I groaned inside. A sage riddle would be nearly impossible to answer. These mages thrived on riddles, puzzles, and mysteries.

  I tried to hide my anxiety and smiled. “Certainly, master.”

  He leaned forward and said, “If you give a man a fish, you feed him for a day.” He then paused and looked at me intensely.

  I knew this. It was one of my father’s favorite quotes. As a Royal Librarian, he was charged with keeping and sharing the history of the realms.

  My smile widened and became genuine. I replied, “But teach the man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime.”

  He smacked the table top lightly and chuckled. “Good, very good.” He drew himself up, serious once again. “But why did I ask you this, hmm?”

  I thought about it. Why did he ask me that? What is the context? I asked him for a favor, to make three true copy rings for me. He said he would. But only if I answered his riddle.

  But why that riddle?

  My father insisted that easy answers produced easy results that would not last, were superficial, and showed no wisdom. True knowledge was hard work, but the work was its own reward.

  “You asked me that riddle because I asked you the wrong favor. I asked for these rings so that I could use them. You are willing to offer me knowledge so that I need not ask for this help in the future. I could learn to do it myself.”

  He lifted his hands. “Exactly.” He said. But he still reached forward and took the rings, which I had already prepared for a situation like this.

  He cast the spell three times and gave them back to me.

  He then cast another spell and waved at a book behind him, which flew off the shelves and landed before him. He picked it up and handed it to me.

  I looked at the title, which read, Sage Copying Etiquette and Skills.

  “This is already a true copy of the original text. Explore it and you will find what you're seeking, and more. Davon studied from this and discovered True Copy, but never did land the biggest fish of all. He’d like a True Copy of this volume. Yes, he would.”

  “Thank you, master. This is a wonderful gift.” I replied.

  He looked at me intensely again. “If I were to tell you three things about yourself. Personal things. Would you be willing to confirm what I say? You would only need to say yes or no.”

  I was puzzled. “What kind of things?”

  He tilted his head. “I will tell you three things about yourself. Three only. And you will confirm them for me. If I get all three correct, you receive a gift. If I miss any of the three, you will receive a gift.”

  I laughed. “There seems to be no downside for me.”

  He was still serious. “You must promise to only tell me the truth.”

  “And all I need to say is yes or no to each of your three questions?” I clarified.

  “Correct.”

  I didn’t see a problem with humoring him. “I agree.”

  He leaned in, his eyes twinkling merrily. “My first observation is that you read ancient dwarven.”

  I was surprised. I admitted to reading dwarven when I spoke about Master Sundance, but I was very careful not to disclose anything about the book or how I had learned about my abilities with gems. I had talked about my ability with gems; it was hard not to disclose this as a patron.

  I suddenly had the feeling that this bargain may have been far deeper than I had perceived. But I gave my word.

  “I do,” I confirmed.

  He nodded once in a way that confirmed a suspicion. “You learned much of what you know about gemstones and your ability to use them from a tome written during an age long ago.”

  His eyes bore into my own.

  In for a penny, in for a pound. “I did,” I confirmed.

  He nodded a second time and inched forward on this chair to be as close to me as the table allowed.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  “You still possess this tome.” He said.

  I had to think about that answer. I did not possess the tome. But I do possess a true copy of it. I did not want to mislead, but I also promised to be fully honest.

  “I do not,” I stated.

  He looked crushed. He searched my eyes for deceit, then closed them. I could see his eyes moving back and forth under his eyelids.

  He slammed his hand on the table top. “You gave it to the dwarves, and that is how you became Dwarfkin!” He declared.

  “That is four statements, master. I only agreed to three.”

  He blew out a held breath.

  “I so wanted to read his first volume.” He said in sincere sadness.

  The grandmaster already knew what I had done, and so I thought there was no harm in clarifying. “Of course,” I said, drawing it out slowly, “if you had asked whether I made a true copy of the tome before giving it to the dwarves, my answer might have been different.”

  He jerked his head back up to look at me expectantly. “You have a true copy of the Archmaster’s first volume on gemstones?”

  “I do, master.”

  His eyes teared. “If you only knew how long I had looked for it.” He wiped his eyes and blew his nose.

  When he had composed himself, I suspected a big ask was forthcoming. I was surprised instead when he cast another spell, and a beat-up old book floated down from a high shelf where it was buried with other old tomes. In truth, the room was full of very old tomes, and it hardly stood out except that it was in worse shape than most.

  It landed before me instead of him. I expected a lecture from him about the treatment of old books, but perhaps my upbringing with my father and many valuable old collections put him at ease.

  He could not contain a renewed twinkle in his eyes. “Open the cover.” He insisted.

  I saw a pair of white cotton gloves on a table nearby. I got up and retrieved them, putting them on my hands and sitting down before the book.

  He watched my every movement.

  I opened the front cover with extreme care, supporting its weakened binding, and read the first page out loud, translating it for him from ancient Dwarven to Tradespeak.

  Apprentice Traveling Handbook for

  “Stone Alternatives to Gemstones”

  Volume 2 of 2

  by

  Arturo Damascus

  gifted to his apprentice

  Norsil Copperthane

  It was the twin and an unknown sequel to my own book. “How did you come by this?” I asked in a near whisper.

  “That is a story for another time.” He sighed deeply. “In many ways, you are lucky. As a young prodigy, you are gifted with insights and talents that make your work with gemstones natural. While some might suspect an origin beyond your own, the wide nature of your gifts allows for plausible deniability. When a master sage comes by a work like this and performs magic that defies understanding, nobody assumes his own wit but access to secret knowledge.”

  He tapped the book. “This has brought me as much trouble as it has joy. Even more trouble, if I am truly honest with myself.”

  He looked at me. “You did what I had promised myself I would do, and yet never could bring myself to complete. You gave the book back to the people who revere Master Copperthane. The people to whom the volume truly belongs.”

  A look came across his face, a decision made.

  “I will give you this book and a true copy of it for yourself. The true copy is yours, but you must find a way to deliver this back to the Copper Mountain Hold with my deepest thanks and apologies that it took so long to do the right thing.”

  I was in awe of the gift he had just given me. “I have a magical device that I can use to go to the Hall of Welcoming in the Copper Mountains. I will see that it gets home.”

  “I believe you.” He said confidently. “Go over to the far bookshelf and choose an appropriate blank volume for this tome. Bring it back to me, and I will take it from there.

  I did as he instructed.

  “Look to the third shelf from the bottom, it holds some of my finer quality editions.”

  I looked at the shelf and spotted an exact copy of the tome used to make my own copy. I removed it and opened it to the front cover. I felt the thick pages and tested the thin wood under the soft red leather.

  “Excellent choice.” He called out to me. “Prewitts make the finest new tomes in the capital.”

  I placed it before him. “This is the same tome I used for the first volume.”

  “Is it?” He asked in surprise. “Then fate is lending a hand today. You were meant to be here, and it is an answer to a very, very old wish of my own.” He paused, “If, that is, you will allow me to read your copy?”

  “I’m afraid I do not have it with me, and the war will keep me in Keelwell. However, if you could come visit me, I would put you up in my home and allow you as much time as you like to read it.”

  He smiled. “It has been more than two decades since I even stepped out of the hall. I’m afraid I would not trust my teleport spell, and I could not possibly make the trip by carriage.”

  “What if I gave you a single-use Teleport ring to get you to Keelwell? Would that help?’

  “Indeed! Using another’s spell would protect me in travel. Was it made by a reliable source?” He asked.

  “The Majordomo of the Archmage’s Tower made it for me,” I answered.

  “Isaac made this?” He said with a grin.

  “He did. You know him?” I asked.

  “I am over three hundred years old,” he wobbled his hand around and said, “give or take a century, and a grandmaster sage in the capital. You think I haven't been to the Archmage’s Tower or met his apprentice?” And he chuckled again.

  He cast the True Copy spell once again, filling the pages of the book with script, diagrams, and illustrations along with handwritten notes that had been scrawled into the margins over the many centuries of its existence. There were also a dozen or more blank pages at the back for my own notes and contributions, just like in my other copy. I couldn’t wait to read this volume.

  He sat back, a little winded, and stared at me some more. “I have a good friend who is a sorcerer. He and I have been friends for over a century. He tells me that I won’t last until the end of Spring.”

  “No, that can’t be so. You are full of energy, and your mind is sharp enough to hook an overconfident, naive journeyman with no difficulty.” I argued.

  He gave a sad half-smile. “You are easy. The Ferryman, not so much. I know there is not a lot of respect paid to sorcerers, and probably for good reason. But my friend is the real thing; he rarely reveals what he sees, I have never known him to exaggerate, and he was in tears when he told me.”

  I sat there quietly.

  “We lost the Bishop of Keelwell yesterday.”

  The sage sat up. “I had not heard that. He was a remarkable man. The realm owes our survival to him and his companions. But especially him.”

  He sat back in his chair. “How did it happen?”

  “He was assassinated,” I said.

  He nodded. “He once told me and the archmage in a meeting we had prior to their adventure to Erte Ale to face the Great Necromancer that he was not destined to die at the hands of the Great Necromancer. But he would die decades later at the hands of those who would strive to bring the Great Necromancer back at the dawning of a new age.”

  He looked out through a window. He was sitting across from where you are now. The Archmage sat in your seat. I had pulled together a map; well, it is not important what my part was in all that. But they departed from here with their companions. I had forgotten his words until this moment.”

  I pondered his words, and a deep pit opened up in my stomach. “So someone is trying to bring the Great Necromancer back?” I asked.