The man at the rough, wooden table looked up. “I am. Please sit.”
Jarok sat, but kept the hood of his cloak up to shade his face from prying eyes.
A wench set a mug of ale before him.
He waited until she was out of hearing range and faced the man he’d come to meet. “What sort of magics do you wish performed?”
“I need a way to keep the people from leaving the country. I wish them to stay, but already the threat of civil war has incited many to leave their homes and emigrate to other kingdoms.”
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