Medivh leaned forward in his chair and said, “‘Oh Great and Respected Magus Medivh, Master Mage of Karazhan, I bring you the greetings of the Kirin Tor, most learned and puissant of the magical academies, guilds, and societies, advisors to the kings, teachers of the learned, revealers of secrets.’ They continue on in that fashion for some ways, puffing themselves up more with every sentence. How am I doing so far?”
“I couldn’t say,” said Khadgar, “I was instructed—”
“Not to open the letter,” finished Medivh. “But you did, anyway.”
The master mage raised his eyes to regard the young man, and Khadgar’s breath caught in his throat. Something flickered in Medivh’s eyes, and Khadgar wondered if the master mage had the power to cast spells without anyone noticing.
Khadgar slowly nodded, steeling himself for the response.
Medivh chuckled loudly, “When?”
“On the…on the voyage from Lordaeron to Kul Tiras,” said Khadgar, unsure if what he said would amuse or irritate his potential mentor. “We were becalmed for two days and…”
“Curiosity got the better of you,” finished Medivh again. He smiled, and it was a clean white smile beneath the graying beard. “I probably would have opened it the moment I got out of sight of Dalaran’s Violet Citadel.”
Khadgar took a deep breath and said, “I considered that, but I believed they had divination spells in operation, at least at that range.”
“And you wanted to be far from any spell or message recalling you for opening the letter. And you patched it back together well enough to fool a cursory examination, sure that I would likely break the seal straightaway and not notice your tampering.” Medivh allowed himself a chuckle, but drew his face into a tight, focused knot. “How did I do that?” he asked.
Khadgar blinked. “Do what, sir?”
“Know what was in the letter?” said Medivh, the sides of his mouth tugging down. “The letter I just burned says that I will find the young man Khadgar most impressive in his deduction and intelligence. Impress me.”
Khadgar looked at Medivh, and the jovial smile of a few seconds before had evaporated. The smiling face was now that of some primitive stone god, judgmental and unforgiving. The eyes that had been tinged with mirth earlier now seemed to be barely concealing some hidden fury. The brows knitted together like the rising thunderhead of a storm.
Khadgar stammered for a moment, then said, “You read my mind.”
“Possible,” said Medivh. “But incorrect. You’re a stew of nerves right now, and that gets in the way of mind reading. One wrong.”
“You’ve gotten this sort of letter before,” said Khadgar. “From the Kirin Tor. You know what kind of letters are written.”
“Also possible,” said the master mage. “As I have received such letters and they do tend to be overweening in their self-congratulatory tone. But you know the exact wording as well as I do. A good try, and the most obvious, but also incorrect. Two wrong.”
Khadgar’s mouth formed into a tight line. His mind raised and his heart thundered in his chest. “Sympathy,” he said at last.
Medivh’s eyes remained unreadable, and his voice level. “Explain.”
Khadgar took a deep breath. “One of the magical laws. When someone handles an item, they leave a part of their own magical aura or vibration attached to the item. As auras vary with individuals, it is possible to connect to one by affecting the other. In this way a lock of hair may be used in a love charm, or a coin may be tracked back to its original owner.”
Medivh’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he dragged a finger across his bearded chin. “Continue.”
Khadgar stopped for a moment, feeling the weight of Medivh’s eyes pressing in on him. That was what he knew from lectures. He was halfway there. But how did Medivh use it to figure out….
“The more someone uses an item, the stronger the resonance,” said Khadgar quickly. “So therefore an item that experiences a lot of handling or attention will have a stronger sympathy.” The words were coming together tighter and more rapidly now. “So a document which someone had written has more aura to it than a blank piece of parchment, and the person is concentrating on what they are writing, so…” Khadgar let his thoughts catch up for a moment. “You were mind reading, but not my mind—the mind of the scribe who wrote the letter at the time he was writing it—you picked up his thoughts reinforcing the words.”
“Without having to physically open the document,” said Medivh, and the light danced within his eyes again. “So how would this trick be useful to a scholar?”
Khadgar blinked for a moment, and looked away from the master mage, seeking to avoid his piercing glance. “You could read books without having to read books.”
“Very valuable for a researcher,” said Medivh. “You belong to a community of scholars. Why don’t you do that?”
“Because…because…” Khadgar thought of old Korrigan, who could find anything in the library, even the smallest marginal notation. “I think we do, but for older members of the conclave.”
Medivh nodded. “And that is because…”
Khadgar thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“Who would write if all the knowledge could be sucked out with a mental twist and a burst of magic?” suggested Medivh. He smiled, and Khadgar realized he had been holding his breath. “You’re not bad. Not bad at all. You know your counterspells?”
“To the fifth roster,” said Khadgar.
“Can you power a mystic bolt?” asked Medivh, quickly.
“One or two, but it’s draining,” answered the younger man, suddenly feeling that the conversation had taken a serious turn once more.
“And your primary elementals?”
“Strongest in flame, but I know them all.”
“Nature magic?” asked Medivh. “Ripening, culling, harvesting? Can you take a seed and pull the youth from it until it becomes a flower?”
“No, sir. I was trained in a city.”
“Can you make a homunculus?”
“Doctrine frowns on it, but I understand the principles involved,” said Khadgar, “If you’re curious…”
Medivh’s eyes lit up for a moment, and he said, “You sailed here from Lordaeron? What type of boat?”
Khadgar felt thrown for a moment by the sudden change of discussion. “Yes. Um…A Tirassian wind-runner, the Gracious Breeze,” he replied.
“Out of Kul Tiras,” concluded Medivh. “Human crew?”
“Yes.”
“You spoke with the crew at all?” Again, Khadgar felt himself sliding once more from conversation to interrogation.
“A little,” said Khadgar. “I think I amused them with my accent.”
“The crews of the Kul Tiras ships are easily amused,” said Medivh. “Any nonhumans in the crew?”
“No, sir,” said Khadgar. “The Tirassians told stories of fish men. They called them Murlocs. Are they real?”
“They are,” said the Magus. “What other races have you encountered? Other than variations of humans.”
“Some gnomes were at Dalaran once,” said Khadgar. “And I’ve met dwarven artificers at the Violet Citadel. I know dragons from the legends; I saw the dragon’s skull in one of the academies once.”
“What about trolls, or goblins?” said Medivh.
“Trolls,” said Khadgar. “Four known varieties of trolls. There may be a fifth.”
“That would be the bushwah Alonda teaches,” muttered Medivh, but motioned for Khadgar to continue.
“Trolls are savage, larger than humans. Very tall and wiry, with elongated features. Um…” He thought for a moment. “Tribal organization. Almost completely removed from civilized lands, almost extinct in Lordaeron.”
“Goblins?”
“Much smaller, more the size of dwarves. Just as inventive, but in a destructive fashion. Fearless. I have read that as a race they are insane.”