the coins of Jihab, the jewel merchants.”
“Tainted by Maffisto assassins. You guarantee your tools will serve me better than magicians?”
“My tools will eliminate the need for magicians. You and your kind will be free of them once and for all.” And with improved technology, I’ll have a planet producing enough food to feed three civilized worlds. We’ll export the coal and iron to industrial worlds and leave more men to work the land.
“Gold bullion will do. I can sell it anywhere.”
“Done. I’ll take your signet ring as surety . . .”
“I have neighbors willing to trade grain and Tambootie for freedom from magicians.” The lord totally ignored Kinnsell’s last request. “They trust me to bargain for them. I have a list of what they need.” The bushie pulled a long roll of parchment from his tunic. A very long roll, indeed. “I found a man to write it who failed as a magician apprentice. He stayed at the cursed University long enough to learn to read but not much else.”
Kinnsell licked his lips eagerly. He’d have this planet mechanized and shipping massive surpluses within a decade. But he didn’t think he’d ever inform the locals of their right to dome their cities and join the Empire as full citizens. Terra needed food, not more citizens. He needed the crown that this world’s food could give him. His hand came back, soaring higher in his personal agenda.
Briefly he wondered if he should lift the ban on reading and writing on this world. Not yet. The lcoals might learn too much too fast.
University of Magicians Library, Coronnan City
Bessel stared at the strange paragraph in the old text. He’d been shelving books for Master Lyman when his talent insisted he open this book and read. The pages had fallen open right where he read and reread the same paragraph.
A person with the healing talent can diminish the effects of disease by symbolically exchanging blood with the patient.
What? How? He had to read further. The three other books he cradled in his arms dropped to the floor with a resounding thud. He ignored the echoes in the normally hushed library. Several apprentices looked up from their studies. Bessel didn’t care how much attention he attracted, or about the sniggers of the other students.
He knew his pudgy hands were clumsy. That didn’t matter. This book offered a clue to the end of the plague. If he found out how to do this, maybe he could get permission to return to Lord Balthazaan’s disease-ridden province. He couldn’t save his mother, but he might save some of the others before the plague spread any farther. And he wouldn’t have to tap a ley line or access the void to do it.
He grabbed the book with both hands and stumbled over the fallen books to the nearest study desk. He was already reading when he plunked down on the stool.
The healer must first trigger a middling trance being careful not to fall too deep in thrall with the void. While still in contact with his body and his mind, the healer takes his ritual dagger in his left hand and carefully cuts across the right palm of the patient. Then he must repeat the cut on his own left palm. The ritual dagger may then be placed upon a silk scarf to await later cleansing. The healer must place his left palm across the patient’s right hand, making sure to align the cuts. With his free hand the healer must bind the hands together with a pristine white bandage, also made of silk.
If the healer has been properly trained and successfully passed the trial by Tambootie smoke, no contagion will spread to his own body, though all mundanes within the room become infected.
Bessel turned the page for the ritual words that would complete the healing spell. The next three pages had been torn from the binding.
He flipped back and forth in the book seeking the missing pages. Ragged edges at irregular intervals testified to several more clumps of pages that had been removed. Whoever had mutilated the book had
“Tainted by Maffisto assassins. You guarantee your tools will serve me better than magicians?”
“My tools will eliminate the need for magicians. You and your kind will be free of them once and for all.” And with improved technology, I’ll have a planet producing enough food to feed three civilized worlds. We’ll export the coal and iron to industrial worlds and leave more men to work the land.
“Gold bullion will do. I can sell it anywhere.”
“Done. I’ll take your signet ring as surety . . .”
“I have neighbors willing to trade grain and Tambootie for freedom from magicians.” The lord totally ignored Kinnsell’s last request. “They trust me to bargain for them. I have a list of what they need.” The bushie pulled a long roll of parchment from his tunic. A very long roll, indeed. “I found a man to write it who failed as a magician apprentice. He stayed at the cursed University long enough to learn to read but not much else.”
Kinnsell licked his lips eagerly. He’d have this planet mechanized and shipping massive surpluses within a decade. But he didn’t think he’d ever inform the locals of their right to dome their cities and join the Empire as full citizens. Terra needed food, not more citizens. He needed the crown that this world’s food could give him. His hand came back, soaring higher in his personal agenda.
Briefly he wondered if he should lift the ban on reading and writing on this world. Not yet. The lcoals might learn too much too fast.
University of Magicians Library, Coronnan City
Bessel stared at the strange paragraph in the old text. He’d been shelving books for Master Lyman when his talent insisted he open this book and read. The pages had fallen open right where he read and reread the same paragraph.
A person with the healing talent can diminish the effects of disease by symbolically exchanging blood with the patient.
What? How? He had to read further. The three other books he cradled in his arms dropped to the floor with a resounding thud. He ignored the echoes in the normally hushed library. Several apprentices looked up from their studies. Bessel didn’t care how much attention he attracted, or about the sniggers of the other students.
He knew his pudgy hands were clumsy. That didn’t matter. This book offered a clue to the end of the plague. If he found out how to do this, maybe he could get permission to return to Lord Balthazaan’s disease-ridden province. He couldn’t save his mother, but he might save some of the others before the plague spread any farther. And he wouldn’t have to tap a ley line or access the void to do it.
He grabbed the book with both hands and stumbled over the fallen books to the nearest study desk. He was already reading when he plunked down on the stool.
The healer must first trigger a middling trance being careful not to fall too deep in thrall with the void. While still in contact with his body and his mind, the healer takes his ritual dagger in his left hand and carefully cuts across the right palm of the patient. Then he must repeat the cut on his own left palm. The ritual dagger may then be placed upon a silk scarf to await later cleansing. The healer must place his left palm across the patient’s right hand, making sure to align the cuts. With his free hand the healer must bind the hands together with a pristine white bandage, also made of silk.
If the healer has been properly trained and successfully passed the trial by Tambootie smoke, no contagion will spread to his own body, though all mundanes within the room become infected.
Bessel turned the page for the ritual words that would complete the healing spell. The next three pages had been torn from the binding.
He flipped back and forth in the book seeking the missing pages. Ragged edges at irregular intervals testified to several more clumps of pages that had been removed. Whoever had mutilated the book had
Similar Books
