He knew better. In days when no master could be trusted not to find his servants expendable, said servants forged multiple alliances, hinting at this arrangement to their masters in the bargain. For the servant, this had not one benefit, but several. Firstly, one gained more and better information if one’s master knew how well informed his tool, his servant, was. In a game where information was the primary weapon, one supplied the best. Yet both master and servant well knew that great care had to be taken, for the weapon of information, like a two-edged sword, cut not only both ways, but in several ways. For example, the information could be false or misleading. Or it could contain an element of truth, and be useless but leading to dangerous or ill-timed action. All of this led to a greater degree of safety for the servant, as, being a valuable commodity, his master would attempt to ferret out any threat to his tools, his servants, his eyes and ears. One did not part willingly with such a sensory organ, except as a last resort.
Just as important were the tools of deception, misinformation, concealment, appearances, disguises- the false Adjunct admonished himself for allowing his thoughts to wander, and turned his attention back to the matter at hand. Peering into the rotunda proper once more, he could see clearly, sitting next to his quarry, a young Elf, the Scribe’s son. He knew that the son’s name was Mraan, and that he was aged sixteen years. The boy waited patiently as his father, Haloch, laboured on what he undoubtedly thought of as the most important work of his life. Haloch was forging a new copy of The Book of Runes, or Öht Nürn Aldhii, as it was called in an archaic tongue known only to scholars. The old copy lay open, bulging with leaves which had been stuffed between its cracked and brittle pages.