With more than a split-second at his disposal with which to decipher and classify the scrolls, Edric soon had them sorted out. Two however he spent minutes over, while the others kept lookout, poked idly around the scrying room, or in some cases lay flat on the floor resting. Hod divided his time between checking Yemmi, who seemed very ill, and stacking gold coins from the chest into twelve piles.
The sound of chanting continued faint yet noticeable. It was clearly coming from some way off, perhaps a lower level. It would swell just above the background murmur of the buried maelstrom, then dwindle to just above the level of conscious awareness.
“These aren’t spells as such,” Edric pronounced at last, looking around. “At first, I thought this one…” – he gestured at one, filled with an ornate script and with some over-scrawl of notes – “…was to summon a fiend of the Outer Dark, you know the kind…”
“Sure, everyone knows that kind,” Morath commented sarcastically.
“But then I realized that these are summoning notes about something referred to as The Agent out of a desert somewhere. And these…” – he gestured at a similar scroll, with a circular symbol sketched on it – “…are the notes about how to keep it inside a circle. It’s much more powerful than anything we’ve seen so far.”
Edric laughed, a slight note of hysteria in his tone. “Summoning is dangerous enough at any time. If this Lorantus – the heretic that wrote all this – is trying a summoning of this magnitude without notes, he may be bringing something through we can’t stop.”
“So what do we do?”
“Split the treasure?” Hod suggested helpfully. “Fifty gold each, double for the boss.”