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Authors: Raymond E. Feist
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that location unless given leave. As I transported you here by magic outside your understanding, it’s safe to assume you would have no way of finding your way back here should the urge visit you.”
Amirantha chuckled. “Indeed.”
They reached a large door and Pug pulled it open. Inside was a small room, with a table fully occupying half its area, over which stood a white-haired magician in black robes. “Father,” said Magnus to Pug as he entered. Then he greeted Amirantha and Jim.
Next to him stood a monk in the simple light brown robes of the Ishapians. He was a nondescript man of middle years, with a round head topped by a thatch of brown hair cut with a tonsure. He inclined his head in greeting and said, “Pug. You bring guests?”
“Brother Victor, these are friends. This is James, Baron of the King’s Court in Rillanon, and great-grandson of Lord James of Krondor, also known as Jimmy the Hand.”
At that the monk smiled. “We have a story about your ancestor you may not know,” said the monk.
“And this is Amirantha, a Warlock of a people from across the great ocean, the Satumbria. He is something of an expert on demons and I have need of his wisdom.”
“Your vouching for them grants an indulgence,” said the monk. “But the Father-Superior might not be so kindly disposed.”
“Which is why I came straight here,” said Pug with a nod.
The monk smiled. “So when I mention, in passing, your visit, I should do so, what? An hour or so after you depart?”
“That should be ample,” said Pug. “We don’t plan on staying long, unless there’s a need.”
“Well, then,” said the monk with a wry expression, “what do you seek this time?”
Magnus turned to Amirantha and said, “We’ve been challenging Brother Victor’s nearly inexhaustible knowledge on every subject imaginable.”
The monk held up his hands, palms outward, and said, “Hardly that.”
“He is the living repository of where everything in this vast library is placed,” said Pug.
Amirantha said, “Prodigious is the only word that springs to mind. Don’t you have some sort of written record?”
“Of course,” said the monk, “and a dozen brothers labor ceaselessly to update it as new material is found and sent to us, but until they do, we make do with scraps of hastily cobbled together notes, and this.” He tapped the side of his head with a forefinger.
“What do you know of the Demon Brothers?” asked Pug.
The monk went almost completely motionless for nearly a half minute, then he closed his eyes. “I believe there’s a mention of them…” His eyes widened. “Wait! I’ll be right back.”
The four men remaining in the room exchanged strange glances, which became expressions of curiosity as time dragged on. “Right back” became a half hour when the monk finally returned, a dusty old leather-bound volume in hand.
“It should be in here,” he said as if he had merely stepped out of the room, then reappeared.
“What is it?” asked Pug as the monk laid the book down on the table and gently opened it.
“It’s a chronicle of one Varis Logondis, a Quegan trader who lived about four hundred years ago. He was a compulsive journal keeper who felt every detail in his life was worthy of mentioning.
“In fact, most of his life was remarkably un-noteworthy,unless you are an aficionado of travelogues, long discourses on mercantile trends of the day, or the state of Varis’s digestive health at any given moment in his life. But, in passing he remarks on many issues of the day, useful in providing corroboration or refutation of other histories and accounts of the time.
“But one remark in particular stuck with me over the years.” He scanned the page. “Ah, there it is. Let me read—the dialect is somewhat antiquated and his spelling is atrocious. ‘In the evening, we came upon a village, by name Hamtas on Jaguard, whereupon we were welcomed at an inn by name, the Restful Station. There did we
Amirantha chuckled. “Indeed.”
They reached a large door and Pug pulled it open. Inside was a small room, with a table fully occupying half its area, over which stood a white-haired magician in black robes. “Father,” said Magnus to Pug as he entered. Then he greeted Amirantha and Jim.
Next to him stood a monk in the simple light brown robes of the Ishapians. He was a nondescript man of middle years, with a round head topped by a thatch of brown hair cut with a tonsure. He inclined his head in greeting and said, “Pug. You bring guests?”
“Brother Victor, these are friends. This is James, Baron of the King’s Court in Rillanon, and great-grandson of Lord James of Krondor, also known as Jimmy the Hand.”
At that the monk smiled. “We have a story about your ancestor you may not know,” said the monk.
“And this is Amirantha, a Warlock of a people from across the great ocean, the Satumbria. He is something of an expert on demons and I have need of his wisdom.”
“Your vouching for them grants an indulgence,” said the monk. “But the Father-Superior might not be so kindly disposed.”
“Which is why I came straight here,” said Pug with a nod.
The monk smiled. “So when I mention, in passing, your visit, I should do so, what? An hour or so after you depart?”
“That should be ample,” said Pug. “We don’t plan on staying long, unless there’s a need.”
“Well, then,” said the monk with a wry expression, “what do you seek this time?”
Magnus turned to Amirantha and said, “We’ve been challenging Brother Victor’s nearly inexhaustible knowledge on every subject imaginable.”
The monk held up his hands, palms outward, and said, “Hardly that.”
“He is the living repository of where everything in this vast library is placed,” said Pug.
Amirantha said, “Prodigious is the only word that springs to mind. Don’t you have some sort of written record?”
“Of course,” said the monk, “and a dozen brothers labor ceaselessly to update it as new material is found and sent to us, but until they do, we make do with scraps of hastily cobbled together notes, and this.” He tapped the side of his head with a forefinger.
“What do you know of the Demon Brothers?” asked Pug.
The monk went almost completely motionless for nearly a half minute, then he closed his eyes. “I believe there’s a mention of them…” His eyes widened. “Wait! I’ll be right back.”
The four men remaining in the room exchanged strange glances, which became expressions of curiosity as time dragged on. “Right back” became a half hour when the monk finally returned, a dusty old leather-bound volume in hand.
“It should be in here,” he said as if he had merely stepped out of the room, then reappeared.
“What is it?” asked Pug as the monk laid the book down on the table and gently opened it.
“It’s a chronicle of one Varis Logondis, a Quegan trader who lived about four hundred years ago. He was a compulsive journal keeper who felt every detail in his life was worthy of mentioning.
“In fact, most of his life was remarkably un-noteworthy,unless you are an aficionado of travelogues, long discourses on mercantile trends of the day, or the state of Varis’s digestive health at any given moment in his life. But, in passing he remarks on many issues of the day, useful in providing corroboration or refutation of other histories and accounts of the time.
“But one remark in particular stuck with me over the years.” He scanned the page. “Ah, there it is. Let me read—the dialect is somewhat antiquated and his spelling is atrocious. ‘In the evening, we came upon a village, by name Hamtas on Jaguard, whereupon we were welcomed at an inn by name, the Restful Station. There did we
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