Chapter 40: The Marketplace of Ideas

Chapter 40: The Marketplace of Ideas

Argrave took a drink of what Muriem had provided him. It was a warm drink, but it was quite bitter and potent. It left a pleasant aftertaste, though, and Argrave quickly enough took a second drink and placed the stone cup gingerly back on the table. Anneliese sat beside him, listening to their conversation in silence.

“It sounds like Galamon has a big task ahead of him,” Muriem said, staring at the table with her hands on her lap. “I thought that… well, I don’t know what I thought. He sends gold to us every so often,” Muriem commented, looking at her son who sat quietly beside her. “Even when he isn’t here, I can live well and take care of Rhomaden.”

“I can take care of myself,” Rhomaden refuted.

Muriem reached forward and pinched his ear. “That right? Door is over there, young man.”

“Ow…!” Rhomaden freed himself and swatted at her hand.

Argrave maintained a polite, business-like smile. “Galamon’s as quiet and grim as ever. Still, he’s one of the best at what he does. One day, he’ll be sitting beside me as we talk. You can hold me to that.”

Muriem stared at him. Eventually, she nodded. “We write to each other, at times, but… tell him that I love him, and that I just want him to be happy.” She poked Rhomaden. “Rhom, what do you want to tell your father?”

“I don’t know,” said Rhomaden with an indifferent shrug. He had all the bearing of a moody teenager, Argrave thought.

Argrave leaned to the table, setting his elbows down and staring intently. “If you don’t mind me asking… how exactly did Galamon become a vampire?”

Muriem’s deep purple eyes shook, and she stiffened in the chair. “He… never told you?”

“He’s not much for conversation, as you know,” Argrave said with a light smile. “I only know at all because I found out another way.”

“I was not there,” Muriem said after a long pause. “You would be better off asking someone who was.”

“Maybe,” Argrave conceded with a nod. “But I don’t know who was, and their stories would probably have an impersonal affect anyway.”

Galamon’s wife pursed her lips, considering whether or not to speak. Eventually, she opened her mouth. “His brother was the one who turned him into a vampire. After, Galamon killed him. He was exiled for both kinslaying and vampirism. If you ask everyone around the city, they’ll say it happened because Berran was jealous of Galamon and sought to disgrace him. But…”

“But?” Argrave pressed.

“Berran and Galamon were always on good terms,” Muriem said quickly, some emotion brewing in her tone. “Berran turned Galamon; that much is beyond doubt. I don’t have any evidence for this, but I simply can’t believe Berran would act without another behind him, pressing him onwards. I’ll say no more. If you want brutal details, you would be best asking another. I do not enjoy reliving the worst day of my life.” She lowered her head, refusing to meet Argrave’s gaze.

Rhomaden leaned forward and rubbed his mother’s back, consoling her in the quiet. Argrave stood, taking another drink of the brew.

“Well, although this has been an enjoyable visit, I think I should leave now. I have things to attend to, and I would not want to overstay my welcome. Muriem, thank you for your hospitality,” Argrave bowed cordially, and retrieved his cane.

“Oh, well…” she looked briefly overwhelmed, and then said, “Thank you for coming to me with this. Tell Galamon that I love him, and that Rhomaden is becoming a fine young man.”

After nodding, Argrave tapped Anneliese’s shoulder, and she stood. Both of them walked outside. Argrave sneezed as the cold outside wind hit him, and he brought the fur cloak over his shoulders a little tighter.

“That was… weird,” Argrave said, shuddering as his body got used to the cold once more.

“You were expecting something different?”

“No, that was about what I expected. Just the first time I sat down and talked about pointless stuff in a while. No purpose, just an hour or so of relaxation. Hard to relax when I have so much on my mind, but I tried to relax, at least.”

Argrave sneezed once more. “God damnit,” he complained with a clogged nose. “I think I’ve got another cold.” He reached into his pockets, feeling the bronze hand mirror but little else. “I lost my hanky. Great.”

“Maybe we should head inside for the day,” Anneliese offered.

“Forget that. I’ve got stuff to do. Far as I’m concerned, I’m behind-schedule,” Argrave waved his hands dismissively and then stretched. “Let’s go to that library. Rowe’s hopefully there, can teach me how to hug trees and such. Maybe I can con one of the bigshot mages into curing me.”

Anneliese shook her head with a quiet laugh from her nose and walked onwards, leading Argrave to where he asked to go.

#####

Rowe stared up at Argrave with a great measure of caution in his beady gray eyes. The nasty scowl was gone, though, and Argrave would much prefer caution over dismissal. They stood in a grandiose library of stone. Statues and bookshelves were the room’s sole decorations. A great many people wandered about the library. Argrave presumed they were all spellcasters, for all he recognized were indeed so.

“And who let you in here, hmm?” Rowe questioned, his tone low.

Argrave pointed to Anneliese behind him. “The Patriarch told me I had free rein of his patriarchate. I thought I might take a look at some of the books.”

The old mage harrumphed, saggy skin shaking. “If that’s the way it is, so be it.” He turned to walk, but Argrave spoke again before he got too far.

“I wanted to ask you if I could take some spellbooks from here. Druidic magic spellbooks. I need a way to… well, I don’t need to say what I need it for.”

“You want to take books?” Rowe repeated. “That patron of yours didn’t teach you spells? I know the Abyssal Hand Erlebnis has knowledge of our magic. I’ve seen those twisted abominations he calls his emissaries use them.”

“Rich parents can only give their kids so much before they become spoiled,” Argrave walked a little closer, cane tapping against the cold stone floor. “He decided I still have to work hard, tragic as that may be. No cranial brain-beams of esoteric magics. So can I take them?”

Rowe’s bushy brows lowered. “A ridiculous request. This library took near a millennium to establish. Have you even the slightest notion how difficult paper is to get in this snowscape? Our knowledge is the fruit of our efforts and a testament to our faith.”

“Come on. Don’t make me beg, please.” Argrave tapped his cane against the ground.

“Bah,” Rowe spat, a scowl taking its place on his face. “Impertinent boy. Stop wasting my time. I’ve already got egg on my face from you airing my secret about Crystal Wind. I don’t need to suffer yet more of your pestering.”

“Then instead of helping the person trying to stop the world from ending,” Argrave said drolly, stepping forward, “How about we trade? Knowledge for knowledge; human magic for elven magic.”

He saw Rowe grind his teeth. “That sarcasm of yours, infuriating, as ever…” Rowe scratched the top of his bald head. “If it’s a trade, I’ll agree, if only because both our forces need to be strengthened. What do you offer, then?”

“I’ll teach you how to Inscribe. Specifically, how to translate low-ranking spells into Inscriptions, so that you can create the simpler enchanted items. Knowing how to translate means this vast library can be put to good use.” Argrave waved his hand around the room.

“Aye, if it’s that…” Rowe rubbed his chin. “If it’s that much, I can give you a lot in return. What is it you want?”

“Full access, obviously.” Argrave spread his hand out as though it was the natural course of things.

“Full access?” Rowe repeated. “You want me to let you walk around and take whichever book you please? Oh, and I suppose you’ll want them to be nicely wrapped in gold thread and delivered right to your home.”

“If you can. Oh, and perfume the books.” Argrave nodded, cheerily sarcastic. “Really, what’s wrong with that? Did I forget to mention the part where Gerechtigkeit is coming?”

“I’m too old and bitter to be milked dry,” Rowe retorted. “I made sure that the Veidimen would help you, but I did not surrender all of our earthly possessions to your cause. We still have need of them.”

Argrave sighed. “Fine, I’ll tell you what. I know you have some vessels that smuggle things to and from Berendar. If you send one of those to Jast, have them wait for me. I can bring a shipment of illusion spellbooks. That’s a whole new school of magic for your people.”

“I should trust you, the glorified lackey of Erlebnis, the big-mouth? I’m likely to be left pissing in a snowstorm.”

Argrave laughed. “Not sure what that means, but I get what you’re saying. Listen, we can draft a damned contract if you’re so timid. Anneliese and Galamon will keep me to my word if I do that.”

“Right. That one. Good head on his shoulders, that Galamon.” Rowe nodded. “Well… damnit. I always come away talking with you feeling like I’ve just eaten dirt. I don’t like it. But fine. I’ll let you take what books you please, if only for a greater cause.”

“Yeah. Right. I’m the one getting shorted here. Don’t act like you’re some saint,” Argrave shot back.

Rowe shook his head, walking away muttering things like ‘impertinent boy,’ or ‘lackwit beanpole.’

Argrave turned back to Anneliese, prepared to start perusing the wonderful new library, but her gaze was focused on another person. It was a woman. She and Anneliese were of the same height, and indeed looked quite similar in appearance. The other woman was much older. If she was allowed in the library, she must’ve been a mage.

“Grandmother,” Anneliese greeted.

“Found another coattail to latch on to?”

Anneliese crossed her arms and looked away. Argrave frowned and took a step closer, hesitant to say anything.

“You certainly know how to rise up in the ranks. You play the innocent quiet girl well enough, but you took advantage of me to become a spellcaster, you took advantage of Patriarch Dras to earn prestige amongst the Veidimen, and now you’re to take advantage of the mortal agent of Erlebnis.”

“That’s not—” Anneliese started.

“Don’t forget everything I did for you, Anneliese. I put you in action. Everything you’ve got, you owe to me,” she stepped forward, prodding Anneliese’s collarbone.

“Lady,” interrupted Argrave, stepping forward between them. “Why don’t you go sit on a broomstick or something? This is a library. Quiet tones,” he urged, putting a finger to his lips. Many people watched their confrontation.

“I’m saying this for your sake,” Anneliese’s grandmother said to Argrave. “Don’t trust this one with too much. She’ll wring you dry, and when she’s done, she’ll find another that can give her more.”

“Is that right?” Argrave asked. “No wonder—”

“Argrave,” Anneliese said sharply. “Let me speak.”

Argrave looked back and then stepped aside, one hand in the air in a gesture of surrender.

“’Everything you did for me?’” Anneliese repeated. “Your only ‘help’ was poaching me from the other spellcasters teaching me when you saw I had a talent in the area. You never helped my mother and I when we returned to Veiden—not once. You accuse me of being manipulative, overambitious? You fail to realize that when you place glass before something black and heartless like yourself, it becomes a mirror,” Anneliese finished. She turned towards Argrave, brushing past him and moving into the library.

“She speaks well, doesn’t she?” her grandmother said, grinning. “Don’t be charmed by her pretty face. She herself just said she was black and heartless.”

Argrave spared one last glance at her grandmother before turning and following after Anneliese. Once they were relatively secluded, she stopped and turned, staring at Argrave.

Argrave waited for her to speak, but she said nothing. Argrave frowned. “What? I do something wrong?”

“You have no questions for me?”

Argrave considered this for a long while, but nothing came to mind. “I don’t know. What do you want me to ask? Was she always that nasty?”

Anneliese was visibly taken aback. “My grandmother says something like that, and you have no questions? You take me on your journey so easily, without doubt, without fear?”

“Sounds like you want me to distrust you,” Argrave answered back. “Not sure what you might ‘wring me dry’ of by coming with me. My knowledge? My life? The second might worry me if I didn’t trust you, but the first is exactly what I intend to impart to you.”

Argrave scratched his chin, stepping around Anneliese and asking ponderingly, “Unless… are you an agent of Gerechtigkeit?” Argrave shook his head. “Not likely. He’s not so good at making friends or even subordinates. I’ve made my decision after proper consideration. Some old hag isn’t going to change that.”

If she was taken aback earlier, she was shaken now—Argrave presumed it was because her conversation with her grandmother had rattled her more than she cared to show.

“Stop worrying. Let me go teach Rowe how to enchant stuff.” He touched her shoulder and then walked further into the library of stone.