Marin's Codex

by Benjamin Medrano

  The first evidence of how things were changing had been the military camp they’d passed on their way to town. A group of a few dozen soldiers was now guarding the academy, while almost as many workers were industriously building what looked like a wooden fort to the demon’s suspicious mind. They weren’t on the border of Tethlyn, but they were still far too close for comfort. From what Emonael had heard, the full garrison should be arriving within a couple of weeks, which would let her relax a little.

  The town was certainly bustling, though, and Emonael smiled as she heard a titter of laughter from Nia, the young woman listening to Uthar alongside Andrew. The older man had turned into something of a steadying influence on the two young students, in part due to the many stories he knew. Emonael had to admit that she liked him as well, and if she had half a chance, she’d certainly take him as a cultist or the like, though that wouldn’t be a good idea under the circumstances. She did note the small case he was carrying with interest, since she hadn’t actually seen him use an instrument yet.

  “Why are there so many people in town?” Damiya asked, drawing Emonael’s attention back to Maple Lake. “I know there’s a caravan, but . . .”

  “I—” Emonael began, just as Christoff began speaking.

  “Well, that’s—” He paused and shook his head, offering, “Go ahead, Emonael; sorry.”

  “No, no . . . I really don’t know, so if you have a better idea, go right ahead,” Emonael told him in return, a bit amused.

  “In that case . . . it’s probably because the locals see this as something of a festival, with a caravan of that size in town,” Christoff explained. “They’ll be selling their spare syrup and dried sugar to the caravan, and in return, they’ll buy various items. Knives, salt, cloth, and all the things they don’t have in the area. Since everyone is coming to town, people will get together to sing and dance, friends will meet, and the inns will try to make even more food. In towns like this, a caravan is a huge deal, a chance to take a break for a day or two and get news from well beyond their homes.”

  “Oh! But that . . . those of us in the Association go other places a lot. Why don’t they ask us about news and all of that?” Damiya asked, frowning.

  “Because we’re magi. To you and I, perhaps that doesn’t make a difference, but to them?” Emonael shook her head. “Magi are people with immense power, and have a reputation for being proud, temperamental, and often quick to anger. Most common folk aren’t comfortable around magi, and will only ask for help if they have no other choice. The only exceptions tend to be those who are priests of the same faiths that are in the region.”

  “I suppose . . . people did have all sorts of rumors about the kind of people court magi were back home,” Damiya said thoughtfully, her eyes slightly distant. “It’s just . . . I’ve seen all sorts of magi since I became an apprentice, and all of them are just people. Not mysterious and scary.”

  “True enough. But that’s because you do know them,” Christoff agreed, chuckling and grinning. “If they knew some of the stuff that we do at the Association, I’m certain that a fair number of people back home wouldn’t believe it. I mean, doing the laundry is so mundane.”

  Emonael and Damiya both laughed at that, and the demon nodded, grinning. “I can agree there. There’s a reason that Marin and I made certain to develop a spell to wash dishes and laundry very early in our research. I also worked on one to do my hair in private, which took a while, but I think will be worth it.”

  “Really? One to do your hair?” Damiya asked, looking startled. “Your hair is rather long, so I suppose it might take a while to properly wash . . .”

  “Washing, drying, and combing my hair generally takes over an hour. The spell takes a bit less than a tenth of that time,” Emonael explained, shrugging. “The spell took me about . . . two weeks of research, about twenty hours in total? It’ll save me more time than my research inside of a season, and with centuries ahead of me . . .”

  “Oh! I never even thought of it that way,” Damiya murmured, shaking her head. “It does make sense, once you explain it.”

  “Is that why High Mage Marin uses magic to bind her books?” Christoff asked curiously. “I don’t know much about bookbinding, I’m afraid.”

  “It is. Depending on the method you use, it can be fairly quick, but her spell is for a slightly more complex method, and it likely saves her nearly a quarter of a day each time she uses it,” Emonael confirmed, and paused as she heard the sound of pan pipes from ahead of them. “Sounds like we’re about there.”

  Emonael’s eyebrows rose as she counted at least two dozen caravan wagons, proving that the merchant caravan was even larger than she’d expected. Four of the wagons were set up around the town square, those particular ones built so that the sides could be opened so they could show and sell goods from within. One had a cluster of magi around it, so she made note of it, planning to see if any of the crystals that Marin wanted were there in a few minutes.

  Several locals had also set up makeshift stands around the square, most of them selling food of various types, from roasted chestnuts to sweet buns from the local baker. A large fire had been built in the center of the square, with a trio of musicians near it. The three were using a tambourine, pan pipes, and drum to perform for a swirl of a dozen dancers around the fire.

  Damiya sniffed several times, her eyes going wide as she said, “Something smells good! I’m not sure what it is, but . . .”

  “I think it’s the sweet buns,” Christoff suggested, nodding toward the baker.

  “It is! They mix maple syrup into the butter they coat them with,” Andrew confirmed brightly, grinning at Christoff. “I really like them.”

  “I think I’ll get a bun. Want to come with, Emonael?” Damiya asked.

  “In a minute. I’m going to check what the caravan has for sale first, but I’ll be along shortly. Dinner, dancing, and the like sounds like fun,” Emonael told her, then glanced at the others. “What about the rest of you?”

  “I think I’ll start with one of the buns, and look around a little,” Nia said, hesitating a moment before adding. “I’ve never been to something quite like this. I’m from a bigger city.”

  “You’re probably about the only one who’s seen the sort of festivals cities get up to, aside from me,” Uthar told her with a chuckle, grinning as he nodded. “Still, I doubt even you’ve been to one with this many magi in the area. We could see some impressive performances. I’m going to see if the other musicians need someone to spell them, or if they want a quartet.”

  “I think I’ll accompany Nia,” Damiya decided, glancing at the others. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to get too split up in a gathering like this. I don’t think it’ll be dangerous, mind, but it’s best to be careful.”

  “In that case, I’ll stick together with Andrew, if he doesn’t mind,” Christoff offered, looking at the younger man, who nodded.

  “I’m probably going to stay with Nia, but yeah. These are usually pretty safe gatherings, but every so often someone gets drunk, whether they’re in the caravan or the town, and does something stupid.” Andrew paused, then laughed as he corrected himself. “Nah, someone always does something stupid. It’s just that occasionally they do something really, really stupid, and if you’re in a group it’s at least safer.”

  “Sounds like everyone has a plan. Don’t leave the town square without talking to someone, hmm?” Emonael told them, looking around and grinning as she added, “About sundown, I’ll be treating everyone who wants it to dinner at The Bramble Inn, alright?”

  Her offer prompted them to smile, and Emonael watched the others dart off, smiling to herself, and turning to head to the nearest vendor, curious what they had. In the process, she passed the man who was selling the roasted chestnuts. The man straightened slightly, calling out to her. “Ms. Emonael, it’s good to see you! How’ve you been?”

  “I’m well, Mr. Forest. How’re you doing?” Emonael replied, pausing for a moment to smile a
t the man. A middle-aged elf, she’d met him a few times in her trips to town, and generally found him to be friendly without being too friendly.

  “Very well! I was trying to decide what to do with an unusually large chestnut harvest, and this came around. Here, want to try one?” he offered, picking up a skewer and proffering it.

  Holding up a hand, the demon gently turned him down. “Thank you, but no, not yet. I have some shopping to do, but maybe afterward?”

  “As you like, but I may be out by that point. Have a good night, you hear?” Forest replied, grinning as he set the skewer back down. A pair of young girls came racing up at that point, and Emonael quickly made her escape, smiling to herself as she did so. He was a nice, overly talkative man . . . probably since all of his children had left the area, come to think of it.

  Reaching her goal, Emonael looked around the first wagon, and promptly had to suppress a snort of amusement. The wagon was filled with vials of herbs and oils, all of them natural remedies that were used by a large number of herbalists. Despite the usual popularity of such items, the wagon was mostly deserted, and the woman behind the counter brightened at the sight of Emonael.

  “Hello, Miss! Is there anything I can help you with? I have a large number of excellent remedies for any aches and pains you might have,” the woman offered, giving a broad smile.

  “I’m afraid not, madam. I was checking to see what you had here, and I’m afraid that I have no interest in your merchandise,” Emonael replied gently, turning away.

  “You and everyone else, it seems like,” the woman murmured. “May I ask why? Normally I do brisk business, but not here, of all places!”

  Emonael paused, then nodded, smiling at the woman as she took pity on her. “I suppose so. See the sandy-haired young man by the bun vendor? The half-elf, not the human.”

  “Yes, I do.” the woman agreed, looking over at Christoff.

  “That’s Christoff. He’s an apprentice to the High Mage Reesa, a noted druid and herbalist. He’s been learning herbalism from her, along with at least a half dozen other apprentices,” Emonael explained, pausing before continuing. “Due to the practice that they need, the more advanced students will take the newer students to diagnose the ills of the local people and prescribe treatments, correcting any mistakes they might have made . . . and since they charge virtually nothing for this, your products are sadly overpriced.”

  “Oh. I . . . I had no idea. Well, at least I know now,” the woman replied, letting out a soft, frustrated sigh.

  “It’s rather unfortunate. If I were you, I’d start carrying a small stock of finer liquor as well, displacing a portion of your current offerings. I can guarantee that would go over well among the local magi,” Emonael advised the woman, laughing as she continued. “I’ve heard them grumble about the local offerings enough.”

  “Not something I can do now, but in the future . . .” the woman murmured. “Thank you for the advice. You’re sure you don’t need anything?”

  Emonael laughed and turned away, heading for the other wagons at a brisk pace, determined to avoid being caught up in too many conversations. Still, she paused as the bright, jaunty sound of a fiddle joined the other musicians, and she looked over to see Uthar alongside them, an older fiddle in his hands, worn with age but well cared for. The man was playing with animation, grinning as he added his music, and with the vivid addition to the music, the enthusiasm of the dancers redoubled.

  “He really is an excellent bard, isn’t he?” Emonael murmured, smiling before she carried on to her destination.

  The next wagon was selling a wide variety of cloth, and was practically mobbed by the locals because of it. Most of the less expensive cloth was selling quickly, and Emonael debated before deciding to get enough of a fine green wool to make Marin a new set of robes. She’d noticed how her teacher was getting chills more frequently, and staving that off would be good. With it in mind, though, she also winced as she paid for a maroon length for herself. Red was definitely more expensive than the other colors were!

  The third wagon was run by the tinker of the caravan and had a wide variety of tools and simple goods, from salt and seeds to knives, pots, and pans. The man was exchanging sharp knives for dull ones for a small fee, and she could see the sharpening stone he had in the back, but more unusually, she saw a set of four beaten copper mugs on an upper shelf, dwarven runes carved into their bases and with elegantly crafted handles.

  “Might I ask what those are?” Emonael asked, pointing them out to the tinker, who smiled broadly as he saw them.

  “Ah, those! You have an eye for quality, young lady! You are a young lady, yes?” The human paused, looking chagrined. “Sorry, I can never tell how old elves are. But the mugs, one moment!”

  He carefully pulled them down, and Emonael’s curiosity grew as she noticed that their interiors were lined in a thin layer of a blue ceramic or stone. Likely the first, since it was smooth all the way across the inside of the mugs.

  “I got these from the forges of the Boktar Clan,” the tinker explained, tapping them gently. “The runes are supposed to make the copper stronger than steel, but I’ve never had the courage to test that, not with as much as they cost me. These mugs are lined with something they called heatstone, which makes them hold the contents at a particular temperature for thrice as long as normal. Put in something that’s cold, it’ll stay cold three times as long, and same with the warmth. Beautiful and useful, I was planning to sell them in the capital. Are you interested, young lady?”

  “I’m interested in two, at the least . . . the only question is how much they cost.” Emonael murmured, thinking about how useful the mugs would be when copying the tomes of the codex.

  “A gold a mug. No haggling,” the tinker replied, prompting gasps from around the wagon, everyone staring at the mugs in horror.

  Emonael couldn’t blame them, as a gold probably was nearly a year’s income for most of the locals, if not more. For the magi, it was far less concerning, but the apprentices couldn’t afford it. Emonael, on the other hand, had raided her summoner’s tower before leaving, so she didn’t have that issue, even if she didn’t count the gifts she’d received from the nobles from the capital.

  “I don’t have the coin on me, at least not that’s mine. I’m on an errand for my teacher. However, I can return with it in the morning, to purchase two mugs. Would that be acceptable?” Emonael asked, half-expecting the price to increase.

  “Fair enough. Come by in the morning and I can do that,” the tinker conceded, looking startled. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m certain. My teacher spends long hours at the desk; this is perfect for her,” Emonael explained, smiling. “I’ll see you shortly after dawn.”

  “I’ll see you then,” the merchant replied agreeably, carefully setting the mugs back up where they’d been resting. Emonael gave them a last, interested look before heading to the final wagon, bracing herself for the crowd of magi and apprentices around it. Slipping between several of the other magi, most of whom were just looking, Emonael blinked as she saw what was attracting their attention.

  Bright green scales sat on a back counter, each nearly the size of the palm of Emonael’s hand. Next to them were several bubbling vials of crimson blood, a set of claws as long as her forearm, and what the demon suspected must be a number of the creature’s teeth. The wagon also had a wide variety of rare metals, stones and herbs glittering with magic, and the mana stones that Marin had wanted. A dour-looking human with a large axe was keeping an eye on things, and a thin, rakish human with dark eyes and blond hair was assisting his customers.

  “No, you can’t examine the dragon blood. Serious buyers only, a one gold deposit is required to examine it, which is forfeit if anything is damaged in the slightest,” he said briskly. “Now, what was it you needed, a century root? I just happen to have one, for a bargain of fifty silver . . .”

  The man quickly haggled with the elderly mage, then the coin and root exchanged hands, along
with a pleasant handshake. The proprietor never seemed to stop talking, Emonael noticed, constantly prattling on, and always on the move, but he also didn’t seem to miss anything, either. He met her eyes and gave a cheery smile before moving on to his next customer without pause, moving with surprising speed through those waiting. Fairly quickly, it was Emonael’s turn, and he smiled.

  “Why, hello, young lady. What can I do for you?” he asked, his grin not abating as he looked her over. “Gavin Goldeye, at your service!”

  Emonael resisted the urge to preen at his admiration, instead smiling in return. “I need mana stones of the six elements: air, darkness, earth, fire, light, and water. Mid-grade, at a minimum.”

  “Ah, excellent choices; I have all of those on-hand, though I must say that they’re not cheap. Sixty silver apiece, for three gold and sixty silver in total,” Gavin warned her, pulling a case off the shelf that displayed the mana stones he had, opening it to pull out the various glowing crystals, each the size of his thumb. “I must say I’m surprised, as most people only wish for one type; not a full array of the major elements!”

  “Most people aren’t my teacher. I’m just glad she wasn’t looking for high-grade stones,” Emonael replied in amusement, pulling out the pouch Marin had given her and murmuring the words to unseal it. Anyone attempting to cut this purse would have been disconcerted by the jolt of lightning that would’ve discharged into them. She removed the coin needed and set it on the counter, glad that Marin had ensured that there was plenty. “Here you are.”

  “Excellent, everything seems to be in order. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you!” Gavin replied, grinning again as he shook her hand, sweeping the gold off the table and into a lockbox. Emonael took the mana stones and slipped them into the pouch before sealing it again and stepping away from the stall.