Chapter 9

Coren sat in his chair, facing the man in the traditional uniform of an Imperial mage. The man looked tall. He had the same dark skin of all his kind. His hair was that shiny black and it was braided, with feathers and beads hanging off of each braid, near his elbows. Coren wondered why it was that only the desert people seemed to possess the talent for magic.

These thoughts fled as the magician looked down on him with his deep brown eyes. There was something mesmerizing about them. And Coren realized he was feeling the presence of the magician’s power.

The mage started to move his hands in a mystic pattern, softly speaking words in a language Coren had never heard before. He felt a subtle pressure on his mind, as if something was probing into his thoughts.

“Do not resist the feeling,” the magician spoke for the first time. “If you do, you could do permanent harm to your mind. If that happens, there is no help for you.”

Coren swallowed heavily and tried to relax. His eyes were locked on the magician’s as he continued to intone the mystic words. Slowly, the mage reached a hand out and placed it on top of Coren’s head. As he did, Coren felt his mind open.

Memories came flooding through him, in random patterns.

…a girl from his youth….

…the first taste of whiskey…

…a frantic run through a deep jungle, the sounds of pursuit hot on his heels…

…the last time a magician had placed him under Oath….

He also felt his ability to lie removed. He knew that he would answer whatever question was placed to him, and that he was incapable of speaking any deception. He could still, with careful control, give answers that weren’t the whole truth. But he could speak no deliberate falsehood.

“Now,” Kilthanis said. “Tell me about the desert man who purchased the poison from you.”

“He was dressed in traditional garb. The leggings and jerkin were the color of desert sand. He had a headband over his ears, keeping his hair from his eyes and shielding them from the sun. His skin was the dusky color of all desert men. His hair was long and braided.”

“What about his eyes? You said there was something about his eyes.”

“Yes. They weren’t right. They were green. In all my travels, I’ve never seen a desert man with green eyes.”

Kilthanis turned toward the mage, a questioning look on his face.

“It is rare,” the magician replied. “But there are some of our race who have eyes of that color. Most likely, an ancestor of his dallied with someone from elsewhere in the Empire. Still, it should make him easy to spot.”

“Can you think of anything else that distinguished him from other desert men?” Kilthanis asked.

Coren shook his head. “No. As I said, I try not to focus too much on my clients. I only noticed his eyes because he woke me and I was angry at the disturbance. I was yelling at him when I opened the door and looked him fully in the face. When he told me what he wanted, I stopped caring what he looked like.”

“You sold him poison?” Kilthanis asked.

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you who his intended target was?”

“No.”

“Did he tell you anything else?”

“Only that he wanted a slow-acting poison. He wanted his victim to suffer for at least three hours.”

Kilthanis flipped through the parchment spread on the table. “It says here that the poison worked very quickly. What happened?”

“I made a mistake. I added too much betosh to the mixture. I failed to inform him of my error.”

Kilthanis nodded. He turned to the magician. “Thank you for your aid. That will be all. You will tell no one of what you heard here.”

The magician nodded. He was aware of the scope of this particular investigation. And magicians were never called upon to testify in open court. It would jeopardize their role as vouchsafes of truth.

The magician turned and left the room.

“Well,” Kilthanis said, as Coren felt the spell lifting. “I think we have something we can work with.

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