a brief excerpt form After the Fall of Darkness..
Turning, she was startled by Carnac rushing toward the open door, hands dripping dishwater across her floor, his eyes darting from her to the ground and out down the lane. He dried his slender hands on the front of his tunic and squinted at her smile. 'Was that Riggs? Did he bring me another parcel?'
'Yes to both questions my dear,' she laughed, 'what is the rush? It is probably just another book or something to clutter your study.'
'Huh? Oh yeah probably. But this might be what I have been trying to find,' he said and massaged his left arm and shoulder, his slender frame twitching in obvious pain.
'Is your arm bothering you again? You know you should see a healer.'
'It is nothing, I am fine,' he said blinking his tearing eyes as he reached for the parcel.
'Well if it continues, you will go,' said Liassa, frowning as she watched him try to catch his breath.
'Okay, if it continues I will,' he said, 'I won't be long I just want to see what is inside.'
'You always say that. As long as you keep it downstairs and it doesn't smell up the house like the last time, it is fine by me.'
'Of course my dear,' Carnac said kissing her on the cheek.
'I will be downstairs for awhile,' he called over his shoulder as he hefted the parcel and walked toward the stairs, his left leg hitching with each step.
'I'll make sure to call you for dinner, but tonight you spend with me and not in the basement again,' she called after him as he went downstairs and closed the door.
Carnac shut the door to his study and touched a sigil on the door frame, sealing the room from unwanted visitors. His private study in the basement of their house was his own personal sanctuary and the object of his ongoing quest for knowledge.
On each wall hung several maps, some no more than tattered sheets of parchment, in many different languages and artistic representation. In two of the corners stood elaborate candle holders towering over a jumble of books, boxes and assorted items of various uses and origins that only Carnac himself could name or use for any useful purpose. He had been collecting knowledge since the traveling days of his youth. Each dusty pile of books and scrolls along with various weapons and tools was at some time important to his personal quest.
Near the center of the accumulated maze of his possessions, there stood a table that had one leg propped up with a thin book. Threading his way through the maze, he placed the parcel on the table, and unlike most everything in his study, the table was clean and held only a cylinder filled with quills and an ink pot. On the bookshelf between the wall and his desk was arranged a series of books, each labeled in his neat script, sorted by a date next to the title Personal Journal.
Sitting down in his chair, he placed the parcel in the center of the table, and rubbed his left arm again while catching his breath. With a small knife he used to trim the quills, he carefully slit the side of the parcel open, revealing, as he expected, a rather large book. It was covered in hardened leather and bound with iron with the symbol of The Chosen, engraved in the cover. He shook the remaining bag upside down, but there was nothing else in the parcel.
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