‘Find anything interesting?’ asked Pug as he picked up a stoneware plate and a long two pronged fork and began putting cheese, meat, and fruit on his plate.
‘Nothing worth becoming excited over,’ answered the Warlock. He pointed to a large pitcher of water then another with wine and his expression was questioning.
‘Water, please,’ said Magnus. ‘Wine with lunch and I’m asleep all afternoon.’
Pug nodded, and Amirantha said, ‘Three goblets of water it is.’
They assumed they were being listened to so they spoke in a fairly noncommittal fashion. They chatted and Amirantha finished his meal and said, ‘So, anything noteworthy revealing itself?’
They knew he was asking if they had found any clue that might help him in his search through the massive pile of books.
Magnus said, ‘Quite a bit, it’s clear that Kingdom records of the region are spotty at best.’
That was a code phrase telling Amirantha they had found nothing that would aide his search.
After the meal, servants escorted them to their respective study areas and Amirantha felt mild disappointment that Livia did not make an appearance. He cursed himself for his appetites and willingness to construct reasons to do what he wanted, rather than what he should. Since meeting Pug and his companions, many things had profoundly changed his view of the world in which he lived: the scope of the dangers they faced, the commit-ment and bravery of those confronting those dangers, and their generosity and selflessness. But one thing continued to leave him constantly unsettled and troubled, and he had once thought it something of minor importance.
His encounter with Sandreena and Creegan had reopened old wounds, wounds he would not have even admitted to, before that encounter.
To those, like Brandos, who knew him well, he was usually unapologetic about his womanizing behaviour.’ He stopped for a moment and tried to focus on the pile of books yet to be examined, but his mind was on the young Knight-Adamant from Krondor.
As a young man, like many young men do, he had loved easily, or at least he had told himself it was love. But his life being what it was, they never endured. By the time he found Brandos as a boy scrabbling around the city streets, he had learnt not to let his heart get involved. Women were creatures of comfort, to be taken and then left behind, lest one become attached and again face loss.
What he feared was that he had cared a great deal more for Sandreena than he had admitted; that the time they had spent together, in the oddly named little village north of Krondor, had forged something deeper than convenient physical intimacy. He hated how he felt.
He forced aside his morbid introspection and cursed himself for a sentimental old fool trapped in a young man’s body, and set about working on the volumes before him.
An hour into the afternoon, Amirantha began to sense something. He held a book in his hand and glanced at the title, then put it aside. He picked up the next and again felt the oddly familiar, yet nameless tingling. He cast aside that book and picked up two more. As he dug deeper into the pile, the sensation became more familiar, and more immediate.
It was demon.
He pushed his way down, ignoring the damage he might be doing to ancient books—many of which were on the verge of falling apart—as he felt the pull grow even more compelling.
His hand touched something and he recoiled as if experiencing a shock.
Trying to work as quickly as possible, yet not damage the object of his attention, he got the cover of the work clear. Once he could see the volume clearly, his flesh crawled.
This volume was rife with demonic magic.
He reached in and gripped it; the alien sense of demon magic assaulted him again, but this time he was ready for it. He lifted the large volume off those below it and carried it over to the table. He put it down gently and studied it for a moment before he touched it again.
He was almost certain the cover was made of skin; human, elf, or some other, he was unsure, but this book was definitely bound by something that was once living and aware.
He opened the cover and let the magic spell Pug had given him serve him. The language may have been ancient and obscure, but he read it as easily as he did the first language he had learned as a boy.
Whispering aloud, he read the title page. ‘Greater Demon Lore.’
Slowly he turned the first page and began to read.
After a few minutes his legs grew shaky and his stomach began to knot, but he sat in the chair and kept reading, resisting the urge to run from the room screaming.
From the moment they gathered at the end of the day to dine, it was evident to the others that Amirantha had something to tell them, but was keeping silent lest they be overheard. When at last they were alone, Pug gave Magnus a questioning look, the younger magician nodded once, closed his eyes for a moment, then said, ‘We have a few minutes; the magic they’re using to spy upon us is poorly done, but if I counter it too much, someone may notice.’