“Yes.” There was no shift in his expression. A good sign he wasn’t privy to the spell. “My name is—”
“No names.” Von leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “Do you have it?”
“Yes.” The merchant reached behind his chair. Von tensed, arming himself with a knife beneath the table. The man brought out a cylindrical case about two feet long made of dark leather. A cap sealed it and attached to both ends was a loose strap made for carrying. He set the case on top of the table, keeping a meaty hand on it. “I have it here.”
“Why did you approach the lads?”
“They mentioned their master’s name. I heard among the traders that he is buying every Sacred Scroll he can find, and I happen to have one for sale.”
Von worked his jaw. He was leaving behind too many witnesses for a word of that to have gotten out. He eyed the man, scrutinizing his face for any signs of deception. “Is this a trap?”
“No,” the merchant answered without hesitation.
Von nodded and leaned back in his chair. “Where did you find the Scroll?”
“In Yamshal. Some decrepit old village in the outskirts of the Mirage Desert. It had belonged to a destitute woman.”
“Had?”
“I took it.”
“You stole it.” Not that Von was one to judge the morality of people. “Why?”
The merchant shrugged. “I have fallen into deep arrears with gambling and spending too much of my time in houses of ill-repute. I need to right myself with the banks, or they’ll seize what remains of my assets.”
“And what of the woman?”
“She was on her deathbed. The Scroll would be of no use to her.”
“Did she have a family?”
“Yes.”
“And what became of them?”
“I didn’t stay to find out.”
Von smirked, his lip curling in disgust. “You’re the dark end of an arse, aren’t you?”
The merchant grinned as though it was a compliment. “I care nothing for integrity. I only care about maintaining my wealth.”
It was said with such callous arrogance, the truth spell might not have been needed at all.
“The value of Sacred Scrolls is akin to gold,” the merchant went on to say, “and I know Tarn has quite a bit of that.”
Von stabbed the table with his knife, snarling at him. “Hold your tongue.”
The man cowed, shrinking into a lump. “Y—yes, your pardon.”
A glance at those around them assured Von no one had heard his master’s name spoken aloud. The racket in the room had been enough to drown out the merchant.
“Give it here.” He snatched the case. “If I find that you have attempted to swindle me with a forged Scroll, you’ll no longer be alive to worry about old debts.”
“It’s real, I swear. I had it appraised myself.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
The spell guaranteed he spoke the truth, but who’s to say the appraiser didn’t lie? The merchant could only give truths that he knew.
