Book 4 Chapter 22: Information Gained

++The bulk of artifact-hunting expeditions came in the eighteenth, rather than the nineteenth century. Past that point, advances in enchantments turned the practical benefits into purely intellectual ones, which apparently do not inspire nearly as much funding.++

- From ‘Magic and Mundanity’, a commentary on the role of the arcane in an advancing society.

The first thing I did after laying eyes upon the relic, naturally, was pretend that I had not in fact laid eyes upon the relic. It was amazing how much the value of any given working suddenly inflated when its owner realised how much someone else wanted the thing.

No, I made sure that my gaze continued sweeping along the collection to rest somewhere near its far end.

“What is that?” I asked, indicating a totally unremarkable blade, its edge preternaturally sharp and its handle ornately crusted with gems and gold. At a glance I already knew of course, but I got the sense that having Elqarth describe his little collection to me would be easily the best way to turn his attention away from whatever I was doing.

I was shortly proven right.

“That is the blade of an ancient Irucci king,” he told me enthusiastically. “Dated to some four thousand years ago.”

Four thousand six hundred, I estimated. I did not know of course but I had made a study of archeology since returning, and in any case had always found it useful to learn how to date other things when I encountered them.

“How did you acquire it?” I asked him.

“I funded the expedition myself,” he said proudly. “Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy. The damned thing was guarded by a lich of all things.”

That did interest me. “I do not like liches,” I said quickly. “There was an especially nasty one in Orapathaqi when I was stationed there.”

“Yes, I’d heard about that,” he nodded gravely. “This one, fortunately, was no Sakhent the Doom Lord. I suspect it was not much older than the blade itself. Which is to say; it still killed two Highmages and nearly caught a fighting retreat before the Gods sent a pair of Demigods down to erase it.”

Evidently not a terribly old or powerful lich then. Based on the chronology I imagined it was some young whippersnapper who came to prominence in-between Sakhent’s fall and the Gods of Garamon retreating from their first great campaign of extermination in Estalia. The poor fool likely had not even believed the stories of those terrible, foreign deities.

Until it was too late.

That imbecile’s fate was none of my concern, nor was the sword, but Elqarth seemed to be enjoying himself now.

“What does it do?” I asked him.

It had a sharpness enhancement that would see it slice through matter as if its edge were mere molecules thick, with none of the physical chipping or wear that would limit the effectiveness of actual materials shaped into such fineness.

“It cuts like obsidian, but cuts steel and stone as well,” Elqarth replied. I fancied that his explanation was somewhat more mundane than mine.

“Is that all?” I asked, deciding to play up my disappointment a shade.

The man faltered. It worked.

“By no means,” he said hastily. “You seemed interested in this, so I showed it off, but to tell the truth it’s no big thing within my collection. You ought to see…ah, this one,” he led me elsewhere and I followed, laying eyes upon what he intended to demonstrate before he could even pick it out. The sheer magic made it easy to spot.

This one was a knife. There were quite a few of those, and like most here this one was older than the ancient world, though seemingly made of dark glass rather than stone. Its material composition could not have been less relevant, however. The arcane power running through it was all I had eyes for.

“This,” Elqarth told me proudly, “is one of the crowning gems of my collection.”

“Who made this?” I asked at once. I had to know their name. It was not an option. I needed to learn the identity of the only being I had ever seen to make a magical artefact that I could not.

“I don’t know,” Elqarth said, clearly enjoying himself now. “I don’t even know how old it is, nobody does. But I do know that it’s one of a bare handful of weapons in history to have probably, verifiably slain a Demigod.”

“How much did you pay for it?” I asked him.

“All told? Two million crowns.”

I almost winced. The average man could not walk carrying the equivalent value in gold, in fact attempting to even stand bearing its weight would threaten to damage his spine. Then again, I could hardly have expected such a precious relic to be worth less than that.

“It looks very old,” I noted. “Maybe the oldest thing here. Perhaps that mask is older?”

I was indicating the one I had sensed a wisp of divine power in, the only one that could possibly have been the artifact Zameka required. This seemed as good of an opportunity as any to examine it further.

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Elqar was not anywhere near as enthusiastic about describing this artifact as the knife, but he was not cagey or suspicious. He just seemed to find it less interesting.

“This one is old, but I don’t know much about it. As far as I can tell it was made by magicians, it was found in the midst of some ancient death cult’s ruins, though there’s no trace of it possessing magic powers of its own.”

“How do you know it was made by magicians then?” I asked him. I obviously knew that it was, but if he could be convinced to the contrary then I may well be able to buy it from him for a small sum.

“Something about how it’s put together is basically impossible without magic,” he explained lazily. “I’m not sure what it was, I had a few boffins poke at it. Had a few others do the same independently to make sure neither group was scamming me, you know how magicians are, eh?” he chuckled at his own joke. Then seemed to remember who he was talking to. “Ah, no offence to you of course, my dear.”

That option was gone, then. I would have to steal it at some point.

But in the future, because there was one last detail impeding any current effort I might make to get my hands on the artifact.

“Why is it only half of a mask?” I asked him. It looked precisely like one half of a larger whole, now able to cover only the left side of any face it was placed upon.

Looking closer, studying it more intently, I could see that the mask was broken magically as well as physically.

It was made in such a way as to withstand a break like that, but whatever fundamental effect the mask’s magic had—and I could not quite assess that, being less expert with divine magic than I was with the common sort—it was unable to fulfill its function without the other piece. Like a steam engine with the boiler torn out.

“That much, I cannot tell you,” Elqarth sighed irritably. “But I’ve at least confirmed it wasn’t just handled by idiots or anything. The mask is described as split in two within all of the mythology in the local region I discovered. The people there were utter savages of course, but I suspect they at least managed to record that much correctly, considering how many different tribes’ stories converged on the same truth.”

This was a very roundabout and stupid way of saying that he was not going to assume countless cultural accounts existed for no reason at all.

“Where is it from?” I asked him. “It looks different than that knife. They’re not found in the same region?”

“No, my dear, they are not. Most of this collection was gathered from somewhere different than the other parts of it. I scarcely find more than one thing worthy of being added in the same place.”

He seemed to take pride in the fact. As if having a preference for globally selected trophies said anything about him at all.

In any case, I would not have to tolerate the repulsive creature much longer. I had just about all relevant information. There were a few more details regarding the mask, its specific location and some other trivialities. Once I knew that I could see myself out and never subject myself to such irritating company again.

“Where precisely was it found?” I pressed. “You did not answer that.” I saw that he was getting weary—or, worse, wary—of this line of questioning, so I added a subtle smile to the equation. “Is it a secret?”

His face brightened up instantly, and he leaned in conspiratorially. “Oh yes, my dear, it is a secret. A terribly controlled and dangerous secret. And yet here you are charming it right out of me.”

I considered whether to reply with an air-headed giggle. No, best not. If I hammed it up too much he would only grow suspicious.

“This one comes from Asyran. Deep in the jungles. I found it in some ancient temple or another, it was surprisingly well defended by undead which, to be quite honest, is half the reason I brought it here. Really, there’s more interesting things in the collection.”

“Everyone will see the interesting things,” I shrugged. “What you consider boring tells me even more than what you are excited by.”

It was the sort of thing that did not really say much at all, but sounded, to a very particular kind of person, a moronic kind, like it did. Elqarth lapped it right up, and I was forced to endure a few more minutes of his prattle before the opportunity to politely extricate myself presented itself.

“My family is waiting on me in Laugrey,” I told him by way of explanation.

“They could always wait a little longer,” he suggested with a smirk, stepping closer.

“They could not, I fear,” I replied, stepping for the door. He caught my arm near the elbow with a firm grip, holding me in place.

“I’ve shown you my most treasured possessions,” he told me frostily. “I don’t think it’s quite right that you spit in my face like this by scurrying away the moment you lose interest.”

“Take your hand off me,” I told him. I dropped all veneers of friendliness or amusement, just met his piggy eyes and let him see the ice in mine.

His grip tightened.

“Or what?” he asked. “You’ll use your magic on me? In my own home, with a thousand witnesses placing you here? It’d be quicker to just shoot me if you’re looking to take a trip home. This isn’t a kidnapping now girl, self-defence laws are rather less lenient when it comes to magic used without provocation.”

He was right of course. And while having my arm forcibly grabbed by a larger, older man while he menaced me in a private chamber was certainly a state that justified a degree of self defence, there would be nothing I could do if Elqarth simply lied and said that no such assault occurred to incite my response.

He could lie, and if it came to a court of either law or the public opinion, had tens of times the money I did to spend on swaying the masses to his side.

Perhaps it was the fact that he so clearly knew it that motivated me to do what I did next. I reached out, grabbed his arm with my own and twisted.

I was not especially skilled in hand to hand combat techniques, engaging things in melee had always been an instant-loss scenario with the sorts of enemies I fought, but now my body was so strong that it did not matter at all.

The Earl’s fingers sprung apart and he cried out at the strength of my hold, then I released him and took a step back. “Do not do that again,” I warned him.

He did not, instead he punched me. With my new senses and reactions I saw his fist coming long before it landed. I was not wearing my shielding amulet, but I let his knuckles impact my cheek anyway.

I thought it might be interesting.

It was interesting. It was a grown man, standing no shorter than I was and probably ten or twenty pounds heavier, striking me with all his strength and succeeding only in leaving the sensation a tantruming child might against a normal woman’s face.

That, and apparently in hurting his own knuckles.

He stumbled back with eyes now left bulging by fear and confusion. I just turned to the door and made my way out. It would have been fun, and satisfying, to brutalise him in retaliation, but I really could not afford the questions.

Before Earl Elqarth could get his bearings, or his feet, I was already gone.