“What are you, Strick? First I saw a big man with a sword and few words. Another caravan guard, I thought, probably looking for mercenary employment. Then I discovered you had character and consideration-and silver. In my home I was struck by your comportment-aye, and deportment: the manners of a man well born.
Nonetheless I was nervous about my daughter’s uh seeming fondness for you. Yet
Cusharlain assured me that you were not encouraging her; strange way for a man to behave, with a highborn girl who shows him attention! Soon I learned from her that you had taken these rooms, in a good location, and purchased furniture.
Next I discovered that you have real money; we share a banker, Strick. Ah, don’t look that way! He is close-mouthed as he should be; it is just that I am one of his partners. Now my wife-gods of my fathers, Strick! What are you?”
“Sit down. Noble,” Strick said, as he did so. “It’s no secret, now: I am open for business. I recognize most spells, and I possess a smallish ability to redirect… problems. Call it an ability to cast minor spells. I also have rules. I help people, but by what most would call ‘white magic’ only. I will have nothing to do with the other kind, but would fight it.”
“That is the most I have ever heard you say!” Shafralain had slid down into the comfortable chair across the handsomely draped desk from the quiet man.
“Whence… whence came this ability?”
“From Ferrillan, far north of Firaqa. From a woman now dead. I am unbound by gods and locale, or by spells or anti-spells. Partners with my moneyhandler, eh?”