jackal-among-snakes-16091326
chapter-41

“Hmm…” Rowe grunted as Argrave set down the quill, leaning over the parchment Argrave had been writing on. Anneliese was on the other side of him, just as interested.

“That’s the simple illusion spell, [Muffle].” He pointed at another diagram. “And there is how you translate [Muffle] to an Inscription. Once you will magic into it, the enchantment will be complete. This one will muffle sounds, naturally. Higher-ranked mages with larger magic pools like you mostly resist illusion magic, and plenty of enchantments or spells exist that help prevent people’s senses from being twisted.”

“Very prudent to use a spell I don’t know to teach me enchanting. Quite the amazing teacher you are, aye,” the aged elf said sarcastically. Rowe reached out and touched the paper without asking Argrave for permission. “Aye, I feel it. I can put magic into this.” He did so, and the inscription shone briefly before fading back into ordinary looking paper.

Argrave picked up a gold coin and dropped it onto the paper. It was near soundless. Rowe watched this with brows furrowed. Argrave ripped the paper, and it was completely soundless. Rowe stopped him. “I get it. Stop wasting paper. You know how much this stuff is worth?”

Anneliese picked up a piece of paper and moved away. Rowe turned to Argrave. “Then that is that. If I had known this matter was so simple, I might not have agreed to this trade.”

“Yeah, sure. You would have definitely figured it out without me. Spare me the prideful nonsense,” Argrave said dismissively. “Now, I’ll get you those illusion spellbooks at Jast. Might be a pain, but I need druidic magic. Best way to scout and watch for enemies in the entire world.”

“I’m glad you see that,” Rowe said with some measure of pride. He stepped a bit closer, locking gazes with Argrave and speaking quietly. “So, that one is coming with you?” Rowe inquired. Argrave turned his head. Anneliese was writing something.

Argrave looked back to Rowe, nodding. “Yeah. Why?”

“That’s what I should be asking you, boy. I have responsibilities here, but I could give you a higher-ranked mage. I’m sure I could talk one of the A-rank mages into coming with you. A devastating force on that continent of Berendar, as far as I’m aware. Invaluable in… whatever it is you’re doing to stop He Who Would Judge the Gods,” Rowe said, shaking his head quickly.

A loud poof came from behind Argrave, and he turned his head to spot a small mushroom cloud of smoke fading into nothingness. Anneliese stepped back from a burning piece of paper.

“That’s why I’m bringing her. Latent genius, that one. She has great talent,” Argrave said, pointing with his thumb. “Some enchantments are really quite useless, like that one you saw there; one-time uses that only destroy whatever it is they’re written on. Others, like warding magic, are immeasurably useful. Trial-and-error, really.”

Rowe walked forward slowly and jabbed his walking stick in Anneliese’s foot. She let out a little yelp and jumped back. “Damned girl. Be more careful with paper,” he reprimanded, picking up the smoldering piece of paper where the blackened remnants of an inscription could be vaguely seen. He cast a glance at Anneliese.

“Besides, I need people of good character at my side.” Argrave walked forward, shrugging. “I trust Anneliese and Galamon more than any unknown element that is far stronger than me, magically speaking. Well, probably physically speaking, too.”

Rowe cast some fire magic and finished burning the paper, scattering the ashes while wiping his hands off with his fur robes. “Trust. Bah. You’ve known her for three days, maybe. Keep being so trusting, you’ll end up on a spit with the Tenebrous Reaper pissing on your still-warm body.”

“What’s with you and piss?” Argrave shook his head. “I haven’t been wrong since you’ve met me. Never will be, if I can help it.”

“You were wrong once,” Rowe said condescendingly. “Told me to ‘divine with animal guts,’ but that’s tripe. There’s no validity to it. Might as well toss a coin in the air to decide.”

“Tripe,” Argrave repeated. “Very nice pun.”

“Disgusting.” Rowe waved his hand and started to move away.

“Hold a moment,” Argrave stopped him. “I might need some help carrying the books and navigating this place. Can you call some people? I’ll get a list ready of the spells I need.”

“A list?” Rowe frowned. “You don’t know the spells themselves, but you can make a list?”

“I know their names and what they do. Otherwise, I’m out of luck.” Argrave picked up a quill. “Oh, also, if you could get one of your mages to cast [Cure Disease] on me, I think I caught another cold. Want to squash it before it gets worse.”

“Right. One might think you’re the patriarch the way you order me about. Savor it; it won’t last.” Rowe shook his head. “I’ll get some of the young ones to do your bidding.”

“The books will have to be carried to Katla,” Argrave called out as Rowe walked away. “This is the last thing I need before returning to Berendar.”