Arcon shook his head. Of course not. Some of them were probably around before you were imprisoned. Do you see any familiar faces? Gnomes you tortured, perhaps?
She slipped into a sulky silence as he came upon the huge entrance to the estates of scholarly house Mur. Arcon smirked, knowing that her silence wouldn’t last long. The longer they were stuck together the more talkative she got.
“What do you expect?” she snapped. “There’s nothing else for me to do, but talk to you. My mind used to be vast, my thoughts endless. I could speak with hundreds of servants at once. Now it seems like I can barely hold two thoughts together.”
Arcon raised one eyebrow, surprised that she had admitted it. He took no more than four steps into the gardens at the front of the estate before a green-sashed steward was standing in front of him.
“Oh, it’s you. The mage,” the steward said. She was a sour-faced human woman, but Arcon thought she had likely been quite a beauty in her younger days. He guessed she was now somewhere around her fortieth year. Like all stewards, her attire was plain, just a white robe and her long brown hair was tied up in a bun. A green sash crossed her body starting at her right shoulder, designating that she was one of the stewards whose job it was to take care of the physical needs of the scholar.
“Good afternoon, Steward Molly,” Arcon said, giving her the most charming smile he could muster.
“You don’t give up easily, do you?” she replied, and his charm must have worked because a slight smile of her own curled the corners of her lips.
“I believe that once all is said and done Scholar Aloysius will be quite glad that I have been this persistent. I am bringing him an offer that falls squarely in the realm of his focus,” he said.
She folded her arms. “So you say and yet after a week, he still hasn’t found the time to call you in.”
“He also hasn’t told you to send me away,” Arcon reminded.
“That could mean that he has a vague interest in you,” she admitted with a shrug. “Or he simply forgets you’re waiting.”
Arcon’s smile faded only slightly. That was one of his fears. Gnomes were known to be forgetful.
“No, I’m sure about this one,” Mellinda prodded. “Especially after what we learned last night.”
You had better be, Arcon said. When word of that dead basilisk reaches the dark wizards they will know I’m in the city for sure.
“Come then,” Molly said, turning her back on him. “Follow me to the waiting area. You’re not the only one here today.”
She led him down a marble path through beds of exotic flowers and sculpted greenery until they came to the intricately carved front steps of the manor. As she had on previous days, the steward avoided the stairway, instead taking him through a side door.
The interior of Scholar Aloysius’ residence was lit by orbs of light. The floors were polished stone covered with fine carpets and the walls were lined with fine wood panels and shelves laden with scholarly work. The place reminded Arcon of the Rune Tower. It reeked of pretentiousness parading as functionality.
“All scholars surround themselves this way,” Mellinda commented with a snort. “As if merely surrounding yourself with books makes you smarter.”
For our sakes, I hope he’s genuine, Arcon replied.
“Oh he is,” she assured him. Their research had been exhaustive. “He’s of House Mur. The frauds don’t last long in Mur. They get parsed out to the lesser houses.”
Among the gnomes, heritage was less important than accomplishment. Scholars were shifted from house to house depending on the prestige of their published work. Mur was one of the highest houses and from the information Arcon had gathered, Aloysius had been with them for well over two hundred years.
The waiting area was actually an atrium in the middle of the residence with a large fountain in the center that spewed various colors of water depending upon the hour of day. A stone obelisk stood in the center of the fountain and was marked with lines denoting the time. As the sun passed overhead, the shadow cast by the rooftop would climb the obelisk and once it reached the uppermost line, all those waiting for appointments with the scholars had to leave. Arcon had learned to hate the thing. Winter was nearing and the shadow climbed faster each day.
“Here you are,” Molly said, gesturing to a stone bench facing the fountain. “If the scholar wishes to see you a steward will let you know.”
Arcon’s eyes focused on the two others that were already waiting near the fountain. One was a tall gnome wearing a set of somewhat natty scholar’s robes, while the other was an overweight male elf wearing fine silk robes. He was sweating profusely, shading himself with a lacy parasol while he read out of an ancient-looking book.
“You don’t see many of those,” Mellinda commented, adding the mental equivalent of a surprised shake of her head. “Fat elves.”
Arcon was concerned. These other visitors would likely prove to be of more interest to the scholar. His chances of being seen that day had plummeted.
He reached out and caught Molly’s arm as she turned to leave. Her arm was surprisingly muscled under that robe. The green-sashed steward turned on him a surprised glare and Arcon was quick to let go. It was considered a crime to accost a steward. One word from her and he would be kicked out of the homeland.
He smiled apologetically, giving her a short bow, “I’m sorry, Molly. I shouldn’t have touched you. I was-uh hoping you might pass a message on to Scholar Aloysius for me if you could. I have some information that might hasten his decision to see me today.”
“What are you doing?” Mellinda asked.
Molly’s glare only lessened slightly. “You are lucky that I like you, mage. What could you possibly say that would pique his interest?”
“You better not give too much away,” Mellinda warned.
He leaned towards the steward and lowered his voice, at the same time sending out a muted thread of air to muffle their conversation and keep the others in the room from hearing. “Please tell the scholar that in addition to the prior information I had for him, I also have knowledge regarding the whereabouts of a certain artifact of power he would be interested in.”
“That’s exactly the information I didn’t want you to tell her, you fool!” Mellinda growled and from the rage in her voice Arcon knew that if she still had her power, he would be bleeding from the eyes.
Molly pursed her lips, her glare fading altogether, “I can get him that message, but do understand it means nothing unless he’s truly interested.”
“Of course. Thank you so much, Steward Molly,” Arcon said, this time deepening his bow.
She nodded and continued on her way through the doors into the scholar’s apartments. Arcon sighed and dropped the spell as he took a seat on a bench near the fountain to wait. The two other occupants of the atrium didn’t seem to have noticed his interaction with the steward. The fat elf merely turned a page in his book, while the gnome took a small notebook out a pocket in his robes and scribbled in it, muttering to himself.
“That information was for the scholar’s ears only! What if she tells other stewards or another scholar with a similar focus?” Mellinda demanded.
I had to risk it, Arcon explained. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees while he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. We have to see him today. If the dark wizards were willing to go so far as to send one basilisk after me, what’s to say they didn’t send two? You yourself said that they’ll know we’re here now. We could come back to our room tonight and find an assassin waiting.
“You had better be right,” she said, her tone threatening.
Or what? What are you going to do? Nag me some more? he snapped. Don’t forget I can easily lock you away again.
“I haven’t forgotten,” she mumbled.
The first few days after she had returned to his mind had been hellish for Arcon. When he had felt the eye turn in his chest and her voice had filled his mind, raging over the attackers that had destro
yed her, he had groveled before her voice. He had done her bidding exactly as asked for fear that she would punish him. Then he made a realization. There was no weight to Mellinda’s voice. That feeling of heaviness and power was missing.
Oh how she had howled once he realized that her threats were impotent. He had ignored her for a while, trying to close off his mind while she shouted and cajoled and pleaded. Finally he had figured out how to quiet her. He shoved her presence into his hiding place, the tiny pocket within his mind he had used to store his secret thoughts when she had controlled him. It worked perfectly. Rail as she might in that tiny space, he didn’t have to hear her and better yet, she couldn’t hear him. In that place, she was completely isolated.
He had left her locked away for weeks at a time, only letting her out when he had need of her knowledge. She had been a beast to deal with at first, but the punishment was effective. For a creature who had once been able to probe the minds of hundreds at a time, the complete silence of the little room was the worst torture he could have given her. Finally she had learned to behave, leading to the uneasy truce they had now.
“You do realize that if you had just listened to me in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” she reminded him.
Now is not the time to bring that up, he said. It had been during one of her stints locked away in his secret room that Arcon had tried to sell the rings to the dark wizards. If I had listened to you in the beginning, I would be trying to become the next Ewzad Vriil. No thanks.
“We would be in a seat of power aiding the Dark Prophet’s return,” Mellinda reminded him. “And no one would have sent a basilisk against us.”
Yeah, instead we’d have the entire Mage School against us. Besides, I want nothing to do with the Dark Prophet’s return, Arcon said, glaring. He glanced at the sweaty elf, who looked away quickly, returning his eyes to his ancient book as if he hadn’t been watching. I’m tired of being under the thumb of some evil power.
Mellinda snorted. “Some freedoms have to be sacrificed if you intend to climb the rungs of power.”
I’m done with that. Power is never really what I wanted anyway. Arcon stood and began to pace around the fountain. No, he was in this position because of blind lust. He had wanted Mellinda, or at least the form she had sent his mind glimpses of. He had let her seduce him into becoming her spy at the Mage School, betraying the wizards and eventually even killing his friend.
The dead witch laughed at the bitterness in his mind. “Well you got what you wanted in the end, didn’t you? You and I, your true love, together forever.”
A shiver crawled up Arcon’s spine at the thought. He had been hoping for a way out of that possibility. Do you really think this is permanent?
Mellinda sighed tiredly. “My only hope for true freedom was my blue-eyed child, but his eyes were ruined somehow. Then my enemies destroyed my forest and that filthy Roo girl cut my soul in two. The vast majority of my powers disappeared and I fled. I only had seconds before I would have evaporated into nothingness. The only reason I survived was because they didn’t know about the orange eye I placed in you. It was just strong enough for me to transfer my thoughts and memories into. The rest of me is gone.”
What about your other orange eyes, the ones you sent off on Ewzad’s errands? Arcon’s brow furrowed. If we found another one, couldn’t we perhaps transfer your mind into someone else?
“They’re all gone, you fool. Those wizards destroyed all the orange-eyed children within my reach. Besides, even if we did find one, I no longer have the power to transfer my mind into it. No, we’re stuck together, you and I. Until those dark wizards kill us anyway.”
Arcon grimaced and looked at the obelisk. The shadows had climbed over half way up the stone. He had less than two hours before the stewards would turn him out and he’d be forced to leave the homeland for the night.
“Scholar Tobias,” said a young male voice. Arcon turned to see a green-sashed steward walk into the atrium and stand beside the gnome with the natty robe. “Scholar Aloysius will not be able to see you today.”
The gnome sat up and shut his notebook, vague irritation in his voice as he protested, “What is this you say, Reggie? That scallywag refuses to see me?”
“That is what his stewards inform me, sir,” the young steward said calmly. From his oily brown hair and pimply complexion, Arcon reckoned he couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen.
“That gnome must be from a middle house,” Mellinda remarked. “Prestigious enough to have a steward, but low enough that he was assigned one just out of diapers. That’s a slap in the face to a scholar.”
The gnome sputtered. “Did you remind them that I’m the gnome that wrote, ‘The Tactics of Scivaldoon’? Hmm? Or, ‘The High Treatise on the Siege of Beck’?” He poked the steward in the shoulder with one long index finger. “I won a three-decade grant for that one.”
“Of course I did, sir,” the young man assured him, his polite expression unchanging. “His stewards were quite impressed, I assure you. They suggest we return tomorrow. For now, you must come with me and ingest your evening meal.”
“Oh, must I?” the gnome said, blinking, one bushy eyebrow raised in confusion. “Surely I just ate.”
“Not since this morning, sir,” the young steward said. He grasped the gnome’s forearm and helped him to his feet. “You sat with Scholar Bernadette and ate a salad, remember? It was covered with smoked salmon, your favorite.”
“Ah . . . Yes, well I suppose I must do as the stewards suggest,” Scholar Tobias said, letting the young man lead him out of the atrium. “Just make sure that Aloysius knows I’ll be back tomorrow. I won’t allow him to continue brushing me off like this.”
“Of course, sir,” the steward said.
The fat elf snorted, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before returning to his ancient book. Arcon had to agree with the ridiculousness of the conversation he had just overheard. This gnome, Tobias, led about by the young steward as if he were an elderly man in the care of a grandchild.
“You’re not far off,” Mellinda agreed. “Gnomes are the smartest of all the races and yet so woefully unable to take care of themselves. Why my own Dixie . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Dixie? Arcon asked. What were you saying?
“Nothing,” she mumbled, a note of sadness in her voice. “Nothing of note.”
Time crept by and Mellinda stayed silent, mired in her own thoughts. Arcon watched the stone obelisk and tapped his foot nervously while he watched the shadow’s inexorable climb towards its peak. The chance that the scholar would see him grew slimmer every moment. By the time the shadow reached the edge of the top mark, Arcon was so busy planning out how he was going to survive the night that he barely noticed the next steward enter the room.
“Elder Qelvyn,” came a female voice from behind Arcon and he turned to see Molly aiming a polite smile at the sweating elf. “I am sorry, but Scholar Aloysius will be unable to see you today. If you would like, you are welcome to return at noontime tomorrow and try again.”
The elf raised one finger at her while he finished reading his page, then he set a ribbon in the book to mark his place before looking up at her. His voice sounded high and regal as he spoke, “My tribe has often dealt with your master, child.” He stood, tucking the book under his arm. “But that may not always be the case. He is not the only one who can cater to our needs. Remind him of that if you please.”
“Of course, elder,” Molly said, giving him a slight bow. “Scholar Aloysius has nothing but respect for your people.”
The elf grunted and took his leave, stepping lightly as if his extra weight meant nothing. Another steward met him at the door to guide him back through the house.
He must be one of the High Desert Elves, Mellinda mused. Not many tribes dress so flamboyantly. I wonder what business that tribe has with our scholar.
Molly kept her eyes on the elf as he left, smiling with her teeth clamped shut. “Oh they threa
ten, they threaten. Always they threaten.” She turned her gaze to Arcon. “You come with me, mage.”
“Finally.”
Arcon sighed with relief. “So you gave the scholar my message?”
She inclined her head slightly. “He must have been quite intrigued by your message to see you today. He has been quite busy.”
“Then I am honored,” Arcon said. “How may I ever thank you?”
“Perhaps a way can be found,” she replied, arching one eyebrow before turning and walking away. “In the meantime, follow me. If we don’t hurry, he may turn his thoughts elsewhere.”
Arcon hurried after her, “Of course, Steward Molly.”
“Keep sharp. This gnome will be crafty if I have correctly guessed his focus,” Mellinda reminded him. “You do realize you may have to . . . dally with this steward later, don’t you?”
I have ‘dallied’ with far worse, Arcon reminded her as he followed the steward through the door at the back of the atrium. And I’m ready for the gnome . . . I think.
Molly led him down a corridor decorated differently than the front of the residence. The book shelves were much sparser here, the halls instead lined with suits of armor and portraits of great leaders and scholars of the past. Here and there strange old weapons were mounted on the walls. If Molly hadn’t been walking so fast, Arcon would have stopped to stare at some of it. After a few turns, they arrived at the door to the scholar’s office.
“This is where I leave you,” Molly said, standing in front of the door. “I must warn you that Scholar Aloysius can be quite abrupt. If you begin to prattle, he will send you off.”
“I understand,” Arcon said.
“Do you?” She shook her head at him. “Have you known any gnome scholars, mage?”
Arcon thought for a moment. “I knew librarian Vincent at the Mage School and I have met several gnomes since coming to Alberri.”
She gave him a brief snort. “Scholar Aloysius is not like other gnomes.”
“This is good.”
Arcon wasn’t so sure. Something about Molly’s expression had caused a nervous knot to well up inside him. “I will be . . . concise.”
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