“What do you think is wrong with you, sir?”
“Can’t find a cause, sir. Just last night a friend-a fellow physician- suggested that it might be … a spell,”
Strick saw the little shiver that went through this too-thin man as he spoke those words. Showing confidence and making sure to project it, Strick suggested that he look. Nadeesh agreed, nervously.
“What-what do you need to do?”
“I need for you to give me something of value, and then just lie back and try hard not to think of anything at all. I will have my hands on your shoulders, that’s all.”
The physician snorted. “Only the gods know how many patients I’ve said that to-and all of us knowing all the while that it’s completely impossible!”
With a little smile, Strick accepted the proffered coin and set his hands on shoulders that might have been mere bone covered by the other man’s yellow tunic- The Firaqi wizard was quite able to stare at nothing.
It took him only seconds to discover the cause of Nadeesh’s malaise.
“Your friend was right, leech. Someone has set a dark spell on you.”
Nadeesh moaned.
“Hmm. And left a barrier. Perhaps you would think of an opening gate, opening doors, a cave with a wide open mouth … no no, please be still but not stiff . . . hmm.”
A little work discovered the impossible: the spell came from a dead man. One Marype, the son of a mage named Mizraith and long appren- ticed to a shadowy mage name Markmor. The problem was that every- one knew Marype was dead! Except that this spell is not that old. Marype is vehemently alive! Furthermore he’s past the apprentice stage-past jour- neyman, by the Flame! Strick concentrated, began to sweat . . . and soon realized that the severity of Nadeesh’s affliction was because Marype had gained possession of something belonging to the physician.