The Magus Chronicles

Book One: Nightsong

Chapter Two: A Matter of Trust

Merrin wasn't a considerable city, but it was populated enough to make Magus's skin crawl. He never did enjoy the company of people, and in large groups, they could find ways of being particularly intolerable. Still, a larger area was more likely to have the information he sought.

His first impression of the town was that it was a comfortable place to live. As the sun rose, children appeared in the street, playing under the watchful eye of their mothers and grandparents, music could be heard in the marketplace, and the smell of bread baking filled the air. It was a relaxed sort of life, the kind Magus knew he could never have – the kind he couldn't even say he wanted any more.

The inn was comfortable, as well. He'd chosen a quiet room at the end of the hall. Sharlot's was beside his, but for all he heard from her in there she might have fallen off the End of Time. As long as she left him to his business, he didn't care how she occupied her time.

But she still troubled him. She was offering services as a guide and interpreter, leading him wherever he asked, but the price she required for her assistance was trivial in comparison. She asked for nothing but for her room and board and supplies to be paid for, and surely, she could have these bare necessities paid for at home by family. He wondered if she was a runaway, but she, of course, denied that her relations with her parents were anything less than warm and that she left home without their knowledge. Besides, a girl of Zealan ancestry falling out of nowhere was still suspicious, all other matters aside.

So, he needed someone else to ease his dependency, then. If he relied solely on Sharlot for communication between himself and everyone he encountered, there would be nothing to say she wasn't lying, but if he could find another native and if their claims did not conflict, he would be more certain of what they told him. Then, the only problem was finding another contact.

Thus far, his efforts had proved ineffective. Two hours of wandering about town, and he still hadn't located anyone who could understand his speech well enough to be any use. He sat in a tavern, now, brooding, certain the owner was growing more and more frustrated with his lack of interest in buying but not particularly caring. The people of Imarn, Sharlot had warned him, sometimes spoke a strange dialect of Common called "Qinseira". She'd been right about that. He could almost understand when he heard the strange language, but not quite. And the people who spoke it definitely didn't understand anything he said.

Magus groaned inwardly, uncertain of his next course of action. But movement off to his right caught his eye, and he turned to face the young Elven woman who approached him. She was slender of build, but her step lacked the lightness attributed to Elves, even though she made no sound. The barkeep probably sent her to complain, he thought irritably. She was going to have a hard time of it, anyway.

But, instead, the woman smiled amiably, brushing strawberry-blonde hair from green eyes. "Good evenin'," she brogued in an accent similar to Sharlot's. "I heard you ask a minute ago for someone who speaks Common."

Magus cleared his throat. "Right. And you are?"

"Iriwinn L'thran." She offered her hand, but Magus waved it off.

"Magus," he told her flatly. "I just need someone to run errands for me, since I can't communicate with most of the people here."

Iriwinn shrugged. "Work is work. I'm just tryin' to get paid."

"Well enough." The simpler the motivation, the easier to deal with, he decided. "We can discuss this elsewhere. Do you have anywhere to be?"

"Nowhere at all. Now's as good a time as any."

Magus had worked out all the specifics with Iriwinn before someone knocked lightly at his doorframe. "Come," he commanded, and Sharlot's willowy form slipped through the cracked door. She froze as her eyes feel on the servant woman.
"Who's this," she inquired slowly.

"I wanted some additional help," Magus curtly replied.

"Oh…" Sharlot hesitated, eyes uncertain.

"I'm Iriwinn," the woman offered, taking a few steps toward Sharlot and holding out her hand once again."

Sharlot stared at the offered hand, frowning. "I don't subscribe to Mortal formalities," she said finally, "and touchin' hands with a stranger seems unsanitary."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Iriwinn closed her hand, pulling it back. "Well, I should be goin', but I'll have everythin' you asked for ready tomorrow mornin'. Have a pleasant night." Without awaiting a reply from either, she made her way out the door, shutting it behind her.

Sharlot folded her arms and rocked back and forth on her heels, pursing her lips. Magus waited about three seconds before reminding, "You needed something, I assume."

Sharlot snapped her focus back to the present. "I thought I'd ask ya what you wanted done while we're here."

"I'll have to see what comes up. I don't know what's around here."

Sharlot nodded, looking down at the floor. Her brow furrowed and her bottom lip protruded in what Magus was certain was a pout. "Then… why is that woman here?" she asked finally.

"I thought she'd be useful for minor things while we're in town." Magus' answer came fluid and naturally. Common may have been his second language, but he still had mastery over it.

"I could've handled it," the girl protested.

"You needn't bother yourself with it. I'm not trying to replace you."

"That doesn't mean ya trust me." She seemed offended.

"I'm not a very trusting person."

"How am I s'pose to be of any help to ya if ya don't trust me?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way. Perhaps, you're too trusting of me." Magus did not typically concern himself with the safety of others, but Sharlot was young, and he could admit to some amount of sympathy for the very young. He, himself, had been fragile as a child, and that allowed him a sense of necessity in ensuring their survival until they were capable of defending themselves. Carelessness would likely kill so small a girl.

"Ya needn't bother yourself with my well-bein'," she shot back. "Ya're a client, not my keeper."

"No, but you won't be of much help if you get yourself in trouble with strangers. I'm doing you a favor, so pay attention to my advice and don't be curt with me over it."

"L' mitelay!" she exclaimed. "Lle leir rinseirdimad!" She stormed out of the room without another word, slamming the door behind her.

Magus didn't understand a word, but her irritation was plain. His little guide had quite the temper. He'd have to make note of what triggered such strong reactions from Sharlot. Maybe it would provide some insight into why she was really there.

Sharlot stalked down the hall, glaring at nothing in particular. That man was so infuriating! He couldn't be that old, and yet, he spoke to her like a tutor chiding an impudent little child. She had expected him to have nerve – and certainly a lot of pride – but she hadn't agreed to accept insults about her intelligence.

And that woman he'd found didn't fit into her plans at all, either. Her accent resembled Qinseira well enough, but Sharlot couldn't place an exact location for the dialect. It was like a generic Imarnish accent, one used by a foreigner in play-acting. Iriwinn certainly wasn't a native of Merrin, anyway. She wasn't from Ire, either.

Simply wonderful, the Elf complained to herself. I was so hoping for some outside interference to complicate things! The Zealan was hard enough to manipulate as it was. She'd never get anything done, now.

Think of a demon and you'll summon one – that's what Elders always said. Sharlot looked up to see the suspicious servant standing at the end of the hall.

"Iriwinn, g'eirte!" Sounding happy to see the woman proved harder than Sharlot would have liked, but she managed. "M'llen aruh mar?"

Iriwinn smiled sweetly but shook her head. "Please, I prefer to speak in Common to those that understand it. If we don't use a language, we're certain to forget it."

"O' course," Sharlot answered. "But, really, where are ya from? Surely ya don't expect to fool a native with that excuse?"

"Ya're a strange one," Iriwinn said, wrinkling her nose.

"Right. Listen, I don't know what ya hope to accomplish here, but Magus has enough problems without dealin' with lyin' foreigners. And I'm not too friendly with people who get in the way."