Master Rogue: Mage Tome

by Rod Walker

  Something like a side of raw beef lay upon the metal table.

  “An ogre mage,” said the Surgeon, running a finger along the bloody ribs. “Do they have a special organ, I wonder, that permits them to cast spells when their lesser brethren cannot?”

  “Ah…do they, learned one?”

  He flicked his fingers at a jar. It held something that looked like moldy cauliflower floating in yellow brine. “The brain. It has to do with the brain.”

  “Quite fascinating,” I said, “and I while I am loathe to interrupt your weighty studies…”

  “What do you wish of me?” said the Surgeon, fingering his razor. “Speak.”

  “A rare magical item of remarkable potency has come into my possession,” I said, “and only a wizard of your potency can unravel its mysteries.”

  The corner of the Surgeon’s mouth twitched. It was a far more threatening expression than any of Warrick’s scowls. “A menial task, hardly worth my time.”

  “Forgive me, learned one,” I said, “but it is worth your time. I have already tried to have lesser wizards probe the relic, and they failed miserably.”

  “What makes you think I can succeed where they failed?” said the Surgeon. The purple eyes looked more irritated with every word. “The divinatory sciences have never held my interest.”

  “True…but a diviner cannot call up the spirits of the long dead.”

  The Surgeon looked at me, his eyes sharper than his razors. “So you name me a necromancer, then?”

  “I only know what my eyes tell me, learned one.”

  I bit my lip. The Surgeon had lived in Kalderon for over a century, the rumors went, though no one why he had come here. According to the tales, he had been banished from the elven kingdoms under pain of death for some hideous crime. Given the contents of his jars, black necromancy seemed a safe enough guess. I had dealt with him three times before, and had never seen anything but this one room. The gods alone knew what he kept in the back.

  “Very well,” said the Surgeon after a moment. “You have intrigued me. Bring forth this magic relic. We can discuss payment later.”

  “Ah…learned one, I would prefer to keep all my organs.”

  His piebald face remained expressionless. “The worn organs of a human your age are of little use to me.” He set down the razor, eyeing me. “Though, I wonder…the brain of a master thief. Or your hands. Both would be of interest.” He waved a skinny hand. “A fascinating curiosity, but one of little use to my work. Show me this magical item.”

  “I fear I do not have it with me.”

  The corner of the Surgeon’s mouth twitched again.

  “It is for your own safety, learned one. The last wizard who tried to examine it went mad and tried to murder me. I had no choice but to kill him in self-defense.”

  The Surgeon almost looked amused. “You? Kill me?” His fingers flicked. “Tell me the name of this unfortunate wizard.”

  I saw no harm in it. “Warrick the Fence.”

  “Him?” Scorn dripped from that cold sharp voice. “A dilettante. A human cannot live long enough to truly comprehend the magic arts, the arcane secrets that rule life and death. That is the true power.” His mouth twisted, and the madness in his eyes seemed to spread over his face. “The others, they never understood…”

  “To their loss, then, learned one,” I said, hoping to diver the Surgeon’s thoughts before he did something unpleasant. “If I describe the item to you, could you…ah, consult with the dead?”

  “I could.” His face grew cold again. “Describe it. Omit no detail, however minor.”

  I have a keen eye for detail, if I do say so myself, and I wove quite a word portrait for the Surgeon. The deformed elf listened without moving, without blinking, almost a corpse himself. At last he stooped and picked up a blade, examining the edge.

  “Learned one?” I said, taking a prudent step towards the door.

  “Your supposition is mistaken,” said the Surgeon. “The shifting script is likely illusionary, a defense against prying eyes. No doubt this tome is a spell book of some sort, and Warrick attacked you to claim it.” He placed the blade back onto the stand. “Hardly worth my attention, but tale of the book’s finding intrigues me. I will speak with the dead, and see what they reveal.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “What…ah, recompense will you require for your efforts?”

  “My work requires a steady supply of material,” said the Surgeon, “and while the rulers of this miserable sty of a city are cheaply bribed, the fools nonetheless blanch at my methods.” He looked at me again, and I thought his eyes look liked amethyst knives. “Bring me five fresh corpses, preferably female. I care not how you obtain them.”

  I had some experience with grave robbing, and I wasn’t about to start murdering women in the street, so it looked like I would have to fall back on my previous skills if I wanted to enlist the Surgeon's knowledge.

  Probably wiser to seek out another wizard's aid.

  “This manner of necromancy cannot be done quickly. Return in two days hence,” said the Surgeon, turning away. He opened one of the glass jars, and a fresh wave of stench flooded the room.

  I took it to mean the interview was concluded, and I departed the Surgeon’s chambers.

  Chapter 4: Plotting

  Sometime after midnight I returned to my own apartment, a shabby set of rooms overlooking the harbor. Disarming the traps guarding the door was only a moment’s work, and I let myself in, after taking care to rearm the traps, of course. The place smelled a bit sour, since I couldn’t afford a maid, and I’d never bothered to clean much. The stink from the harbor didn’t help any. I flopped down onto my bed, rubbing my sore arm, and slung the satchel onto my table.

  The book’s dull leather cover gleamed in the pale moonlight.

  For a moment, just a moment, I considered throwing the damn thing into the harbor. Warrick had tried to kill me for it, and the Surgeon might yet try to kill me when he discerned the book’s true nature, whatever it was. For that matter, who had been the book’s original owner? Might not he…or it…still seek it?

  Perhaps I ought to rid myself of the thing.

  But the chance for profit was too great.

  I was getting old, closer to forty than to thirty. My joints ached, my back throbbed, and my stamina was not what it had once been. In my life, I had been a thief, a grave robber, a corsair, a mercenary. I’d made and lost several fortunes. Now I just wanted enough money to live quietly in peace. Adventure loses its appeal after a few decades.

  I guess you could say I was tired, and the book offered the opportunity of rest.

  Tomorrow, I decided, I would seek out another wizard, and repeat my description of the book.

  Dealing with the Surgeon was a gamble, but I never lay a wager unless the bet is hedged.

  Chapter 5: Archmage

  The next morning, I slept in late. I’d had quite a busy night, after all. After stowing the book in a locked and trapped chest in my apartment, I went in search of another wizard. The air was not too muggy, and the stench from the harbor was not overpowering. A fine day, by Kalderon’s standards.

  As I walked, I contemplated what kind of wizard to approach. A mad one might identify the book without draining my limited funds, but I might be able to bribe a corrupt one. Of course, both kinds might try to kill me and claim the book. Perhaps a mixture of corruption and madness might prove best.

  The decision became quite moot when I turned a corner and found a wizard waiting for me.

  He stood in the center of a narrow, deserted alley, clad in fashionable boots and trousers and coat, a silver-topped cane in one hand. His black hair had sweeping silver wings at the temples, and his face was like that of a hungry wolf. Right away I noticed that he had no shadow.

  I also noticed the grotesque thing perched upon his right shoulder. It had the body of a starved monkey, the wings of a bat, the tail of a scorpion, and the face of a hairless dog. Its eyes looked like tiny red pits,
and I saw a calculating intelligence in those eyes that I did not like. The thing was an imp, a minor demon summoned up from the hells. No doubt the wretched creature served as a familiar, which did not reflect well upon the man’s character.

  “Well, well, well,” said the shadowless man, “Kalderon’s master thief. I’ve often considered making your acquaintance.” He smiled, which made him look like an old wolf. “Do you know who I am?”

  I swept into a wide bow. “My lord Marcolio. Truly, I am unworthy of the honor.”

  I already knew him, though I had never met him. Marcolio was one of the city’s nine magistrates. Rumor held that he had obtained his lofty office via the judicious murder of his predecessor. In order to protect himself from the inevitable blood vendetta, he had taken the ruthless step of murdering his late predecessor’s entire family, including a granddaughter of three years.

  He was also one of the city’s archmagi.

  “Though, of course,” I said, “we still haven’t met face to face.”

  Marcolio lifted a dark eyebrow, amused.

  “You’re not really here,” I said. “An illusion, a projection.” I pointed. “No shadow.”

  The imp’s smoldering eyes narrowed.

  “I applaud your keen perceptions,” said Marcolio. He gestured with a hand gloved in black leather. “As it happens, I have a task for those keen perceptions of yours.”

  “While I am honored by the attention,” I said, “I have many prior commitments, and…”

  “How much will these commitments pay?” said Marcolio. “A few hundred gold coins? A thousand? I offer you a hundred thousand.”

  I blinked, once. “A hundred thousand?” I could buy an estate in the country and live in comfort for the rest of my days. “While your magnanimity is the wonder of the known world, what could inspire such open-handed generosity?”

  “I require you to find something,” said Marcolio.

  I remembered the half-elf woman dying in the street, the shadow pursing her. Had she stolen Marcolio’s spell book?

  “And what shall I find for you, Magistrate?” I said.

  Marcolio fingered the head of his cane. “Some time ago, by my arts I learned the location of an ancient tomb in the heart of the Ruined Lands.”

  “That’s five hundred leagues north of here.”

  “It is,” said Marcolio. “This tomb held an ancient book. I’m sure you can understand my interest in such a thing. Two years ago, I dispatched an expedition of a hundred and twenty men to the Ruined Lands. They sent regular reports for a time, but once they reached the tomb I lost contact with them. Then, not a few days past, one survivor reached the city, bearing the book…and proceeded to vanish.” He scowled. “All my divinations have been unable to locate her or the book.”

  “That must be vexing,” I said. The imp hissed at me, its barbed tail twitching. A muscle in Marcolio’s jaw trembled in time to the tail’s swishing, something I found more than a little disturbing.

  “It is most vexing, master thief,” said Marcolio. “The woman would have returned to me, I’m sure. I would have rewarded her with wealth beyond measure. I suspect she was killed and the book stolen. Perhaps the thief knew of its value, and perhaps the book fell into the hands of ignorant thugs. I care little. Find me that book.”

  I confess, I was a bit confused. Did Marcolio know I had the book? Was this some obscure game? No…a man like Marcolio would not play games. If he knew I had the book, he would have dispensed with negotiation and killed me out of hand.

  “I might not be able to find the book,” I said, “and if it has fallen into the hands of a wizard of power, I fear I can do little to retrieve it.”

  The imp stared at me, fangs bared. I wondered how much influence the creature had over Marcolio. For an uneasy moment, I wondered if the imp had its hand plunged into Marcolio’s skull, controlling the man like a puppet.

  “Simply locate the book,” said Marcolio, “and I will pay you twenty thousand gold coins. Deliver the book into my hands, and I will pay you a hundred thousand.” He titled his head to the side, as if listening to the imp.

  “My lord,” said I, “your commission is most generous. I will strive to find the book for you.”

  “Good,” said Marcolio. The imp stretched and flapped its wings. “Report your progress to me in three days.”

  He waved his hand, and the illusion vanished, leaving me alone in the alley.

  “Now isn’t this a fascinating twist?” I said to no one in particular.

  Chapter 6: Shadows

  By the time I returned to my apartment, I had almost made up my mind to sell Marcolio the book. The tome must have incalculable value, if he was willing to pay so much. Perhaps I might obtain more gold from a wealthier wizard. Then again, a more powerful wizard would just kill me out of hand. A hundred thousand was a fortune. Marcolio might try to kill me to avoid payment, but I could take reasonable precautions.

  I knelt, pried up one of my floorboards, and took the first precaution. A dull silver amulet lay in the dust, shining with a pale green light. I hung it from my neck and tucked it beneath my shirt. The amulet would turn most scrying spells, though I rarely wore it because of that damned conspicuous glow. From under the bed I retrieved a shirt of studded leather armor, enspelled to the strength of chain mail. When wizards are trying to kill you, it’s best to have some protection over your vitals. My final precaution rode in a scabbard on my left hip. No matter how powerful the wizard, a foot of enchanted steel down the gullet always proved fatal.

  I’d just picked up the satchel in time to see the first wraith walk through my door.

  I’ll admit, I gaped at the creature, which was not the brightest thing to do. It glided forward and raked me across the chest with its hand. For a hand that was insubstantial, it hurt like hell. Felt like I’d had a knife of ice scraped across my ribs. I hit the floor, rolled, and came up with longsword in hand. One cross-slash later, the wraith disintegrated into a swirl of icy black smoke.

  “Damned thing,” I muttered. This was bad. The same sort of wraith had pursued the dead half-elf woman through the streets. If a second wraith had found its way here, then it must have had some way to sense the book…

  Three more wraiths passed through my door.

  I sprang to meet them, thrusting, and one wraith vanished. The other two reeled back, trying to stay away from my blade. Then a numbing chill stabbed into my foot, and I looked down to see another wraith floating through the floor, like a specter rising from its grave. I stumbled back, falling across my locked and trapped chest, and six more of the wraiths drifted through the walls.

  This wasn’t good.

  I jumped back, waving my sword in wide circles. The wraiths slowed, but I didn’t dare attack. I might destroy one or two, but the others would swarm me under quick enough. And they might swarm me in any case. More and more wraiths rose from the floor, poured from the walls. Their eyes looked like a field of red-glowing stars.

  None had come from the window yet.

  I rammed the sword into its scabbard, threw my cloak over my head, and flung myself at the window.

  Glass exploded, and I felt the frame shatter, the jagged edges raking at me. Then I was falling in a moment of terrifying disorientation. The harbor exploded beneath me, so hard the breath blasted from my lungs. The water was cold, and filthy besides, but I’d managed to avoid skewering myself on any submerged debris. I splashed back to the surface, swam to the nearest dock, and broke into a zigzagging run. I got some odd looks from the whores and the drunks, but no one bothered me.

  I saw no sign of the wraiths. They had the ability to sense the book, but perhaps my talisman against scrying magic baffled them. But would that alone stop the wraiths? Were they mindless slaves to their master, or did they have the ability to reason? They might decide to search the city, and with their ability to pass through walls and doors, I couldn’t elude them long.

  Just what was this book? And, more importantly, who had it belonged
to before Marcolio’s hirelings had stolen it? Several possibilities crossed my mind, none of them pleasant. Once again, I contemplated flinging the book into the harbor.

  But a hundred thousand golden coins was a lot of money. And I was getting older.

  On the other hand, if I didn’t do something, I wouldn’t get much older.

  It was time to get clever. A half-hour’s walk took me to one of the better neighborhoods, one dominated by the city’s temples. Kalderon’s priesthoods were wealthy and powerful, and so just as corrupt as any of the city’s other princes. But their prayers still worked, and they still had power over the undead. The nine civilized gods must not be a very discriminating lot. I walked past temples of white marble and red stone, pyramids and domes and spires. At last I stopped before a temple of rickety wood and rough brick, dedicated to Tiardura, the goddess of mercy. The priestesses devoted themselves to charity, and gave their wealth away to the poor. The wealthy and the powerful rarely troubled the priestesses, as they had nothing worth stealing.

  So their temple made a splendid place to store stolen goods.

  I picked the lock on a window and let myself into the dimmed nave. A few candles flickered near a wooden statue of a robed woman. A loose flagstone on the floor opened into a hidden compartment the size of a small chest, where I had hidden goods before. I secured the book, replaced the flagstone, and slipped back into the night. The wraiths might sense the presence of the book, but they couldn’t enter the temple.

  A clever bit of work, if I say so myself.

  I left some coins in the donation basket on my way out. Best to stay on the goddess’s good side.

  Chapter 7: Blood and Magic

  The butcher shop below the Surgeon’s rooms reeked worse than ever. A side of beef lay in the alley, the meat blackened, the ribs crawling with maggots. I climbed the rickety stairs to the apartment and knocked. The chemical stench smelled sharper, and I hoped we could conclude our business quickly. I’d almost considered just selling the book, whatever it was, to Marcolio, but a bit more information might come in handy.