Page 25 of A Tower of Half-Truths
Mavery pulled a face as she gave his mess a sidelong glance.
And then she realized that he wasjoking.Alain’s face reddened. As he turned away and placed the satchel beside his desk, she felt the slightest pang of guilt. He was trying to make good on his promise to be more cordial, even if his sense of humor left a lot to be desired. She scanned the room for something to help hersteer the conversation away from awkward silence. The book on his chair seemed the most promising.
“So, er, what were you reading just now?” she asked.
“I’ve been going through my old research journals, seeing if there’s anything worth revisiting.” He retrieved the book from his armchair. A wistful look passed over his face as he stroked the cover. “This one contains my notes from the project I’d been working on just before my sabbatical.” He sighed. “It’s a project best left shelved, but you can take a look.”
She startled at being given permission to read his private journal, then realized that aresearchjournal would likely be as riveting as everything else in this room. Still, not wanting to be rude, she took it. She skimmed through the earliest entries, pausing on occasion to admire his elegant handwriting. And then she noticed a name any mage for hire would recognize.
“I see you, too, were drawn to the Innominate Temple.”
Alain’s eyes lit up. “You know of it?”
Mavery laughed. “The old ruin that’s baffled scholars for centuries? Of course I know of it.”
Of all the ruins wizards paid others to investigate on their behalf, the Innominate Temple was, by and large, the most popular request. Mavery and Neldren had once accepted that job together, though her memories of it were so muddled, she couldn’t even remember the route they’d taken. She had only a vague idea of where the temple was located: in northeastern Osperland, somewhere within the forests of Dyerland Province.
Since then, Neldren had tried his luck several more times. Once, he’d managed to get within a few yards of the temple, but the warding magic had prevented him from getting any closer. To this day, no one had yet discovered the temple’s purpose, much less found their way inside.
“I’ve never seen it in person,” she said. “I came close once, about twelve years ago, but the magic overwhelmed my Senses so badly, I had to turn back.”
“Oh, I see.” Alain’s shoulders slumped, his excitement evaporating. “It’s probably for the best you didn’t get any closer. The area around the temple is inundated with traps. Verylethaltraps.”
“Have you ever been there?”
“No, only my…” He frowned, lowered his eyes. “No, I haven’t.”
She couldn’t blame him for being so forlorn. Whoever found their way inside the Innominate Temple—whether a glory-seeking scholar or a fortune-seeking adventurer—would be renowned across the continent. And, of course, they would lay claim to whatever treasures were inside that ruin.
“So, what’s your theory?” she asked. “Are you among those who think it was for some long-forgotten pre-Pantheonic god?”
“Hardly,” he scoffed. “I have reason to believe the ‘temple’ had nothing to do with worship. Here, take a look at this.”
Rather than asking her to hand back the journal, he stepped over a pile of books and bridged the space between them. He stood over her shoulder, then reached across her as he turned the pages. He stopped at an entry that was dated a few weeks shy of one year ago.
Dredisday, 12 Pluviose, 1040
Despite my initial skepticism, Lorcan’s decision to spend the past month combing through old tax records may not have proven a waste of time after all. He uncovered a letter from 533, addressed to the Wizard Aganast, from Dyerland’s Solicitor General. Aganast had fallen delinquent on his taxes for a property of some sort. The writing was too faded to parse. This seems promising, but will require further investigation.
“Who’s Lorcan?” she asked.
“One of my former assistants. What’s more important isthisname.” His finger prodded the center of the page.
“ ‘The Wizard Aganast’? Can’t say it rings a bell.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s been all but scrubbed from the history books.” Alain shook his head. “Oh, I remember spendingdaysresearching him, only to find a half-dozen references in just as many books. I must have torn apart the University’s library. That didn’t win me any favors with the arcanists, I can assure you.”
Mavery imagined him picking through shelves upon shelves of tomes, as she’d been doing this past week. But instead of neatly sorting the books, he would chuck them aside as he worked himself into a frenzy, leaving nothing but chaos in his wake. She stifled a laugh at the thought.
“One of my colleagues teaches a class on the history of the Second Reforms,” he said. “The merementionof Aganast’s name prompted a meeting with the High Council. In the end, the Council decided that Aganast could be named—but only in an objective, historical context.” He scoffed. “As if such a thing were even possible…”
“So, whowasthis Aganast, exactly? What did he do?”
“He founded the Order of Asphodel, a short-lived but notorious society of Necromancers, and he was one of the most outspoken critics of the Great Demonic Cleansing.”
The Second Reforms of the early sixth century had, among other things, outlawed most practices of Necromancy and instigated the Great Demonic Cleansing. Demonspawn, the offspring of demons and wild animals, contained no demonic magic and therefore had been allowed to persist. But there hadn’t been a full-blooded demon on the continent of Tanarim in over five centuries.
“Oh, I’ll bet the churcheslovedhim for that.”
