He tried another one of the books, flipped open the first page, and began laboriously to read.
To begin with the book was not as bad as Rik had feared. At least it was written in contemporary Exalted. There were many words he could not follow, many sorcerous terms he did not recognise, but the gist of things was clear, and not a little disappointing. The book was indeed a sorcerer’s journal, a combination of diary and commonplace book. It contained his thoughts on his art, on what he had learned, and how he thought he should proceed. There was a great deal of mathematical notation and a few astronomical diagrams.
The mage wrote about the way sorcerous power ebbed and flowed at certain times, that these times could be deduced from the position of the stars and planets, and, more importantly, that certain entities could be contacted much more clearly under these specific conditions. It all made a certain sort of sense to Rik. If you had more power at certain times, working magic should be easier, he thought.
He was disappointed that there were no spells, incantations or inscriptions of easy magical use. The chapbooks were always full of those, and of young apprentices unwisely summoning demons. At the moment the only thing he could imagine unwisely summoning from reading this book was a headache.
He flicked through the other two books and they were worse. He could make out some of the words. There were lots of strange glyphs depicting spider-like beings which reminded him uncomfortably of the thing in the mine. There were references in the margin in the familiar crabbed hand to Uran Ultar, the Spider God, demon- wizard of the ancients, that made him more uncomfortable yet. It brought home to him that these books dealt in forbidden knowledge, and that knowledge had been forbidden for a good reason. Rik had never heard anything good of Uran Ultar, only shadowy tales of spidery demons, devoured souls and evil magic. The book referred to him sometimes as the Scuttler in the Shadows, at others as the Weaver between Worlds. They were not reassuring terms.
He put the books back in their leather sack and put the sack back in its place. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling and wondered about the wisdom of what he was doing. There was knowledge in these books but it was knowledge that endangered his soul if all that the temple brothers had told him was true. He was not entirely sure he believed any of that any more. His faith, so strong and simple as a child, had been chipped away by the life he had led. He had been around death enough to consider agreeing with those philosophers who thought that maybe the body was just a machine of sorts, one that ceased to function when important parts were broken. It was not a comforting thought, that this was the only life he would ever have and that when it ended, as it might at any moment, he was gone. He could understand why the priests objected to that idea so much, calling it a council of despair straight from shadow. If he did have a soul, he wondered, and these books held the power to change his life, was it worth risking that soul in pursuit of power? In theory the answer was simple. No. He was risking life eternal for nothing more than worldly gain.
Ah, but what if the priests were wrong, and what if the despairers were right? And what if these books pointed some other way to eternal life in this world? The priests of the Spider God were said to have had that secret. It was certain that some ancient wizards had known it. Even the Terrarchs confirmed that.
In his life he had done enough to get himself damned already according to the priests’ view of the world. There were few crimes he had not committed in his time in Sorrow and after. He had stolen, lied, killed, borne false witness, fornicated, committed adultery, and all before he was fifteen. The chances were that he was damned already. What did he have to lose? The scales had been stacked against him from the moment of his birth. Perhaps these books were the only chance to balance them he would ever get.
And he was curious. He wanted to know what was in them, to be privy to forbidden knowledge, to be in some ways like his unknown father, to steal the fire of the Exalted’s strange heaven.
All of which brought him to another thing. It was obvious that he did not have the training for this. The little bits of hedge lore he had picked up from the Old Witch had not prepared him for such work in any way. Whoever had written this book had possessed a great deal of education in a great many arts. He had a working knowledge of mathematics, astrology, alchemy, ancient pre-human lore, and a grasp of many languages. You could only pick that up at a University, or from being apprenticed to a wizard, or as a priest, perhaps all three.
Rik’s hopes of easy power and wealth had already been dashed. It was obvious the road to mastery would be a long one. Perhaps the best plan after all was to try and sell the books to some scholar who might have a use for them. The one who had written it had managed to summon and communicate with an Elder World demon. His knowledge would be useful to the right person.
Rik shook his head and rose to a sitting position. He was not going to give up so easily. He was going to continue with what he had started for as long as he could, and see what he could decipher. These books were his first real contact with true lore, with the great world of high sorcery. They were not like the cheap herb-books and star charts and books of purported love charms you could pick up in the book markets of Sorrow. This was the real thing. They had been the possession of an actual wizard, and he must be able to learn from them. There had to be something useful there. He refused to believe there could not be.
Just as the thought crossed his mind Leon stuck his head inside the door. “Time to eat,” he said. “Looks like the cooks have excelled themselves today.”
“What is it? Boiled boot sole with a bowl of sewage soup?”
“Even better! It’s the Stew!”
“The cook is a sadist. He waits until we are ravenous and then serves boiled vomit.”
“I think I would prefer boiled vomit.”
Rik rose from the bed, and strode out the door. The air was cold. A breeze blew down from the mountains, and he thought he caught a hint of moisture in it. A glance at the distant peaks showed them shrouded in cloud.
“Looks like rain,” Rik said.
“You think we’ll be heading off soon? They say the new General and his retinue are already here. They are hiring carts in the city for supplies. All the girls at the stream are talking about it. They don’t fancy hiking through the pass this early in the year.”
“I am sure the Terrarchs will take their feelings into consideration.”
“You really think we’re going then? Really?” Leon was as excited as a puppy playing with a rag.
“I don’t think they sent one of the high lord muck-a-mucks down here just for his health.”
“It’ll be the first time I have ever been out of the Realm.”
“For me too. We signed up together, remember?”
“What do you think of Sarah?” Rik was used to his old friend’s sudden changes of topic but he still found them annoying sometimes when he wanted to think.
“She’s pretty, but isn’t she going with Bear?”
“She was but they had a falling out. She says she’ll go out walking with me if I ask. Ana told me she likes me.”
“I thought you were sweet on that town girl, whatshername?”
“Bethia. I was but she took up with a hussar. Says he has a destrier and will take her riding.”
“I am sure he will, just not in the way she thinks.”
“I don’t like the hussars, neither does Handsome Jan. He says they are stealing all the girls. The girls think they have nicer uniforms than ours.”
“They have destriers,” said Rik. “Destriers cost money. Girls like men with money.”
“You are a cynical bastard, Rik,” said Leon. “Sabena certainly changed you.”
Rik had no desire to talk about that particular betrayal. It sometimes amazed him how raw it still made him feel. He did not know what annoyed him more, the fact that she had suckered him so easily, or the fact that he had so desperately wanted to believe her love for him was real even when he had proof that it was not.
“It amazes me that you are not cynical. Are you sure you are from Sorrow?”
“You know I am,” said Leon.
“It was a joke.”
“Yes, of course, I knew that.”
“Come on, let’s get something to eat. They say the cooking is not nearly so good in times of war.”
“Maybe we can get the cook shot as an enemy spy. We can say he is trying to poison us poor soldiers.”
“He could probably cause more casualties than an enemy brigade.”
Laughing they went to their meal.
