Identity

“Child, do you remember that amulet?” The wizard suddenly asked. “I want to know why you thought it was mine.”

Rummaging around my satchel, my eyes caught a skulled talisman, hanging from a string of leather that held it together. I took it out and dangled it in front of the wizard.

“There was an apothecary in the city, Cal I believe, owner of that place with the alchemy station. He appraised this as the amulet of the dead, a necromancer’s tool. You were the only wizard in the city. That’s why I was so certain,” I explained, a part of it as an effort to cooperate with him—another part of it—to justify my suspicions. I was wrong, but it would be easy to see why, and I hoped that the man at least understood that.

“And you believed him?” Wuund retorted, voice booming.

Silence.

“Child, I am a court wizard of his highness; I can assure you that no mage within any royal kingdom has baubles and trinkets that reek of taboo necromancy.” Meek pride seeped through the certainty?

Letting out a raspy cough, he continued: “I have been living in this city for over 30 years now. I know everyone here. Now, if you say I’m the only wizard in this city—which yes, I am—then—”

“Why would Cal know what the amulet is, much more a taboo one...” I finished, much to his annoyance.

He cleared his throat, to which I remained quiet in attention. “Now if memory serves me correct, today is a Freia. As I recall, the man often takes walks on the city docks at night on Sadeias, which is tomorrow.”

Still, a tinge of doubt tugged at the corners of my mind, wondering if I was going to get this wrong as well. I asked if he was sure.

“He always was an odd fellow, and it has been more conspicuous lately,” the wizard feebly muttered. Gods, I wished he would be more forward.