“What is more,” Jynn continued, “while some may consider the tragic events of last year entertaining, I do not wish to relive them. I have enough painful ballads written about my family, as you may recall.”
“But this one would be different,” Heraldin tried.
A shout in the hallway rang out, drawing Jynn’s eyes to his office door.
Heraldin leaned forward over the desk, as much to move away from the leering thing in the jar as to hold the archmage’s attention. “This ballad will be good for your personal brand!” he insisted.
“Oh?” Jynn’s nose crinkled in irritation. “Which part? When my father turns himself into an undead abomination and wipes out most of the Freedlands’ armies? Or tears down the walls of Andarun? Or when he tries to kill the king? There are more than enough people who resent my heritage already, and I have endured more than sufficient time in the public eye for it.”
“But—”
“Enough. The last thing I need is a bunch of third-rate troubadours caterwauling about my father’s rampage across the Freedlands.” Jynn waved Heraldin away with a gloved hand. “Although when ranking unwelcome events, it only narrowly beats old associates barging in with random requests! I’d ask—”
Yet the wizard’s request was lost in the thunderous bang of his office door being kicked in by an iron-soled boot. Gorm Ingerson surged into the room like a one-Dwarf barbarian horde, trailed by an apologetic omnimancer. “Jynn! You’re from Ruskan, right?”
The archmage stared agape at the Dwarf. “What?” he hissed.
Heraldin leaned over the desk to whisper, “You know, for someone who claims to study destiny and probabilistic causation, you really don’t seem to know much about Novian teachings.”
“I’m sorry, sir!” burbled the omnimancer. “We tried to stop him, but he won’t listen to us.”
Gorm spoke over the mage, as if to emphasize her point. “We need to know if it was magic fire or somethin’ else that burned this here wood.” The Dwarf drew a mistreated hunk of charcoal from somewhere in his grungy robes and waved it at the wizard.
Jynn’s brow knit as his eyes swiveled between the three figures babbling at him. “What?” he said again.
“We?” asked Heraldin.
Gorm snorted and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, where the shadows by the door shifted and unfurled into the shape of Gaist. The young omnimancer gave a frightened squeal.
A frost seemed to settle on Heraldin’s countenance, and he greeted the weaponsmaster with all the warmth and cheer of a midnight blizzard. “Oh. Hello.”
“He’s on me quest,” said Gorm.
“Of course he is,” said Heraldin.
“I couldn’t stop him either, sir. He just ignored me,” said the apologetic omnimancer, but nobody paid her any attention.
“Still not speaking to me, I see,” the bard said airily.
“I thought he didn’t speak to anyone,” said Jynn.
“Oh, this is very different,” said Heraldin, his eyes narrowed to slits.
Gaist stared at the archmage impassively.
“Oh, is that how this will go?” Heraldin sputtered.
“All right, quiet!” Gorm thundered. The room fell quiet, save for a muffled burble from the many-legged thing in the jar, and even that nameless creature shut its eyes and went still when the berserker leveled a threatening glare at it.
With a satisfied snort, the Dwarf turned back to his former colleagues. “The rest of the old party and I have been adventurin’, and I think we found evidence of something big. Too big to talk about in front of pryin’ ears.” Gorm nodded to the young mage, who gave a grin of abject terror and looked pleadingly at Jynn.
The archmage sighed and dismissed the omnimancer with a wave of his hand. The door slammed behind her.
Suspicion crinkled the corners of Heraldin’s eyes. “By ‘big,’ do you mean extremely profitable, or do you mean it’s related to your schemes to upend the kingdom?”
“This ain’t about money,” said Gorm.
“I suspected as much.” Heraldin slumped back in his seat. “And it must be suicidal as well, judging by the company you keep.”
Gaist looked at the ceiling pointedly.
“If we can prove it was magic or alchemy that burned this wood, we’ll prove all them dragon attacks ain’t a dragon at all. And if it ain’t a dragon, we’ve plenty of evidence that whoever or whatever it was has been serving’ Johan’s interests well. But we need to know what burned this here log.” Gorm waved the charcoal for emphasis. “And Laruna said I’d need a foreign mage to tell me what kind of fire it was, and I remembered ye was from Ruskan originally. So I’m callin’ in a favor.”
Jynn stared blankly for a moment as his vocabulary reconciled with Gorm’s casual relationship with the Imperial tongue. “Forensic,” he said, emphasizing the last syllable. “You need a forensic mage.”
Gorm shrugged. “Aye, fine. Ye never struck me as particularly healthy anyway. Can ye do it or not?”
Jynn sighed again and rubbed his temples. “To clarify, if I run some… investigative enchantments on that bit of charcoal and give you the results, you and Gaist will leave and take the bard with you.”
“We didn’t come together,” said Heraldin.
Gorm gave the man a sidelong glance. “Deal.”
“I’m not just going to walk out of here because it suits you!” snorted Heraldin.
“Didn’t say ye would,” said Gorm darkly.
Jynn stood and spoke over the bard’s protests. “Very well, I will take you to the laboratory if it will get this over with and let me return to my work. But rest assured, this is the absolute last favor I will do for you.”
