Apparently this was news to Rendle as well. “What was it?”
Lord Fiori placed the wood onto his growing fire. “A translation key for Old Sacoridian. We’ve more than one copy, and the one that was stolen held no special value. Yet it was worth enough to the thief to steal it and harm someone in the process.”
“We’ve been keeping an extra watch on campus should the thief make a reappearance,” Rendle said. “That’s what I was up to tonight, and when I saw a suspicious person enter your house, I feared for Estral.”
“So I surmised.” Lord Fiori slid into an overstuffed chair. “And I am grateful for everyone’s vigilance. While I doubt the thief will return, it would not be imprudent to continue the faculty patrols for a while just to be on the safe side.”
Rendle nodded. “We will do so.”
While the two men spoke softly of school business, Karigan thought about the theft anew, which brought to mind her ill-fated outing with Braymer Coyle at the Sacor City War Museum and the appearance of the Raven Mask.
Lord Fiori gazed at her curiously. “What are you thinking about?”
“There was a theft at the Sacor City War Museum not all that long ago,” she said. “It may be coincidental, but the thief took a scrap of old parchment.”
“Yes,” he said, “I heard about it.” He smiled. It was a knowing smile. Karigan couldn’t get over how he knew so much of the news of the land. He traveled extensively and must hear much on the road, but surely not any more than a Green Rider would. Or would he? Maybe folk were freer with their conversation around a minstrel than a uniformed representative of the king, and she doubted he flaunted himself as the Golden Guardian, but instead traveled in the humbler guise of an ordinary minstrel. What conversations must he overhear in the common rooms of inns and pubs between ballads and rousing drinking songs? What stories did folk tell him that they wouldn’t tell a Green Rider?
Then there were all the other Selium minstrels who were wide-ranging in their travels and constantly acquired news. The Golden Guardian was their chief, and they must report everything of interest to him.
“Yes,” he said, “I heard about the theft and that some brave lady tried to prevent it. You wouldn’t happen to know who she was, would you?”
Heat crept up Karigan’s neck and into her cheeks.
“You’re teasing her, father,” Estral said. She had heard a full account of the incident from Karigan.
“So it was Karigan.” Lord Fiori nodded as if confirming it for himself. “I did not make it to Sacor City on this journey, but I overheard the remarks of some Rhovan merchants and the name G’ladheon though one of the fellows, an older gent, used a less kind word than ‘brave’ to describe the lady. There was the occasional mention of the incident elsewhere with no name attached. Are the two thefts coincidence? It’s difficult to say. Other than these being documents, what ties them together?”
“There are hundreds of thefts across the kingdom each year,” Rendle said.
“Yes, but how many of those thefts are of objects of seemingly little worth?” Lord Fiori shrugged. “I find it curious. What do you think, Karigan?”
Karigan thought he was testing her and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, wishing she was the cat who was now sprawled on his back with paws in the air, absorbing the warmth of the fire and purring away, unconcerned.
“I think,” she began, “there were two different thieves.”
“How so?”
“The thief at the museum, who may have been the Raven Mask, or was impersonating him, made the theft in full daylight and in front of witnesses. He didn’t seem to want to hurt anyone unnecessarily.” She remembered his swordtip at her throat. He could have easily killed her. “My understanding is that the thief here came stealthily in the night and showed no such concern for Dean Crosley.”
“Very good reasoning,” Lord Fiori said, his tone full of approval. “I believe you are correct. However, it is possible that more than one thief was working toward the same goal. We may never know the answer. The sad part is that had someone wanted to view the translation key, the archivists most likely would have helped him.”
“Unless the thief planned to translate something nefarious—something he didn’t want anyone else to see,” Rendle said. The pipe was out and lit, and he pulled deeply on it.
“True,” Lord Fiori said.
“There is something else,” Karigan said.
“Yes?”
“I remember the museum attendants saying that the parchment the thief stole was in Old Sacoridian.”
Lord Fiori scratched his chin. “That sounds like more than coincidence. A document in Old Sacoridian is stolen, but it needs to be translated, so a translation key is stolen from the Selium archives. Do you know what the document contained?”
“The museum attendants didn’t seem to know,” Karigan replied, “and I never heard any more about it.”
“That is unfortunate,” Lord Fiori said. “I’m afraid we’ll learn little more unless either of the thieves is apprehended, which seems rather unlikely.”
The group sat in silence until Estral, unable to sit still any longer, burst out, “Where have you been, father?”
“West mostly,” he said. “West into Rhovanny and beyond, trying to get a feel for the mood of the people beyond Sacoridia’s borders. They appear to have been spared the reach of Blackveil Forest this summer past, but rumors of magical oddities here reached even as far west as Dunan and the folk are uneasy. Though I did not venture east this journey, the land was full of tales of passing Eletians, Eletians wandering east, a very bright company of them. I understand they are now encamped outside the gates of Sacor City.”
At the mention of Eletians, Karigan straightened in her chair. “They’ve gone to Sacor City?”
“So it appears,” Lord Fiori said.
“What do they want? What do they plan?”
“I wish I knew,” Lord Fiori replied. “I have not heard.”
Karigan’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the arms of her chair. She wanted to ride back to Sacor City to find out what the Eletians were up to. She did not trust them, not entirely.
“I should think their intentions are peaceful,” Lord Fiori said, as if sensing her turmoil. “I heard nothing of them traveling as a war party. The land told no such tale of danger, only wonder and joy at their passing.”
Wonder and joy… His words soothed her but little. Yes, the Eletians were magical beings, but they were also quite possibly a threat. A threat to herself, and a threat to her people. It was difficult to sort out the Eletians’ intentions. On one hand they were willing to save mortal lives, as in the aftermath of the massacre of Lady Penburn’s delegation. On the other, they were willing to allow all to be destroyed.
Song murmured in the back of her mind. The Golden Guardian sang, his voice growing and distracting her from her worries, bringing her back to the present. His voice arose from the deepest of places within, not just from himself, but from his listeners, and encompassed the entire room, filled the spaces between books and shelves, flowed into the fireplace and up the chimney with the smoke, and arched over them like the ceiling itself. Karigan felt the song vibrate within her. The room was music. He sang:
“The music of the stars mourns
their passing, their passing,
from the shining Land of Avrath
from the shining Land of Avrath
“Will they return?
Will they return to the bright woods,
to the cerulean sea,
home to Avrath,
the Shining Land?”
When he stopped, it was like being dropped out of a dream. The song was a lament and saddened Karigan, but it held great beauty in its mourning.
“I haven’t heard that one before,” Estral said, breaking the spell of the song.
“I shouldn’t think so,” Lord Fiori murmured. “I have heard it sung among the Eletians, and this is but a rough translation.”
�
�What is this Shining Land?” Rendle asked. “This Avrath?”
Lord Fiori rose to toss another log on the fire. “It is,” he said, “their highest spiritual place, the place from whence they came and to where they aspire to return. Or so I gather.”
“Like the heavens,” Rendle said.
The fire hissed and sparked as it consumed the new log. Lord Fiori returned to his chair and spread his long legs before him. “Perhaps that is so, but I do not know. It may be a physical place, or a layer of the world. It may even be a state of mind. I do know the Eletians believe their presence on Earth is a time of exile.”
Exile. Karigan turned that over in her mind. Hadn’t the Eletians always dwelled here? If it were a literal exile from a place called Avrath, maybe the divisions among the Eletians went deeper than anyone could imagine. What would cause them to be exiled from their “Shining Land?” And why were some of them so adamant about cleansing this land of mortals? To re-create Avrath on Earth? She yawned and thought the late hour was leading her to unlikely conclusions.
“I assume it is not by chance that one of the king’s own messengers is here in Selium,” Lord Fiori said, gazing at her.
“No, sir. I’ve a message from the king.” She patted the message satchel at her side. She had not been willing to leave it unattended at the Guesting House. She removed the message and passed it to Lord Fiori.
He raised his eyebrows. “Addressed in the king’s own hand—I recognize his scrawl. I trust this will require a response.” He glanced up at Karigan. “Seek me out tomorrow.” When the campus bell rang out the early morning hour, he amended, with a smile, “Later today.”
Karigan took that as a dismissal and she was more than ready for her bed. She walked out with Master Rendle and he said, “Good fight. Too bad about the table.”
He went off in his own direction with a hearty chuckle trailing behind him. Karigan smiled and shook her head. It had turned into an interesting evening, and she had much to think about, not the least of which was her technique with the poker.
INTO THE ARCHIVES
Karigan arose from bed much later than she intended, but it couldn’t be helped. After she made it back to her room in the small hours, it was a long time before she was able to sleep with all the chatter in her brain about thieves of documents and Eletians camped outside the gates of Sacor City. She had gone over everything Lord Fiori said again and again, but no great revelations had come of it; her mind was too busy just trying to sort it all out.
When she could no longer ignore the sunshine glaring through her window, she dragged herself out of bed and ate a late breakfast alone in the common room. The angle of the sun and the campus bell told her she’d let most of the morning slip by. The Guesting House staff were busy in the kitchen preparing the midday meal.
It took her some time to track down Lord Fiori, for he wasn’t home, nor was he in his office in the administration building. A helpful clerk suggested she check the archives, which were located in the catacombs beneath the library. She’d used the library as a student, but never had call to visit the archives, which were off limits to most students anyway.
From the curatorial office on the main floor, a clerk led her down a corridor lined with old portraits then to a thick, heavy door that opened onto a stone staircase. As they descended, Karigan thought it looked like it belonged to a construction older than the upper levels, but no scent of mustiness or decay met her as they descended. The updrafts were cool and clean without a hint of moisture.
When she reached the bottom step, she found herself in a low-ceilinged stone chamber held up by rough granite pillars. A labyrinth of shelves laden with tomes and manuscripts and scrolls and crates extended deep into cavernous shadows where no lamp was lit. Muffled voices emanated from somewhere beyond rows of shelves.
“I’ll see if I can find Lord Fiori for you,” the clerk said.
While he set off on his search, Karigan hopped onto a stool at a worktable, which was covered in curling maps. They looked to be ancient and fragile, so she did not dare touch them, but the top map, mottled brown with age, showed Sacoridia divided into small chunks, illustrating not provinces, but clan territories, and there were plenty of them, far exceeding today’s twelve provinces. The landscape had changed little over time, but those who claimed it and drew boundaries on maps came and went with the politics of the day.
The return of the clerk, accompanied by both Lord Fiori and Estral, drew Karigan’s attention from the map. The ceiling was so low that the top of Lord Fiori’s head brushed it. She slipped off her stool and bowed, and the clerk excused himself.
“We wondered when you’d be up and about,” Estral said, smiling.
“It took me a while to locate you.”
“And so you’ve found us,” Lord Fiori said. “What do you think of our archives?”
Karigan didn’t really know what to say. The archives were not precisely what she expected. They contained the breadth and depth of Sacoridia’s history and culture, a precious collection she expected to be displayed in some magnificent hall surrounded by the best works of art. Not buried in this…this root cellar. Well, the floor was smooth marble and not quite dirt, so maybe not a root cellar.
“It’s…” She groped for words. “It’s interesting.”
The archives boomed with Lord Fiori’s laugh. “Not what you expected, eh? Perhaps you will be more impressed to know the vaults were constructed by Clan D’Yer. They are not beautiful to look upon, maybe, but ingeniously built to protect documents stored here from light, flame, and damp. We hold that more important than fancy surroundings. The object is to preserve the documents for generations to come so they can be learned from; not to show them off.”
It made sense, but all the same, with Sacoridia’s history buried in what amounted to little more than a cellar, albeit a well-constructed cellar, didn’t it obscure the country’s past with it hidden from the view of ordinary citizens?
“I am honored,” she said, “that I get to view them.”
Lord Fiori laughed again. “I see you’ve learned to be quite the diplomat during your time as a king’s messenger. Speaking of which, I read the king’s message after your departure last night.” He removed it from an inner pocket of his waistcoat, the seals broken. “I’ve heard of this book the king seeks, though not recently, mind you. More a rumor of the book.” He rubbed the bristles on his chin, his gaze distant. “It’s been many a year, and if ever it existed, it vanished long ago. Alas, Selium contains only a rare volume or two related to works of magic. Most such documents were destroyed after the Long War. The collection of Selium, such as it was in those days, was plundered and cleansed.”
“Cleansed?” Karigan asked.
“Magic in all forms was suppressed by those who held a dim view of it after the atrocities committed by Mornhavon the Black. They did not distinguish between that which was neutral or good in nature, and that which had been tainted by darkness. Thus, our archives lack valuable information, including anything that could help us repair the D’Yer Wall. I’m afraid it may never be recovered.”
“So the book we’re looking for may have been destroyed after the Long War,” Karigan said.
“Destroyed or fallen into obscurity, and most assuredly not to be found in any of our collections. To make absolutely certain, however, I’ve our chief archivists and curators checking into it, and they will round up some idle journeymen to conduct a thorough search.” He grinned at Estral, who frowned in response. “The search will no doubt take months, so you should not further delay your other errands by waiting on us. I will pen the king a message telling him as much as I’ve told you, and should we come up with anything during our search, I will send along one of my own messengers with the news.”
With that, he set off to find his archivists and curators, leaving Estral and Karigan in silence.
Finally Estral said, “I guess this means you’ll be heading out soon.”
Karigan nodded. “Our orders are
to go on with our other errands if the book can’t be found here. I suppose we’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Seems as though you just got here. I wish you could stay longer.”
“Me, too.”
As if to set aside the depressing news, Estral asked, “Would you like a tour while you’re down here?”
“Of course,” Karigan said, especially if it meant spending more time with her friend.
“We’ve only just been getting things back in order,” Estral explained, “after the renovations. When we were moving things, we came across some real gems that hadn’t been looked at in a couple hundred years—made it hard to pay attention to the work at hand. And there is always new stuff coming in—new songs and compositions, documents acquired from other collections, and the like. Keeps the archivists busy. Looking for that book may provide an opportunity to update the inventory. Which I’ll probably have to help with. I suppose it’ll be a good winter project.”
Estral did not look thrilled by the prospect, but as they delved into the depths of the archives, illuminated only by the single lamp she carried, the journeyman minstrel’s voice brightened and her step quickened as she pointed out various documents.
“These crates contain the correspondence of all the Fioris,” she said, “all the way back to Gerlrand, though there are only a few pieces from his time.” Pointing to an opposing section of shelves, she said, “These are the folk songs of Sacoridia as copied down over the last one hundred years. Each shelf below it goes back another hundred years. Some of it is gibberish as far as I’m concerned.”
And on she went, down the darkened row of shelves. Karigan glimpsed briefly the crates or sheaves of paper or parchment laid flat as Estral’s lamplight rolled over them. She made out spiderlike strands of faded ink on some of the documents, but that was all.
Deeper and deeper they went, Karigan growing more impressed by the immensity of the chamber. It had been difficult to discern its size from the entrance, and she no longer thought of the archives as a root cellar but as a tomb. A tomb for old documents. Now that she thought of it, entering the archival vaults had that same feel of entering the tombs sheltered beneath the king’s castle, with its clean air, low ceilings, lack of damp, and ability to preserve, though what the tombs preserved was a bit different…Clan D’Yer must have used similar construction techniques in both the tombs and the archives.
The High King's Tomb Page 28