The Alabaster Staff (11 page)

Tiglath opened the window, picked up the wyrmling, and set it on her shoulders.

The wyrmling placed its muzzle next to her ear and began to speak.

K
ehrsyn rose with the sun, though not enthusiastically.

Her teeth chattered with the cold until she found somewhere to spend her sole copper for a bowl of weak but warm broth for breakfast. She also managed to scrounge a new leather lacing for her boot in payment for using minor feats of legerdemain to distract the tanner’s young children from their fight.

At some point during the night, the misty rain had turned to snow, and it continued to fall in occasional dustings throughout the morning. The heavy pedestrian traffic ground the snow down, transforming the pristine white glaze into mushy gray-brown clumps of slush that clung to boots and leached their icy water through the seams into people’s stockings.

Kehrsyn considered what to do about her arm. Should I sell my rapier for a spell of healing? she wondered. If I did, I would be healed but almost
defenseless … and I’ve endured—in fact, I am enduring—worse than a bad burn.

Speaking of which, she thought, maybe I’d best get this over with.

The guild thief, who never had mentioned her own name, had told her to give the wand to a Red Wizard named Eileph. Kehrsyn decided to go meet him.

She sought out the Mage Bazaar, a large, open square filled with towering tents in rich and gaudy colors and inundated with strange odors that at once tantalized and repelled. Kehrsyn walked past small booths selling powdered jade, past wagons with assorted alchemical glassware, and past a tent filled with “sacrificial and companionable animals of the finest qualities, carefully bred in every size and color, guaranteed docile, healthy, and free of infestations.”

The Red Wizards’ pavilion was not hard to find. It was a cluster of tents encircled by a high curtain of velvet, all centered around a soaring flagpole topped by a vivid red banner that hung beneath its dusting of white. At the entrance stood a huge warrior. Kehrsyn looked him over. He had heavy black armor, a shaved head covered with tattoos, and a greatsword as tall as she was. The unsheathed sword rested on its tip (carefully placed on a tiny wooden stand to preserve its point), and the warrior rested both of his hands on its pommel.

She walked over with an air of confidence that smothered her nervousness and asked the guard where she might find the Red Wizard named Eileph.

“You’ll find him right over there, young lady,” the warrior answered with a respectful tone. He gestured to one of the tents and added, “Have a nice day.”

Kehrsyn stepped over, tentatively pulled back the heavy tent flap, and said, “Hello?”

“Come in, come in, what can I do for you?” said a grating, gravelly voice.

Kehrsyn stepped in and stopped in her tracks, stifling a
gasp. A misshapen lump of a wizard lurched toward her on uneven legs. At first she thought him to be a dwarf, but he was too thin, too frail … and, in spite of his bungled heritage, too human. While not a hunchback per se, he had a definite hunched posture, most likely due to a life spent studying musty tomes in dim light. By the numerous candles in the tent, Kehrsyn could see that one of his eyes was missing, the lids sewn together over the empty gap. His uneven nose had a septum that deviated to the side, missing alignment with the center of his mouth by a wide margin. Perhaps some of the distortion was due to a rippled burn scar that covered one cheek. He had bushy eyebrows with long, scraggly hairs, juxtaposed against a thin smattering of long, limp hair on his bulging, liver-spotted pate.

All that Kehrsyn apprehended in the passing of a single heartbeat. She saw as well a change in the wizard’s expression from one of cheerful if avaricious hospitality to a glowering and weary disgust.

“I—I’m sorry,” stammered Kehrsyn, recovering her composure.

She was impressed with the amount of bilious contempt Eileph was able to channel through his single eye.

“Don’t even bother trying to be sorry for me,” he said.

“No, I mean I’m sorry for my reaction,” interrupted Kehrsyn, meeting his gaze. “It was rude of me.”

Eileph raised one eyebrow—the one over the empty socket, a rather disconcerting gesture in itself—and considered Kehrsyn’s words.

“Yes, it was,” he said. “But in all my years in Messemprar, you’re the first to accept your failure, instead of hiding it behind insolence or superciliousness. Therefore, you’re forgiven.”

“Did it hurt?” asked Kehrsyn, peering more closely at Eileph’s face.

“Did what hurt?” he countered.

“That … burn on your face.”

Eileph raised one hand to his cheek and said, “That was a wee mishap I had while trying to distill a potent acid. Yes, it hurt. There’s nothing quite like feeling acid eat away your eye.”

“How did you deal with the pain?” Kehrsyn asked.

Eileph looked at her with affronted dignity and replied, “I am Thayan.”

Kehrsyn smiled. “Right,” she said, finding in that simple truth the key to her own pride. She was an Untheri, and she could deal with a burned arm, even rejoice in her endurance.

“Enough of my face, young lady,” said he with a wave of his tattooed hand. “Maker knows I’ve seen enough of it myself. You came here for business. Your name is …?”

“Kehrsyn.”

“Yes, of course. I was told to expect you, but I did not expect you so soon. Do you have it?”

“No … no, not yet,” she said.

“I see,” said Eileph. “Are you seeking some additional … supplies? I have quite a range of items both alchemical and—”

“No, I don’t have any … I don’t have a need for any, uh, new items. I was more just dropping by to, you know, see who I was dealing with.” Kehrsyn hesitated. “Um … can you, you know, cast a healing spell or something?”

“Hmph,” grunted the wizard. “I would think that someone going after a high-stakes target like yours would have healing enough of her own.”

Kehrsyn shrugged.

Eileph shook his head and said, “Healing is not my specialty, young lady. Besides, pursuant to the war, Thay has made an agreement with Unther that we shall sell healing potions only to the military.”

Kehrsyn sagged onto a stool and stared at the ground.

“I couldn’t afford a potion, anyway,” she said. “I just wanted a little spell.”

Eileph studied her for just a moment, then said, “I have a proposition for you.”

Kehrsyn looked up, bleak hope in her eyes.

“You’re going into a very interesting place,” the Red Wizard continued. “You may find some other magical trinkets around. I will purchase the right of first refusal on them. I will give you ten silvers now, as a deposit. If you find anything interesting, you sell it to me at full market price. Deal?”

Eileph spat on his hand and held it out.

“Deal,” said Kehrsyn, spitting on her palm and shaking his hand.

Eileph’s grip was weak, which, considering how weak her own grip was, Kehrsyn found discomforting.

“Done and done,” said Eileph, counting out the coins and pressing them warmly into Kehrsyn’s hands. “Was there anything else you needed, young lady?”

Kehrsyn clutched the coins tightly, counted them again, then slid them into a pouch inside her sash.

“Well, no,” she said, “not yet, but there’s …”

“Yes, of course, there’s that other business,” said Eileph. “Come take a look.”

He kneeled down and picked up a large, leather portfolio. He placed it on a side table and opened it up, pulling out a few sheets of fine paper.

“I’ve been doing a little divination,” the wizard cackled, “to help me with my part of the work. Strictly subtle spells, I assure you, nothing that would raise an eyebrow. I must say, I’m looking forward to seeing this beauty in real life.”

He laid the pages on the low table in the center of the tent. Exquisite graphite drawings covered the sheets, meticulous studies that showed the details of the carvings in the wand, which lay in a lined box. Kehrsyn studied the drawings carefully. The sorceress’s description had left her with a far different impression of the item. She’d expected a sturdy, weatherworn item, but if these diagrams were a
good depiction—and, based on the skill with which they were drawn, Kehrsyn felt certain they were—the wand was in excellent shape.

“Judging by its aura,” Eileph said, “it might be a necromancer’s staff, but it has a unique style I’ve not seen before.”

Kehrsyn pulled back. Eileph’s breath was offensive with the smell of untended hygiene.

“Necromancer’s staff?” she asked. “You mean, like death magic?”

“Yep. But it’s so small, I just have to wonder.…

“By the way,” he added, “the information you people had was perfectly accurate. Good thing, otherwise I have no idea how long it would have taken me to find it. Look for a badly weathered wooden case.”

“Hey, thanks. That’ll help. More than you know.”

“When do you think you might be pursuing this activity?”

“Probably tonight,” Kehrsyn said. “Get it over with.”

“It seems you folks are a bit disorganized. Be careful … I’d hate to see anything happen to you, young lady. It’s a rare day that someone surprises me.”

“Thanks,” said Kehrsyn, dropping her eyes.

“Hmph,” said Eileph. He drummed his fingers. “I won’t be here after dark. It gets too cold. No one comes, anyway. So ask for me at the Thayan enclave. You know where that is, right?”

Kehrsyn nodded.

“Right. I’ll ensure the guards know to expect you, young lady.”

“Great.” Kehrsyn took a deep breath, then let it back out. “See you tonight,” she said.

“Eh? Oh, right. Be careful.”

“It’s too late for that,” she said with a wan smile.

She rose and exited the tent, leaving the heavy velvet flap swinging in her wake.

At noon, Kehrsyn tried to perform in the Jackal’s Courtyard, but her mind was distracted, her heart burdened, and her left arm stiff and painful. She gave up early, packed up her stuff, and left.

As she exited, she happened upon the sorceress passing in the other direction. The callous woman gave Kehrsyn a meaningful look, never breaking stride.

Kehrsyn scooped up a particularly dirty pile of slush and prepared to hurl it at the insolent woman, but paused.

Nah, she thought, best to wait until after I’ve done their dirty work.

She let the slushy mess drop back to the cobbles, and moved through town toward the Imperial Quarter. There the original inhabitants of Messemprar had built the government center and the massive temple of Gilgeam. The government center was still in use, and the temple had been converted to a barracks for foreign mercenaries. She entered Gilgeam’s Altar, renamed the Plaza of the Northern Wizards, and poked around for Port Street.

Moving slowly down Port, she studied the various signs and sigils on the buildings. Some hung from poles, while others were rendered in peeling paint directly onto the stone or wood of the walls. Up ahead, she saw a well-crafted sign of carved wood, suspended from an arm of green brass. It had a large, well-rendered wing on it, spread wide as if flying, painted in blacks and blues. She drew closer and saw two glyphs, one painted on each side of the door, ancient pictograms representing an abbreviation for Wing’s Reach. A sign on the door read, “Purveyors of fine goods, antiques, exotics, and curios.”

She casually circled the building. It was an older edifice, solidly built and impeccably maintained. Ornamental carvings of gods, animals, and other more abstract items encrusted the building’s circumference, delineating the
separation between its three floors. No hint of moss or accumulated dirt could be found in the seams of the smooth stonework. Heavy shutters covered the various windows, and looked like they would do well at keeping the chill at bay. When left open on a summer’s day they’d surely admit a nice, cool ocean breeze through the place.

Smoke issued from at least one chimney. According to Kehrsyn’s map, there were two main fire pits, one in the kitchen and one in the main hall. Other fireplaces could be found in the best living quarters on the third floor. There were four staircases, situated more or less in the corners of the building. Doors opened onto Port Street, Angle Street, and an alley behind the building, and a generous supply of wide windows adorned the upper floors.