Crypt of the shadowking - Mark Anthony [56]
"I'm not certain, Abbot Derevel," Tyveris said, pushing his spectacles up. "These are dark times in Iriaebor, and there are wicked folk who seem interested in learning about ancient mysteries."
"Do you know the name of the one who borrowed the tome, Abbot Derevel?" Man asked.
"I wrote it down. It's here somewhere." The abbot rummaged through the papers strewn across his desk. "Tall, quite stern-looking fellow… Ah, here we go." He lifted a scrap of paper and held it up to the fading light coming through the window. "Yes, I lent the book to one Morhion Gen'dahar of Iriaebor."
Caledan stood abruptly and snatched the paper from the abbot's hand, staring at it with hard, unblinking eyes.
"Is this someone you know?" the abbot asked, taken aback.
"Yes, I know Morhion Gen'dahar," Caledan said in a low voice, as if the name were a curse. "I know him too well, that treacherous mage."
"I won't do it," Caledan said in disgust, pacing the back room of the Dreaming Dragon. "I will not go begging at the tower of Morhion the mage. Not for The Book of the Shadows. Not for anything. Is that clear?"
Man glared at him hotly, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. "You're being utterly unreasonable, Caldorien. So far that tome represents our only chance to learn what Ravendas is digging for beneath the Tor. I don't care if you and this wizard had some sort of fight years ago. What could he have done that's so bad you're afraid to see him again?"
Caledan shook his head and laughed, a hard, bitter sound. He ran a hand through his dark hair. "If I'm afraid to pay a visit to Morhion the mage, it's only because I fear I will kill him the instant I lay eyes on him." Caldorien turned and stomped upstairs, leaving her alone.
He had been like this ever since their visit to the monastery in the Sunset Mountains three days before. It had rained in heavy, cold sheets the entire journey back. At least they had not encountered the black-robed assassin again, but then it would have been impossible for anyone to follow their tracks in the torrential weather.
Mari sighed and sank into a chair by the fire, resting her head in her hands. Caldorien could make her feel so weary. Sometimes she wished she could forget him, forget Iriaebor, forget the Harpers and simply return to Elturel. But she had knelt on the cold earth by Master Andres's tomb the day she had left, and she had promised her mentor she would be strong. How could she give up now?
Mari felt a hand grip her shoulder. She looked up in surprise to see Ferret regarding her with his dark, close-set eyes.
"Ferret, I didn't know you were here. I thought… I thought Caledan and I were alone."
The wiry thief smiled crookedly. "I'm sorry. It's a habit Sneaking around, that is."
She tried to return his smile but failed miserably. His pointed nose twitched, his expression speculative. "You heard?" she asked.
Ferret shrugged. "Of course." He pulled up a chair and drew out a dagger, carefully sharpening the edge with a small whetstone. Mari regarded him curiously, wondering what the thief wanted. Of all the members of the old Fellowship, Ferret was the one she understood least. Why the rogue had ever thrown his lot in with a Harper in the first place she couldn't imagine.
The room was dim save for the flickering glow emanating from the hearth- Ferret continued to sharpen his knife. Suddenly Mari realized he was waiting-waiting for her to ask something. "Tell me about the mage Morhion," she said finally. "I need to know, to understand why Caldorien hates him so."
Ferret set down the whetstone. He tested the dagger's edge with a thumb, spun the blade experimentally on a fingertip, and nodded in satisfaction. He scratched his stubbly chin thoughtfully, his dark eyes glimmering in the firelight.
"Hate is a simple thing, Man," he said finally in his raspy voice. "If you hate someone, you act on it." He thrust the dagger into the wood of the table for emphasis. She flinched at the sudden motion. "That's what I do anyway.