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Temple,” Wolfram offered. “If you like, I could go with you and help you explain what you need.”
    â€œWe do fine,” said Jessan and, with another curt nod, he put a hand that was both protective and commanding on the shoulder of his friend and turned away.
    The pecwae made no demur, but docilely accompanied his friend, obviously accustomed to following where the Trevenici led. Before he left, however, Bashae flashed Wolfram a smile of thanks and waved his hand.
    Wolfram scratched his chin. All in all, a pleasant morning’s diversion. He was about to turn away, planning to go spend his last copper on a mug of tepid ale, when he felt the burning sensation on his arm. He had not felt this sensation in so long that, at first, he mistook it for a bug bite and absent-mindedly scratched it. He was under no illusions the next moment, for the burning sensationgrew stronger, as if he brushed his hand through the flame of a candle.
    Wolfram glanced swiftly around. No one was paying him any attention. Reflecting on the fact that no one would have paid him any attention if he’d dropped down dead in the street, Wolfram walked over to stand in the shadow cast by the elf’s wagon. The dwarf rolled up the long sleeve of his homespun shirt and peered down at a bracelet on his wrist.
    The bracelet was made of silver set with five gems: ruby, jade, sapphire, pearl and onyx. Each of the gemstones had started to glow, heating the silver metal that was now starting to grow extremely warm. Wolfram stared at the bracelet in astonishment. This had not happened to him in a long time. Years, in fact. So long that he had begun to think that perhaps he had lost favor with the monks. He was immensely pleased, glad to think he still had the opportunity to turn a nice profit. He touched the stones, one by one, in a certain order and the burning ceased immediately.
    Wolfram looked expectantly at the elf’s wagon, but received no response from the bracelet. Pondering, the dwarf glanced around. As his gaze flicked over the two young men, the bracelet’s warmth increased markedly.
    â€œWell, well,” said the dwarf and, rolling down his sleeve to cover the bracelet, he started off after them.
    The gaudy gilt painted sign board nailed to the outside of the Temple of Healing was adorned with the symbols marking true Temples of Healing, those run by members of the Church who had received their training in the Temple of the Magi in New Vinnengael. Wolfram guessed that the supposed “Revered Magus,” who was sitting fanning himself on the doorstoop, might have actually been to New Vinnengael and that he might very well have seen the grand Temple of the Magi, but that was as close as he came to being aligned with the Church. The man was a hedge-wizard if ever Wolfram had seen one.
    Thin and unremarkable in appearance, the erstwhile magus watched the two approach with a pathetic interest. Once he determined they were heading his direction, he scrambled to his feet and pounced on them the moment they opened their mouths.
    â€œMy name is Brother Elias and I am a healer of extraordinary skill.” He looked eagerly from one to the other. “Are you feverish? Coughing? Heart palpitations? Vomiting? I have cures for each of those complaints. Let me take your pulse.”
    He reached out his hand to Jessan, who favored the man with a cold stare.
    â€œNot sick,” he said. Indicating Bashae with a wave, Jessan added, “He buy potions.”
    Bashae produced two of the silver argents he’d received from the elf.
    Although extremely disappointed to find out that they weren’t suffering from some disease that would take lots of time and money to cure, Brother Elias perked up immensely when he saw silver flash in the pecwae’s hand.
    â€œI recognize a colleague,” he said, his eyes on the coins. With grave dignity, he led his charges inside the tumble-down “temple.”
    Brother Elias