The Grimoire (cont')

Thus it was unexpected when, one foggy day in late winter, a stranger came to us asking shelter. He was a journeyman from Toran, sent out into the wilds to offer help to all that required it. His only price was a meal and a bed for the night. Well, the elder men of our village were none to happy that such a divisive influence come to our reclusive settlement, and they would have ordered him away if they had been sure no others would come. Finally it was decided that he should stay for a while, see that there was nothing he, or any other unwanted visitor, could do for us, and then be politely, yet firmly, moved on. I requested that he stay with me and, since no one else particularly wanted him here, it was agreed.

For a week I managed to keep the cellar hidden from him, but the sprightly old fellow was not without common sense, and one night I told him the whole tale of the village, of the distrust of learning and of the destruction of all but the most elementary books. He seemed genuinely shocked that such a thing could be happening in the picturesque area just a half-day's journey from Amber Bay.

I showed him my treasure trove that I had inherited from my aunt. He was pleased that such lore was in safe hands and was about to retire for the night when fate wove its terrible curse around both of us. For he caught sight of the black, leatherbound tome and began to question me of it.

I was sure that I had left it in its safe hiding place, secreted away from all but the most thorough of searches; but, there it lay upon my reading desk in all its ghastly splendour. The Journeyman approached it with slow caution. "What is this one?" he asked me, to which I replied that I could not open it to find out.

"The Brotherhood has knowledge to open such piffling locks," he assured me. He closed his eyes and began to chant something under his breath. As he did so, the lock began to glow, first blue and then white. Then, suddenly, the lock flicked open, dull brass once more. The Journeyman slowly reached out his had and opened the cover of the book. I peered over his shoulder, excited at what I might see; but disappointment grew within me as it became apparent that it was written in a strange, alien script of which I had no knowledge how to read.

Bitter tears welled up inside me when the Journeyman gasped aloud. "The strange script of the Tadatizaga!" he exclaimed. "The forbidden knowledge of the Nadziranim." I knew not at the time anything about these strange "dark wizards", but even the word filled me with uncontrollable dread.

When I prompted him, the Journeyman began to explain what I had for so long desired. The book was a tome of Nadziran lore--right-handed magic forbidden by the Brotherhood. The book was specifically concerned with a branch of the right-handed path known as Necromancy--the study of the dead. The Journeyman continued that such a find was of great significance; that perhaps the Nadziranim had once walked in the fertile land of Sommerlund before the coming of the Darklords. Such a find could change the whole understanding of the histories of Magnamund, he maintained.

Puzzled and disenchanted, I retired to bed. It seemed that I had only been asleep for a few moments when I was shaken into consciousness once more by the Journeyman, asking me how the book had come into my aunt's possession. I replied grumpily that I did not know, that she had never spoken of it while alive. My comments elicited a grim smile from the Journeyman.

"If she would not tell you in life, she may tell you in death," he said. He told me to get dressed for a walk and meet him at the Guvnor's Bridge in ten minutes. I duly did so, and we set out through the haunting landscape, tinted silver by Ishir's loving caress. It was deathly cold, and I was wrapped in a bear pelt I had won from another villager in a game several months before.

We walked for the best part of an hour, through Gladescroft Spinney and into the woods proper, when we reached an abandoned mine, a throwback to when these mineral-rich woods once echoed with human voices and pickaxes. Here we stopped, and here the Journeyman retrieved the book from a bag. In the sky above there was not a single cloud to obscure the moon, and reading in such vivid light was easy.

The Journeyman began to read, strange, terrifying words which I felt more than understood. A wind picked up around us and, I swear, the chill deepened. Then I saw her.

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