The Balborite Curse (Book 4) by Kristian Alva Page A

Tallin shrugged. He didn’t really care what the elders at Miklagard thought. “I’ve tried to learn as much as I can about the nomads, because their magic is different than ours in many ways. It’s useful for us to learn. The main problem is that shamans jealously guard their spells, only teaching them to bound apprentices. What little I have learned has come from eavesdropping, unfortunately.”
    “Do they have any grimoires that we could borrow?”
    “No, the nomads have no formal writing system; they have an oral tradition instead. They also have distinct teachings for male and female mageborns—there is a set of magical rules for each gender. Men become shamans, and females become medicine women. I’ve never been permitted to speak with a medicine woman alone. It isn’t allowed.”
    “Mmmm,” said Sela absently. Her voice trailed off while she looked out into the distance. Tallin realized that she wasn’t listening. He took the half-carved statuette from Sela’s hand and placed it back on the table with a loud tap.
    “Sela? Are you all right? I’ve been speaking to you, and you haven’t answered.”
    Sela jolted out of her contemplation. “Sorry, Tallin. My mind wandered for a moment.” She rubbed her temples. “I haven’t slept much. Brinsop and I had a long flight from the northern border.”
    “I understand,” he replied. “We should get started then. The sooner we finish, the sooner you can rest.”
    “Just one thing—do you know if the prisoner smokes?”
    Tallin looked surprised by the question and nodded. “Yes, I assume so. I found some cheap smokeleaf and an old pipe among his things. Why do you ask?”
    “I have an idea I want to try,” she said. “Let’s go.”
    He led the way through several more corridors, finally heading down a flight of stairs to a windowless cellar. There was no natural light here, so Tallin had embedded several light crystals into the wall. He touched each crystal with a fingertip as he passed, and their light flared brightly as his magic recharged them.
    At the end of the corridor, Tallin drew back a heavy curtain, revealing a wooden door with iron hinges. “Are you going to use a truth spell on this one?”
    “No, I’m going to try something different today. Just watch me and follow my lead.”
    Tallin twisted the doorknob and nudged the door open. A uniformed guard went inside the cell with them, and the door was closed and locked behind them. Inside the darkened room, the prisoner waited in silence, his hands tied in front of him.
    The prisoner wore only his breeches. He had curled himself into a ball in the corner, with his back facing the wall. There was a cup filled with water near the man’s feet and two stools near the door, but otherwise the room was empty. A white crystal, hung from a leather string, glowed in the center of the room. There was no other source of light. Inside this room, it would be impossible to track the time, or even know if it was day or night.
    Sela dragged a stool over to where the prisoner was seated. Tallin stepped back into the shadows near the door.
    She stared at the man for a moment, then sat down, pulling a smokeleaf pouch out of her pocket. “What’s your name, brother?” she asked, offering the pouch to the man.
    He eyed her warily for a moment, then reached out and grabbed the pouch. “Endrell. My name’s Endrell.” He opened it and inhaled deeply. The air in the cell was hot and musty, and the fragrant smokeleaf smelled wonderful. “Mmmm… that’s nice.” He dug inside the pouch with his index finger and grabbed a pinch, rubbing it into his nose. “By Golka that smells so good! Sweeter than perfume.”
    “You enjoy a good smoke?” said Sela.
    “Aye, who doesn’t? Been smokin’ since I was a young pup, but I never could afford this expensive stuff. See those flecks of blue willowbark? That’s how ye know it’s high quality. This is a dwarvish blend, the mayor of Starryford smokes it. He’s