Chapter 6 Part 3

Armegon had discovered that getting into the archives to review mythology was far easier than getting in to review geographical data. The keepers of the books were somewhat conscious about military intelligence and kept most of the more sensitive information locked away. Fortunately, the assistant that he was dealing with considered the Well of Time to be a myth and had granted him access to the books he had requested.

He found what he was looking for quickly. The Oracle's reference to the Isle of Time was easy to trace. According to the archives, the Isle of Time was a pocket dimension whose entrance was a gateway in the mountains bordering a place called Gly-ou-vogue. A quick side reference indicated that Gly-ou-vogue was a wasteland left behind by some battle long ago before recorded history and that to date nothing grew or lived there.

After a little bribery which drained Armegon of all but the very last of his money, he managed to get a look at a general atlas. He took some notes on the location of the indicated gate and its distance from the city of Allentown. He also made note of the distances between some of the places they had been already to compare and calculate how long it would take to make the trip.

Satisfied, he took his notes and returned the atlas to the keeper. "Did you find what you were looking for?" the keeper asked him. Armegon assured the keeper that he had. "What guild holds your membership?"

The question caught Armegon off guard. "I beg your pardon?" The keeper repeated his question. Armegon was getting the feeling that this was more than a friendly inquiry. Was he expected to pay for the use of the archives? He had assumed the archives were for the most part open to the public. Or was this some kind of identity check? Armegon thought quickly. He needed an alibi vague enough so that it could not be immediately verified. "I am with the Tycarian Mages' Society," he lied. It was the only city he had visited with a large elven population.

The keeper frowned. For a moment, Armegon was afraid that his bluff would get called, but finally the keeper wrote the name down in a small book. "We don't get many woodlander down here often," the keeper mumbled.

Armegon suppressed a sigh of relief. "I should think you would get quite a few patrons. From what I hear this is the largest library in the world."

The keeper smiled letting his pride shine through. "It is," he confirmed, "but it seems that you Tycarians would rather travel all the way to Kesron than down here."

"Well I like this place. It appeals to me somehow."

The keeper laughed. "I wouldn't think so," he said. "I thought elven folk detested open plains areas."

"My father was human," Armegon informed him.

"Well, nevertheless, I hope you got what you came for."

Armegon bade the keeper farewell and exited the building. The Archives were in the upper middle class part of town and there were stores and street vendors to be seen everywhere. There also existed what appeared to be a center for higher learning. He asked a few questions to passers by and was informed that the great building was the University of Magic, the primary training center for mages of all kinds. Intrigued, Armegon watched the place for a couple of hours. He noted the multitude of youngsters, all dressed in plain white tunics running to and fro on errands or in the duty of chores. There was the occasional grey robed youth who was usually in the service of a blacked robe adult. Armegon suspected that these were the apprentices and masters of the college.

Finally, Armegon decided to move on. It was well into the noon hour when he left the compound that housed the University and the Archives and emerged onto the street. Having plenty of time, he decided to browse through the marketplace on his way back to the inn.

Apothecaries and tanners occupied one corner of the square and Armegon marveled at some of the fine works of leather and the fragrance of some of the ointments on display. His review of the crafts was cut short as a pushy merchant decided that Armegon was not interested in buying anything and asked him somewhat less than politely to move on. Passing a jeweler's shop and a blacksmith's shed, he happened upon a store advertising itself as "Odds and Ends". Curiosity aroused, he entered the building.

The interior was dark as there were no windows, but oil lamps and a few candles provided enough light to see well. A short fat man waddled out from a back room and introduced himself as Seada the proprietor. Armegon inquired as to what sort of wares were being dealt. "Oh, I deal in most anything. I particularly deal in contracts and information."

"Contracts?" Armegon asked. "Yes," Seada answered. "I subcontract work. I deal in research, deliveries, and manual labor, but my wife enjoys dealing with information. Actually she just likes to gossip," he laughed, "but whatever we call it, it is a very big seller. She writes it up on large sheets of parchment and posts it on a wall in the square. Local merchants pay us to endorse their business on the postings and they get more customers as a result. Actually that is my main source of income."

"Information?" "Information is power, my friend."

"Of that I have no doubt, but your main source of income? What kind of information do we speak of?" Armegon inquired.

"Oh, general news, political gossip and occasionally military intelligence," he was told.

"Would it be possible to get a free sample?" The merchant laughed. "What kind of information would you like to hear?"

"How about some political news?"

"Certainly!" The merchant went over to a desk and ruffled through some notes. "Here is a juicy tidbit," he exclaimed excitedly. "I had planned to post this tomorrow, but you get a sneak peek today. It seems that House Blackheart is raising an army."

"What is so unusual about that?" The merchant's jaw dropped. Then slowly he grew a grin. "Ahhh, you are fooling with me, eh?"

Armegon joined in with the jest. "You know full well what is wrong with that." Seada sighed. "Well, I don't know what Blackheart is up to this time, but I don't think the king will sit quietly by for this insult. Violating the Pact of Quatar is not to be taken lightly by anyone."

"Aren't you afraid of his army?" Armegon was interested in spite of himself. Seada studied him for a moment. "You're a halfelf aren't you? Where are you from, Elmendor?"

"No, I am from the Tycarian region." Armegon was beginning to wonder what it was that was giving him away as a stranger. His was not the only elven blood in the city.

"Tycarian, eh?" That seemed to satisfy Seada. "Well, we aren't much closer to Aspberg than Tycho. And Aspberg has to go through Seron to get here. I don't think we are in any real danger."

"I suppose you're right," Armegon agreed. He decided he had better leave before he made a slip he couldn't cover. "Well, I must be on my way, but if I hear of any potential business I will certainly steer it your way."

"Many thanks friend and have a safe journey."

Armegon stepped out into the afternoon street and glanced at the sky. A bank of clouds were approaching from the west hinting at a chance of rain. The approaching weather was preceded by a strong breeze that took the edge off the afternoon heat of the double suns' glare.

Armegon turned down the street and took in the sights as he made his way back to the inn. He thought on the conversation he had just experienced. This 'Pact of Quatar' might be an item of interest to study if he got the chance. It would be interesting to note how raising an army could so violate this pact as to warrant such a reaction. But, he reminded himself that he had no plans to be around this world long enough to get involved with its politics.

By mid-afternoon he had reached the neighborhood where they were lodged. Not surprisingly, he found that Marlena and Tyson were not at the inn. He spared a quick check on Seymore and then sat at the table to go over his notes.

It was in this position that Marlena found Armegon as she and Tyson returned from a day of browsing and shopping. Marlena, backed by Tyson's purse, had procured enough material from a local tailor to mend, darn and patch their wearing apparel back to health. She claimed it would only require a few hours, if Tyson and Armegon would stay out of her way.

"You can play with that stuff later," she demanded as Armegon objected to her commandeering the table for her work. "Right now you can make yourself useful by getting dinner."

Armegon was about to say something when Tyson shoved him through the door. "Best not argue with a woman on an empty stomach or you may not find it filled tonight."

Marlena watched the door close behind them. Humming a tune from her younger days, she sat and began her chores.