The Elements of Sorcery Read Free Page B

gesture. "Clearly someone could."
    He looked at me again, his features contorting into an expression of frigid rage. He took a step toward me, menacing, and the tip of his crystal sword lifted up off the floor. "How do I know you're not lying to me?"
    My throat constricted with fear, and I coughed to try to clear it as I stumbled a half-step backward. "The… the Sorcerer's Code, of course. We cannot lie. Surely you know that."
    The Arbiter barked out a sound, and it took me a moment to realize it had been a laugh. "A sorcerer lies when it fits his need, which is most of the time."
    "That's simply not true," I answered, raising one hand in a warding gesture. "A sorcerer composes, he equivocates, he may extend the facts in one direction or another when necessary, but it is the search for truth that drives all true scholars into the arms of the Art. No true sorcerer can lie when asked a direct question."
    He tilted his head at me, and once again I felt like an insect regarded with curiosity by a distant observer. "You're serious, aren't you?"
    "Never been more so in my life," I answered, hoping it came across with some measure of confidence.
    There was a long pause as he studied my face in the cold light of his manna sword. I found myself growing increasingly uncomfortable under the pressure of his glare, to the point where sweat beaded on my spine and trickled down the back of my neck. At last, he made a sort of throat-clearing sound and stepped back. It was only then I realized I'd been holding my breath.
    "Very well then, sorcerer," he growled, "Tell me this. Did you kill Gaerton Daen?"
    "I did not," I answered, and it was the most confident I'd felt all day.
    His glare scrutinized me – or, it seemed, the air around me – for a long, long eternity before he grunted, relaxing his stance and returning his sword to the thin scabbard across his back. I nearly pissed my breeches in relief.
    "Take me to where you found Daen's body," the Arbiter said.
    "One question," I said, holding up a hand. "How did you find me in the first place?"
    He tapped the side of his head with two fingers impatiently. "The manna coalesces around those who use it. There was only one place within the city walls that held a high enough concentration to be Daen, and when he did not arrive at our meeting place, I came here to search him out."
    "So you had no idea what this place was until you hurled me across the room?"
    "Precisely." His lips split in a grimace that showed glittering white teeth. "Now, take me to the body."
    "Do I at least get an introduction first?" I asked, regretting the words and their flippant tone the instant they passed my lips.
    He brushed by me, the scent of stale musk and another, stranger odor that I could not immediately identify tickling my nose in the breeze of his wake. "My name is D'Arden Tal. You are Edar Moncrief. You are going to help me find a murderer."
     
     

III
     
    Where else does one go when confronted with a mystery? We returned to the scene of the crime. Or, at least, the scene where I'd discovered the Arbiter's body – the dingy alley filled with the smell of filthy clothing, human sweat and offal.
    Gaerton's body was not where I'd found it, of course, having been moved by the city guardsmen some hours earlier. It didn't take us long to find it, though. It hadn't gone far. Instead of lying in the middle of the street, it was now wedged in the narrow opening between two closely-built structures, along with a pile of refuse dating back weeks, and any number of odds and ends that had simply been disposed of. The reek was powerful, and I was forced to cover my nose with the neckline of my robe to filter out some of the stench. I was only marginally successful in my attempts to ease my breathing.
    The Arbiter, Tal, seemed unfazed by the smell. He simply stared at the broken and discarded body of the man who'd been his friend, and there was a kind of melancholy around him. It didn't show on his face, or in his