Paul Kemp - Twilight Falling

To the north, on a high rise overlooking Selgaunt Bay, stood the many-towered, sprawling palace of the Hulorn. The complex looked as twisted and warped as the late ruler's mind. The palace was slowly being abandoned by the dead Hulorn's staff, while agents of the Old Chauncel looted its secrets and argued over who would be its next tenant.

"Nearly there," Jak said. "That's it. At the end of the road."

Ahead, alone in a cul-de-sac, stood a stone house of the Colskyran style, called such after the mage-architect who had pioneered the style two decades earlier. Characterized by elaborate, magically-shaped stonework around the doors and windows, stylized downspouts, and colorful tiled roofs, Colskyran buildings could look as grand as any manse. Not so that home, where there were gaps in the roofing-broken tiles that had never been replaced-unrepaired cracks in the stone scrollwork around the windows, and crumbling mortar between the river stones in the low wall that surrounded the property. Broken statuary lay untended in the courtyard. Shrubs, creepers, and ivy had overgrown the lot. Cale thought that the flora must have grown wild and untended for years.

"This is where you Harpers keep your sage, Fleet?" Riven sneered. "Small wonder your people never knew what was going on."

Jak turned on the assassin and his green eyes flared. "You keep your mouth shut, Drasek Riven." In a softer voice, he added, "And I'm not a Harper anymore."

Surprised, Riven looked as though he wanted to say something further but held his tongue.

In truth, Cale too wondered what sort of sage lived in a house like that.

"Jak," Cale asked, "who is this loremaster?"

Jak pursed his lips. His hands went to the pockets of his trousers and he said, "His name is Sephris. Sephris Dwendon. He assisted the Harpers sometimes …"

Riven chuckled at that.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" snapped the halfling.

Cale interposed before Riven could make a reply.

"Assisted?" asked Cale. "He doesn't anymore?"

"No. Listen, Cale." Jak took a deep breath and said, "He's was a priest of Oghma … until they forbade him from performing services."

Riven smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but a fierce glare from Jak kept him from saying whatever he'd been contemplating.

"Why?" Cale asked, increasingly dubious.

Jak shifted from foot to foot and said, "Well … he holds to some unusual ideas. About numbers, mostly, but other things too. I think they think he's insane. Healing spells didn't help him, though."

Cale squatted down to look Jak in the eye and asked, "Numbers? How do you mean?"

"You'll see."

Cale was doubtful, but kept it from his face so as not to hurt Jak's feelings. Still, perhaps Jak's loremaster was not their best play. Maybe Elaena at Deneir's temple would remember them and would help.

"Little man-" Cale began.

Jak shook his head and put a small hand on Cale's shoulder.

"Cale," he said, "I wouldn't have brought us here if I didn't think he could help. Just trust me. I don't think he's insane. I mean-" Jak's eyes found the ground-"he might be, but. . he's a genius, Cale. Really. The church still takes care of him, despite his illness. It's because he's such an asset to them. He knows things."

Cale looked past Jak to the poorly maintained house. His doubt must have shown on his face.

Jak went on, "He doesn't care about things like the house, and the church doesn't want to pay for a groundskeeper. He doesn't even see people much anymore, but he'll see me. We were friends a long time ago, before he … started to think the way he thinks."

"And this loremaster is expensive?" Riven asked, amusement in his voice.

Jak stared daggers at Riven. "He doesn't charge, Zhent. But the church requires a 'donation' to see him."

Riven's one eye narrowed and fixed on Jak.

"I'm not a Zhent any more than you're a Harper, Fleet."

"And I believe that as much as I believe that black is white," Jak spat.

"Believe what you will," Riven said, low and dangerous.

"Enough," Cale ordered, before the argument went out of control.

Riven eyed Cale and said, "If I cared what this sphere was-and I don't-I'd tell you you're both fools to consult this so-called 'loremaster.' "

Cale looked him in his one good eye and replied, "And if I cared what you thought, I'd ask."

To that, Riven only stared.

Jak looked at Cale, awaiting a decision.

Cale made up his mind quickly-they really had no other option. He had no reason to think that Elaena could help them, even if she was willing. He would trust the halfling's judgment.

"Let's see what he has to say," said Cale. "It's only coin. If it's a waste of time, we'll know it soon enough." He looked to Riven and added, "You can wait here if you like."

"Oh, no," Riven sneered. "I wouldn't miss this."

With that, the three of them strode for the house. The small gateman's shack stood empty and overgrown, the iron gate unlocked and rusted. They walked a cracked flagstone path through the overgrowth and approached the house. If Cale hadn't known better, he would have thought the place abandoned. He wondered if the loremaster might have died some time before, unbeknownst to Jak.

Before they reached the porch, the heavy wooden door creaked open and a tall, balding man with a wreath of brown hair exited. He wore a pinched frown and dark green robes, the raiment of a priest of Oghma. A bronze holy symbol in the shape of an unfurled scroll hung from a chain around his neck. He took in their weapons and armor, still frowning, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I don't believe-"

Jak cut him off. "We have come to see Sephris Dwendon. We're prepared to make a donation to the Lord of Knowledge."

The priest pursed his thin lips, obviously perturbed by Jak's interruption. Cale was pleased to see that the man was not the sage, as he had at first thought.

"Sephris is indisposed," said the priest, but he didn't turn to leave.

Cale well understood the game, priest or no priest. He would have smiled but for the bad taste it left in his mouth.

"We're prepared to make a large donation to the Sanctum of the Scroll," Cale said. "We will not require much of Sephris's time, or yours."

The priest took that in and gave them an appraising look, as though evaluating their capacity to pay what Cale had promised.

After a moment, he said, "Very well, then. I shall see if Master Sephris is receiving visitors."

He turned to reenter the house.

Jak called after his back, "Tell him Jak Fleet is here to see him. Jak Fleet."

The priest did not acknowledge that he'd heard.

They waited, Riven smirking all the while.

"They rotate priests as caretakers for him," Jak explained. "It's not a highly regarded job. Sephris can be difficult."

"That explains him then," Cale said, referring to the priest.

After a few moments, the priest returned. In his hands, he held an open silver box lined with red velvet.

"Sephris will see you, but I must collect the donation first, of course."

Riven sneered, but Cale wasn't surprised by the request. In Sembia, even religion was business.

"Of course," Cale said.

He took from his belt the pouch of platinum suns given him by Tamlin, counted out ten, and placed them in the donation box.

The priest gave a tight smile and snapped the box closed. Cale wondered how much of that coin would actually find its way to the church's coffers.

"Follow me," the priest said. "Sephris is in the library, as always."

They entered the tiled foyer of the home and walked down the main hall. The windows, screened by the overgrown trees and shrubs outside, let in only scant light. No paintings hung on the walls, only scrawled numbers and equations, written floor to ceiling in Elvish, Dwarvish, and Chondathan. Cale stared at them uncomprehending. The mathematics were either very advanced or utterly nonsensical.