Norton, Andre - Anthology by Magic in Ithkar 04 (v1.0)

Author:Magic in Ithkar 04 (v1.0) [04, Magic in Ithkar]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THE BOOK-HEALER

Sandra Miesel

Where was Master Romrad? The old book-healer's booth had been my favorite stop at the fair ever since I was a spindly acolyte barely able to read the manuscripts Romrad repaired and sold. With sometimes strange things about them even that older magic which only the most adept can understand—which delivered all we know. My eagerness didn't age even when priestly robes—and the beginnings of a priestly paunch—slowed my steps a bit.

I rued my present bulk as I tried to move against the stream of fairgoers. Even up here by our temple gate, the first-day crowds were thick enough to clot. Then shouts erupted on my left. A trader named Hansper started screaming for the fair-wards as a thief snatched one of his baubles. Gawkers began to surge toward the captured criminal, and I slipped through the crowd to my goal in the opposite direction.

Master Romrad was too engrossed in his work to heed the commotion, much less me. He was bent over his desk cleaning a choral song sheet with a lump of fresh bread.

Glancing at the manuscript, I reeled off a glib attribution: "Third Nocturne, Feast of the Apotheosis, lacewing borders and foliar initials suggest a school of Maros origin."

"Father Tomazio," he greeted me without raising his eyes, "if you take another look, you'll see it's just a provincial imitation of the classic Maros style—a good imitation, mind you." Then he beamed up at me. His crinkled smile was as warm as ever, but he winced as I clasped his hand. Rubbing his gnarled fingers, he said: "Putting on flesh, aren't you, lad? Heading the library must agree with you."

"Since when is gauntness accounted a virtue?" I sucked in my plump cheeks. "A temple functionary is expected to be a man of substance." My voice softened. "Are the twinges in your hands getting worse, Master Romrad?"

He nodded. "I drink extract of mourningtree as other men drink wine. So now I have ringing in my ears as well as stiffness in my joints. As the saying goes, I expected to feel my age, but not so soon."

"Surely our temple heal-alls can find you a better remedy. I'll ask one to examine you."

"At this season? When the great ones of the land will be clamoring for their services? Lords bless your kindness for the thought. Now"—he motioned me closer—"come around behind the counter and sit with me. Mind you don't step on Brindle. He's been downright surly since we arrived." A shadow passed over Romrad's face.

I accepted the invitation, cautiously avoiding the cushion where Romrad's pet tree-cat lay sullenly curled. Although more scarred and less spry than he used to be, Brindle was still a formidable fighter. He roused himself stiffly, yawned, and sniffed my robe. Only after passing that inspection did I dare presume to stroke Brindle's brown-and-gold-striped fur. He gave thunderous purrs and nuzzled my knee.

Meanwhile, Romrad had pulled another gobbet of bread from the broken loaf beside him. He wadded the soft material into a

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