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All content of this story is copyright {2014} by Returning_Writer_Guy and is my intellectual property. This is purely a work of fiction and fantasy and not based on any truthful events. No individuals were harmed as none of the individuals in these stories exist. This story is not to be redistributed under any circumstances without my express written permission.
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The shop was claustrophobic. Despite the blustery cold outside, the room was oppressively hot. Four sooty wall sconces cast off a weak glow. The rest of the light came from two stone hearths in opposite corners of the room banked high with logs, radiating uncomfortable warmth. Several braziers were set around the room, adding to the heat. They threw off a heavy shroud of incense and scented smoke, cloyingly sweet. Behind the sweetness of the incense lingered a pervasive mustiness, the smell of old things becoming older.
The sense of cramped closeness was probably due to the fact that, in addition to being a tiny little box of a shop, the entire space was atrociously cluttered and messy. The room consisted of book cases lining the wall to the left and right of the entrance. Two short, squat rows of shelves were set in the middle of the room, low enough to see over to the back of the room, where there was a counter space with two chairs behind it, and a stairway leading up into what was likely living quarters, not-quite obscured by a curtain of brightly colored beads. There was barely enough room to walk between the shelves and around the room.
There were objects, nick-nacks, accoutrements, paraphernalia, and bits-and-pieces of every conceivable sort scattered around the environs. There were more books piled up in random heaps around the shop and on the counter than were on the book cases, which seemed to be designated to housing anything at all in the world, as long as it was not a book. Shelves were heaped with figures and relics and mystic talismans, fetishes of wood and grass and flint.
Strange, exotic stones were arrayed on one shelf, only instead of being displayed or separated by their various types, they were thrown in a haphazard pile in a basket, so that a seemingly precious crystal was lumped with a stone that glowed scarlet and orange as if lit from a fire within, both of which were covered over by a rock that looked for all the world exactly like a rock.
The proprietor of this fine and strange and untidy shop was a gnarled old gentleman named Mithayu. Mithayu was a Sorcerer, a merchant, and a businessman, all while looking more like a hermit and a recluse than any of the former. He had heavy, bushy white brows and set over squinting, rheumy eyes and a bald, pale pate that he occasionally kept covered with a floppy wide brimmed hat that seemed too big for his head. His robes were a deep brown and voluminous, hanging from his small, thin frame and blotched liberally with many stains of mysterious and questionable origin.
Rael looked around the shop with sinking hopes. He was dressed warmly in plain commoner's clothes similar to what he'd traveled home in, a heavy wool tunic and breeches, with a thick fur lined traveling cloak wrapped about his broad shoulders. He'd managed to give his concerned and protective guardsmen the slip, claiming he was riding out into the countryside to hunt for game and then circled around to Trelling's Rest. He knew his guard meant well, but his purpose was a too sensitive in nature to let word get out, and he knew that even the most well intending guardsmen were notoriously loose lipped.
Which begged the question, why he'd allowed Silmaria to know the nature of some of his studies and inquiries. All good sense pointed to it being a bad idea, yet somehow, he felt sure that she wouldn't speak of it to anyone else. He could not explain why. But Rael was usually inclined to trust his intuition.
This was not the first such outing he'd taken, nor the first shop of Sorcery, mysticism, witchcraft, or hedge magic he'd visited. In the two months since his return home, Rael hadn't been idle. Between putting his House and fortune back together and caring for his people, Rael had been researching and studying, digging persistently for answers. He'd already scoured through all the tomes related to magic in his Father's study, with Silmaria's tight-lipped but confident assurance that all tomes she knew on the subject had been brought out for his review.
Rael expanded his search to Trelling's Rest, pursuing resources outside his halls. He had to be cautious and selective about his inquiries. The Knight Captain was cautious of his search being noticed by the wrong set of eyes and ears. Since his return to his home there'd been no sign of his assassins following him, no suspicious activity or untoward disturbances in his day to day life. Rather than feeling relief, Rael actually felt more paranoid, his every waking moment filled with tension and suspicion. He found it inconceivable that having failed such a strange attempt, his assassins would simply let him be.
And so, the Nobleman avoided the obvious sources of knowledge such as the Royal Libraries, the Halls of Lore and Record, and the Magi's Sanctum, the home and hub of magic and mysticism in the North. He trusted mages little, and the dangers of someone taking note of his search was too great in one of those more public and populated places.
Instead, Rael searched the Hedge Wizard shops, the small sorcerer peddlers, the private libraries and lore collectors. He scoured any place he deemed safely away from scrutiny for any information on the dark and twisted spells tied to the deadly arrow. He kept circumspect and gave little information away, but as visit after visit was met with puzzlement and confusion and little else, his patience wore thin. Every lost opportunity and fruitless attempt left him feeling more keenly the blade at the back of his neck. With each new day, Rael felt more and more like a cornered animal.
He wasn't overly fond of the feeling.
In an uncharacteristic moment of frustration, Rael asked old Lirena if she knew anyone familiar with old, unusual magic or lore with the excuse of continuing his father's studies in lost magical arts. Mithayu's name came up.
Rael stepped through the cramped shop, looking around dubiously and trying very hard not to knock over, well, everything. The shop wasn't built for someone his size. Hell, even a Dwarf or a Halfling would find the room uncomfortably crammed together. The Knight looked up at the leathery old man and cleared his throat. "Excuse me. Master Mithayu, I presume?"
Mithayu looked up at the much larger man as if noticing him the first time, despite the loud jangling of bells tied to his front door. He over slightly, the book he'd been nudging through still clutched in age spotted hands. He squinted up at Rael, then leaned far back, his neck craning with an audible pop. He looked thoughtful, pensive, his face screwing up as if contemplating some great mystery in the Nobleman's strange, silvery shining eyes. He stared at Rael with such intense scrutiny, and the wisdom of ages seemed to dance in his old, fading eyes that saw without seeing.
Then, the old sage blinked, opened his mouth, and said, in a crackling, harsh voice, "Huh?"
Or he was just an eccentric old geezer. Rael stared at him and barely suppressed the urge to turn right around and walk out the door. He stepped closer, placed his hands flat on the counter top, and said, louder this time, "I'm looking for information, Master Mithayu. Of the magical sort."
Mithayu frowned and then spat off to the side behind the counter. Rael wasn't sure there was a spittoon back there, and he didn't much care to find out. "Information? Go find a library! Or someone who has time for questions!"
