“Ah, the earring, and thus a bit of blood!”
“Wh-what?” The wizened physician’s voice quavered.
Strick released those frighteningly bony shoulders and sat beside the man who looked far too old for the age he claimed. The spellmaker would have bet that before this malignant spell the physician had looked fifteen years younger.
“How did you lose your earring?”
“Late one night about two months ago I was set upon by footpads and -by the gods! This began about then! I have lost very much weight in these past two months, Strick, and of course strength as well.”
“Urn. Those were not footpads, Nadeesh, but men hired for a definite assignment. A dark mage who hates you used them to gain possession not only of your earring but, since it was torn from your ear, a bit of your blood as well. It has enabled him to make a powerful spel! indeed.”
“How do you know this?”
“Do you answer your patients when they ask you such a question?”
“No. And usually I cannot answer this one; What is to happen to me?”
“You already know. You are wasting away; no one would know that it’s the result of an inimical spell. I’d say this sorcerer intends your death.”
Nadeesh surprised his visitor with a string of words concerning the unnamed mage, his sexual activities, and his mother. Then:
“Who is it? Who has done this, Spellmaster?”
“That I cannot say,” Strick said, as perfectly capable of lying when he deemed it wise as any physician. “What mage hates you so much?”
“None! I mean-I’ve no idea.”
“You’ve never treated a sorcerer?”