, pointing at the chair.
“They certainly didn’t waste any time getting you back into your tower, Wolloff.” Desmeres dropped his sack of gold beside the chair and took a seat.
“What would you know about that?”
The healer leaned down to a small chest beside his chair and moved the books from atop it to rummage through.
“I’m a friend… well, an associate of Myranda Celeste. I’m one of the people responsible for sending her here. I know all about you, Wolloff.”
“Well, then you’re to blame for all of these blasted distractions. Off with the trousers.”
“You do get straight to the point, don’t you?”
Desmeres stood and undid his belt and slid down his trousers. Along the journey, he’d changed the dressings on his wounds twice, but their limited supplies meant they’d had to wash out and re-use the old while on the move. It was less than ideal, and the state of his legs showed it. Wolloff took a curved blade from the chest and efficiently sliced away the dressing.
“Looks like oloes did this,” Wolloff said.
“Keen eye.”
“Considering the state a man is usually in when he’s had a run-in with oloes, the sight of one of their bites is something that stains the mind a bit.” Wolloff sniffed. “Starting to go south. It’s a wonder every last one of these slices isn’t blighted by now.”
“I know a bit about treating wounds.”
“If you knew a bit about treating wounds, you’d have used clean bandages,” he griped, tossing the soiled linen aside and tugging a murky yellow gem from beneath his tunic. “Shut your mouth for a moment. We’ll have this started.”
The healer stood and eased into his chair. Desmeres watched with interest. While he didn’t know a word of magic himself, he had witnessed enough during his time in Entwell and his adventures after to know that it required a calm, tranquil state of mind to properly work it. It would be fascinating to see how the brusque and sour man before him could attain such a state.
Wolloff’s expression didn’t change in the slightest, his put upon scowl evidently a permanent fixture on his face. Nonetheless, the heart of the crystal clutched in his fingers took on a warm, steady glow. He murmured incantations almost silently, and the glow pulsed along with the words. The effects of the spell became evident as the largest and deepest of Desmeres injuries began to tingle uncomfortably. He gazed down at the wound. Weeks of healing took place before his very eyes. The dark, worrisome flesh lightened. A wide gash narrowed until its ends met. Of the three wounds he had selected to heal first, one of them had become little more than a smooth white scar and the other two were well on their way toward the same condition when the door swung open and Genara stepped inside.
Her entrance shook Wolloff’s concentration and he turned angrily toward her.
“Must you lumber about like an ox? Healing is a delicate art! It requires complete concentration!” he barked.
“A thousand apologies, sir,” she said, slipping into something of a character, no doubt one she put to good use back at Clennock’s Den. “I did not intend to interrupt your important task.”
Wolloff replied with a half intelligible grunt and motioned to the remaining chair. “Clear it and have a seat. It’ll be another few minutes yet before the day’s treatment is through.”
“Yes, sir; thank you, sir,” Genara said.
She proceeded to clear the seat one book at a time, keeping silent as possible while Wolloff resumed his work. When he shut his eyes, Genara’s expression slipped from the demure, respectful woman she’d presented to the healer to the irritated look the acerbic old man deserved. It didn’t last long, however. From her vantage she could see a bit of what the wizard was achieving. The annoyance faded and in its place grew a fascination.
Desmeres watched her face and grinned. Magic had been all around him since he was born. Seeing the impossible conjured through raw will was as commonplace and normal as seeing the sun rise for him. Genara was different. Wizards were rare in the north. What few there were spent their times serving the wealthy or fighting at the front. What she witnessed now could well have been the first bit of genuine mysticism beyond the flashy and destructive potions thrown about during the clash outside the tunnel. It was a curious thing. Destruction was always so much easier to accept. Though fire bursting from a drop of elixir is remarkable, anyone with enough time could create a flame. Likewise for shattering stone or any other bit of raw, elemental combat magic. Anyone can break things. But what she was seeing now was the opposite. She was watching something only time and luck could have achieved. Swift destruction was a fact of life during a war. Swift healing was unthinkable, a miracle.
Wolloff leaned back and tucked the gem away when the third of the most dire wounds had healed. There was still much work to be done, but the fatigue was evident. He was not a young man, and though he was clearly knowledgeable, he was not very powerful. In Entwell they likely would have guided him away from white magic, the strength of his spirit better suited for less demanding disciplines like enchantment or scrying.
“That is remarkable, sir,” Genara said.
“Bah, it’s a poor showing from a tired old man,” Wolloff said. “But it’s better treatment than you’ll get anywhere but the capital, so I’ll have a gold coin for payment now and a second when you are fully healed.”
“Well worth it, sir,” Desmeres said, plucking a coin and handing it to the old wizard.
He accepted it. “I have fresh bandages. Proper ones. Can you apply them, or shall I?”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” Desmeres said, taking the bandages from him.
Wolloff turned to Genara. “And what of you, lass? Anything I need to see to?”
“No, sir. I am quite well, thank you.”
He grunted again.
“I had another reason for coming here,” Desmeres said, pulling a bandage tight.
“Of course you did. They always do. Whatever it is, you can save your breath. I’ll have none of it.”
“It is very important, sir,” Genara said.
“It is always very important.”
“Lives could depend upon it,” she added.
“I’m a healer. Lives depend upon everything I do. It’s my blasted job description. Honestly, if it isn’t some rich idiot trying to hire me, it’s some idealistic fool trying to recruit me. What am I, a drifting servant in search of a master? I’ll have none of it. All my life, I’ve been doing this or that, putting myself in service of the proper cause. I served the military until I found there was no real attempt to end the fighting. Then I agreed to work with the Undermine in hope that perhaps that could do some good. And now what happens? The woman in charge is the blasted queen and moves all of her cronies and cohorts into the Alliance Army and I’m right back where I started! So no more. I’m through. I’ve only just gotten back to a place quiet enough for me to think. I haven’t even had the time to put my books away, and here comes some other empty-headed fool who doesn’t know enough not to take a walk in an olo field, and he has something important for me to do.”
“This won’t be a long-term arrangement, Wolloff. I have a bit of research I need to do, and you are the finest arcane scholar available,” Desmeres said.
“I’d wager I’m the only ‘arcane scholar’ available.”
“That does not diminish my prior statement.”
He crossed his arms. “What would you have me do?”
“What do you know about spirits?”
“Not my expertise.”
“Is it possible that any of these books contain something about them?” Genara asked.
“I’ve got as comprehensive a private library as you’re likely to find. If it’s been written on the subject of magic in the Northern Alliance, I have it. And my library has doubled since the end of the
war. Gifts from the queen as a long overdue thanks for the work I’ve done for her.”
“So with a bit of effort you might be able to help us.”
“If I’ve not made myself clear, lass, let me correct that. I’m through making a blasted effort,” Wolloff said. “Look at me. I can’t even fix the man’s legs up proper in one go.”
“Are you familiar with the D’Karon?”
“I’ve heard the stories. I don’t know how many of them I believe, mind you. But I’ve heard them.”
“And the name Epidime?”
“One of the five Generals. And I imagine the reason you’re asking me about possession.”
“Indeed.”
“Cut to the end, lad, I’m tired and hungry and I’ve quite reached the end of my patience.”
“We need to find a way to either kill him or imprison him.”
“So Epidime isn’t dead, then?”
“I don’t believe he is.”
“And he isn’t banished.”
“I suspect not.”
He thought for a moment. “And you aren’t speaking to the Chosen now because half of them are busy keeping the swords from clashing again and the other half are lunatics who would do more harm than good.”
Desmeres turned to Genara. “You see? I was right to come to him.”
“Why is this your concern?” Wolloff asked.
“He’s taken an interest in me.”
“That is reason enough for me send you on your way right now, you realize.”
“But you won’t, because as a man who has had his fill of war, you know exactly how dangerous it is that one of the driving figures of the Perpetual War is still roaming the countryside unchecked.”
“Don’t tell me what I won’t do, lad. I’m contrary enough to send you out on your ear just to prove you wrong.” He released a sigh angry enough to be a growl. “Put your pants back on. I’m through looking at those skinny legs of yours for now.”
Desmeres obliged.
Wolloff turned to Genara. “And what’s your part in this?”
“Desmeres and his former partner did a service for my family in the past. I wanted to balance the scales. When I learned how important it was he do what he needs to do, I decided to help him,” she said.
“How long did it take you to regret that daft decision?”
“I regretted it almost immediately, but I’m not one to give up easily.”
“Sticking with poor decisions out of principle is a fault, not a virtue, lass. Take it from a lifelong idiot in that regard.”
“Those sound suspiciously like the words of a man who has chosen to help us,” Desmeres said.
“Oh, I won’t be doing it for free, you can be sure of that. Here are the facts. If what you’re saying is true, then you’re after the sigil Duke Deacon dug up.”
“Duke Deacon found a sigil regarding Epidime?”
“He and Myranda were worried about Epidime and beings like him. Deacon spent some time researching and found a sigil he believed might be effective. Made sure to send duplicates of indicated books to any wizards in the Northern Alliance who might have the wits to understand the necessary casting and crafting. I assume both of you can read?”
“Of course,” Desmeres said.
Genara nodded.
“Then this is what we shall do. The title of the book we are after is Master Feldon’s Wards and Sigils. We are going to open each one of these books until we find it. If the book isn’t the one we are after, then we are going to put that book in its proper place and we won’t open another until that’s been done.”
“We are asking you to help us protect your very world, and you would have us help you organize your library?” Genara asked, her incredulity coaxing her to abandon the demure act.
“That’s right, lass. You’re dragging me into a mess I was glad to be out of, so I’d call that a small price.”
She muttered for a moment before selecting a book. “Apparently heroism is an even split of interminable travel, ridiculous grunt work, and frenzied self-defense.”
“What did you expect?” Desmeres asked.
“I’d anticipated at least some degree of glory, or at least something a bit more fulfilling than the task of a librarian.”
“Anyone who becomes a hero in hopes of glory is scarcely a hero at all,” Desmeres said.
She shook her head. “I heard about the Battle of Verril from my brother and father. It was this grand battle against horrid creatures. It liberated our city and with it the whole of the Northern Alliance. I remember thinking, ‘What wonderful people, risking their lives for us all.’ I’d imagined when I decided to help Desmeres I’d be living that part of Duchess Celeste’s story. Instead I got the bit when she was sorting books and wearily trudging through snowy fields…”
“Myranda didn’t sort books. She cooked meals,” Wolloff said.
Genara looked at him hard. “You had a Guardian of the Realm cook for you?”
“She’d not brought the proper payment. Everyone earns their keep. Now keep sorting or we’ll be at this all week.”
She took a breath to steady herself. “Forget defeating the five Generals. Myranda deserves every ounce of praise she’s received and more just for dealing with this sort of thing.”
“Now you’re catching on,” Desmeres said.
#
In Verril, Commander Anrack found himself with little to do until he and the most badly injured of his men were healthy again and a solid indication of Desmeres's location and intentions could be found. Fortunately, the one worthwhile discovery in his otherwise disastrous encounter with Desmeres was the identity of his accomplice. The vile woman was Genara Copperwright. He should have known better to believe her when she claimed to have no affiliation with Desmeres during their first meeting. Finding her might be simpler than finding Desmeres, but the recent clashes had stretched his already undermanned force to its very limits. For now, he would have to assume they could be found together. If the two were to separate, he would not be able to justify sending more than a single soldier after her. Desmeres was simply too dangerous and too valuable. That did not mean that her presence left nothing to gain. Because after only brief investigation he’d discovered that her family, or what remained of it, resided in the capital itself.
He limped along the cobbled street, flanked by two of the recovering Elites, and approached the door of her family’s humble home. After a rap on the door, a young man answered.
“Hello,” he said cautiously, speaking through the merest crack of an opening.
“Mr. Copperwright?”
“Yes…”
“My name is Elite Commander Anrack. I believe you were told to expect me?”
“I was sent home to wait for you.”
“May I come inside to ask you some questions.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Only if you have something to hide.”
He reluctantly opened the door and allowed Anrack inside. Anrack turned to his men.
“You may guard the door from inside, but at no point should you leave it unobserved,” he instructed.
“Please don’t misjudge my behavior, Commander. It is a tremendous honor to have a member of the Elite as a guest in my home, let alone their commander. But… the nature of my preparation was… jarring. I was told to report to my home and remain here, with no other indication of the reason. Have I done something wrong?”
“Not you specifically, no. But your sister has become an individual of extreme interest, and I had to be certain you did not attempt to leave the city before I was able to question you.”
“My sister? Has something happened to Genara?”
“Genara has become associated with an individual by the name of Desmeres Lumineblade. She has aided him in not only escaping, but assaulting the Elite. I understand she spent some time here following a brief visit by Desmeres to her place of business. Did she speak at all of her plans regarding him?”
“No. No neve
r. Genara never spoke of business in specifics during her visits. She knew better than that. But you must have the wrong woman. Genara is a loyal subject of Queen Caya. She honors the—”
“Do not waste my time with assurances of her allegiance or instance that I am incorrect. I interviewed her personally following my first encounter with Desmeres. Some days ago, I came face to face with the very same woman. I am not mistaken. And if you believe by hiding her actions you are helping her, you are gravely mistaken. All you achieve through your lies and deception is a place beside her in the dungeon when she is finally caught.”
Lem stood. “The dungeon? Commander, you must understand, I—”
“Sit and be silent!” Anrack ordered. “I interview you here only because I cannot prove you have a part in this, but if you do not behave yourself we can move you to the dungeon now and continue your questioning at my leisure.”
Lem shakily returned to his seat.
“Now. I do not expect you to know the business of Clennock’s Den. I do not require insight in that regard. I already know that a great number of our nobles and even, I am loathe to discover, several of my own Elites have spent time there. This give Genara the potential to amass and control a great deal of very sensitive information. In my research, I have found little remarkable in her past. In fact, any information of her past at all has been limited and difficult to confirm. She has made no waves, and as far as I can tell there has been no direct leaking of information or other espionage through the Den. For a sinful, wretched place, it has remained spotless in that capacity. I must then assume that Genara has acted alone. Tell me, have there been any significant changes in her life recently?”
“I… I don’t know what you might mean.”
“Has she come into any money lately. Has she expressed any concerns.”
“Genara doesn’t visit very often… I really don’t know…”
The Redemption of Desmeres Page 25
