There were no Shian letters on it. Rather, all of it was in ancient Draconic. One of the oldest languages—if not the oldest—still spoken commonly on Arkos. Dragon artifacts are notorious for being long-lasting, and many of their machines and other creations still endure thousands of years later.
This journal was unlike anything else uncovered in the ship’s wreckage. The obvious problem was translating it, a task I thought well-suited for me and Tiffin. But first, we had to begin the arduous task of cataloguing every artifact we found. Because of this, we remained at the wreckage site for three days before starting back to the Acamedria.
Chapter Seven
State Secrets
After fourteen days of work translating the journal, I had little to show for it. Draconic was a living, breathing language that had changed a lot over the centuries. It had bizarre verb tenses, confusing transitives, and was heavily based on context, which further complicated matters.
I could’ve studied the writings and runes for fifty years and not gotten much closer to understanding what the words actually meant. I needed to get the text in front of someone who could read it properly. It took me a while to come to terms with the fact that I wouldn’t be able to solve this on my own, even with all the resources Celosa had to offer. I had to visit my colleagues in the Magisterium. You see, the Magisterium had a dragon in their employ, one who went by the name of Antherion.
According to the stories I’d heard, he’d lived amongst the magisters for centuries, advising generations of Endran Sun Kings.
Unfortunately, when I brought the ordeal up to Headmaster Trebellius, he was… less than accommodating.
“Are you out of your damned mind?” he said, looking owlish with his bushy gray hair, long curling eyebrows, and bird-like frown.
Trebellius was a head taller than me, and in the years I’d worked at the Acamedria, I’d never seen him wear anything other than his black and gold teaching robes.
The headmaster and myself never quite saw eye-to-eye. He was a bullish man who believed in arithmetic and engineering. He didn’t care much for ancient history, but he usually left me to my own devices.
“This could be the find of the century,” I said placatingly.
To his credit, Trebellius had listened to my entire thirty-minute proposal without any interruptions—but now it was his turn to speak, and he didn’t pull any punches.
“The find of the century, you say?” He cracked his knuckles, and leaned up on his desk, pressing his palm against the woodgrain. “That’s exactly what you said when you declared that musty old ship to be a priceless artifact. Do you have any idea how much money it costs to reroute an aqueduct like that?”
“Quite a bit, I imagine,” I said sheepishly.
“Forty thousand gold rivets, Caiden.” He repeated himself, slower, as if speaking to a simpleton, “Forty thousand.”
“A price can’t be placed on that ship.”
“Oh, but it can. It really can. Your stated goal is to seek out old magics and machineries for the betterment of the Celosan people. And so far you tell me you’ve found some old armor, a few tattered books, and a dragon tome you can’t read. About the only thing of value is the crystal found in the wreckage, and now you tell me that you don’t think it’s Illdricyte at all.”
“I stand by my decision, Headmaster. It’s imperative that we—”
“Well, I’m glad you’re comfortable with it. What you might not know is that Marcus Decius went right to Chancellor Meridius, red-faced and swearing like a drunken sailor.”
“I thought that might be his reaction.”
“And the chancellor put me on notice. The Senate won’t fund any expeditions until you can show a solid gain. ”
“But I—”
“Solid,” Trebellius repeated before I could finish.
I tapped my fingertips together, more than slightly dejected. “At least give me permission to go to the Magisterium. With their help, I think I can at least decipher this.” I tapped the dragon journal I’d brought with me.
Trebellius shook his head. “As I’ve said, the Senate won’t approve more funding for this. And there’s one more thing.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“The information and items found at the wreckage of the Shao Zhu are now officially classified as state secrets. No further information is to be shared with the Endrans or the Magisterium.”
I stood up, fuming. “What? That’s outrageous. When did this happen?”
“When I met with Chancellor Meridius. Based on the Magisterium’s reaction to the crystal you found, it seems they have a vested interest in it.”
I looked at him like he was insane. “They have an interest in it because they’re not blithering morons.”
“Careful, now.” Trebellius shot me a deadly glare. “The Magisterium is, at its core, a military organization. Their interests are never purely academic. Everything is a weapon to them, everything is a way to gain an advantage on others. They may be our allies, but they do not have our best interests at heart. And I wouldn’t expect them to.”
“Of all the cynical, asinine…”
“Call it what you want, Chancellor Meridius has made his decision. You’re free to pursue the ship to your heart’s content, but any further communication with the Magisterium is forbidden. Do I make myself clear?”
I stared daggers into him. “So you’re going to deny me funding for my own expedition, and prevent me from speaking to the one organization that might be willing to help me?”
Trebellius shrugged. “That’s about the size of it, Caiden.”
“Of course, I’m going to file a complaint with Chancellor Meridius.”
“That’s your right. But in the meantime, you’ll conform to the guidelines I’ve set for you.” He peered down at his ledger and motioned toward his office door. “You’re dismissed.”
Chapter Eight
Friends in High Places
As I sat at my desk looking down at my papers, I was in a sour mood, and only vaguely aware that Decan was speaking to me.
“Professor?” he repeated.
I looked up, not quite sure what he’d asked. “Sorry. What was the question?”
He was holding a hardback with a few sheets of lined paper on it. “I finished my copybook lines, Professor. I was hoping you’d look them over.”
I took the hardback and glanced over it. Decan had copied the phrase “The Droning Dragons of the Dreary Dale Don’t Deal with Dastardly Dolts” several dozen times.
It was tedious work, but it appeared to be paying dividends. His penmanship was improving markedly. On a normal day, I’d be overjoyed at his rapid progress. But, as you might expect, I was not in high spirits after my conversation with Headmaster Trebellius.
I had to find a way to change Chancellor Meridius’s mind, but deep inside I knew it was probably an exercise in futility. Even if I could get an audience with the chancellor—which was no sure thing—he was notorious for sticking to his decisions.
“It’s…it’s very good,” I said, setting the hardback down. Something in my voice must’ve given my mood away, because Decan was visibly disappointed with my reaction.
“I worked real hard, Professor. Did I do something wrong?”
“No, no,” I said, waving a hand. “You did a great job. It’s just this damned journal. There’s simply no way I can decipher it without the help of the Magisterium.”
“The Headmaster said it can’t be shared with the Magisterium or anyone in Endra,” Decan said.
I nodded wearily. “It’s a joke. A scandal.”
“Well…” Decan began, dragging his words. “A lot of people already know about it. If someone else passed it along to the Magisterium, who would know the difference?”
The proper response would’ve been to reprimand the boy for even suggesting such a thing. But, to be honest, I’d been considering the same thing. It was mostly an idle thought, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t appealing.
But if I were caught, there’d be hell to pay. Losing my job would be the least of my worries. I’d likely die rotting in prison.
I patted him on the back. “I think I’ll try more conventional means before I risk my life. I still have faith that reason will win out.”
“Men in power don’t care nothin’ about reason.”
“Try that sentence again,” I said.
Decan rolled his eyes. “Men in power don’t care about reason,” he corrected. “They only care about holding on to their power, believe me.”
“You’re an expert on Celosan politics now?”
“Beggin’ your pardon, you don’t need to be an expert on anything to see that. And I reckon there’s another reason they don’t want you talking to the Magisterium.”
“What makes you say that?”
Decan struggled. “Just a feeling. It don’t sit right.”
I cleared my throat.
“Doesn’t,” Decan said with a sour look. “When are you meeting with the chancellor, anyway?”
“That’s a good question.”
Almost as if in response to this, Tiffin came into the office, a somber look on her face. Decan quickly hid the hardback with the lines he’d written, no doubt embarrassed that she might see it. Tiffin didn’t seem to pay him much mind, and instead walked right to my desk.
She did not look particularly happy. “I’m sorry, Professor. The chancellor says he won’t see you.”
My first reaction was anger, but I quickly choked it down. I fumed a moment before asking the obvious question:
“Why?” My voice came out like a wisp of air.
“He says there’s nothing to be gained by it. Handing the journal over to the Magisterium is the last thing he wants.”
“Such paranoid nonsense,” I muttered.
“He was very dismissive, too. Busy with some Endran ambassador, if you can believe it. Lord Aegyn Tennrish, his name was.”
There was a curious edge to her voice, as if she had more to say.
“He’s royalty,” I said. “The father-in-law of the Sun King. What’s he doing in Celosa?”
“Well…” Tiffin began, lulling a bit. “I may have overheard a bit of their conversation when I went to speak with the chancellor.”
“Eavesdropping?” Decan said with a grin.
Tiffin looked back at him with an expression of faux outrage. “Me? Eavesdrop? Please, I’m a lady. We do not drop eaves, and we certainly do not spy.”
“I see,” I said, wearing a thin smile.
“However,” Tiffin said gently, “when one walks into a conversation, it’s exceedingly rude to interrupt. Sometimes one hears things.”
I crossed my arms. “Care to share?”
Tiffin’s expression dropped a nearly imperceptible amount, and her eyes focused on me. “You, Professor. They were talking about you.”
“Me?” I said, legitimately surprised. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. It was a bit hard to hear them through the door, but Lord Aegyn said your name a few times. It got a bit heated, actually. The chancellor was not in a good mood when Aegyn left, doddering past me on his cane.”
Decan scowled. “So not only are they not going to give you an audience, they’re talking about you behind your back. That’s low.” His voice carried an appropriate amount of scorn, and I could tell he was genuinely upset on my behalf. However, for my part, I was more curious than anything else.
“Perhaps,” I thought out loud, “I need to pay Lord Aegyn a visit.”
Chapter Nine
Blood & Silver
I decided not to make a formal request for an audience with Lord Aegyn. This was a slight breach of social protocol, even if he was Endran, but I didn’t want our meeting on any official Senate records. Instead, I had Tiffin surreptitiously inform him that I wanted to meet at the Blood & Silver Tavern two miles from the Acamedria.
It was a tall, thin, wooden structure wedged between two larger stone buildings. While it wasn’t exactly seedy, it was low class enough that it was unlikely anyone from the Acamedria would be present. Even so, I took some precautions that, looking back, seem a bit silly. I combed my hair up, wore a thick brown cloak that covered most of my face, and upon entering, dawned a boorish Low Helian accent. To be perfectly honest, all of these things probably had the opposite effect than I’d intended.
I set a hand on the beer-soaked counter, and the barkeep looked me over with a mote of amusement. “Can I help you, sir?”
I set an iron rivet on the counter. “A shot of black whiskey. The good stuff, not the watered-down swill you serve tourists.” A harsh burr in my throat made me choke and cough slightly.
The barkeep leaned in. “You okay?”
I beat my fist on my chest. “Fine, just fine.”
The man went to the back and returned with a long-necked glass bottle with a strong black-colored liquid inside, and poured me a shot. The moment it touched my tongue, I immediately regretted it. It tasted like a mixture of black licorice, oil, and liquified coal dust. The displeasure on my face was no doubt very noticeable, as the barkeep laughed aloud at my reaction.
“Maybe something a bit weaker for you, my lord. How about a glass of apple cider?”
I realized I was being insulted, but actually some apple cider sounded lovely. I nodded, scraping my tongue along my top teeth to get the taste of whiskey out of my mouth.
When I’d settled down, I glanced around the bar room, trying to be discreet. “Any chance you’ve seen an old blind Endran man around here?”
“A blind Endran?” the barkeep said, sliding a tall glass of cider toward me, and snatching up another iron rivet I’d set down for him. “No, not recently. And you don’t see many Endrans out here, so I reckon I’d remember.”
“Oh,” I said, my fake accent dropping momentarily. “Are you quite sure?”
“As sure as I can be.”
At that very moment, the bell over the tavern door jingled. I turned on my stool to see Aegyn Tennrish standing there with a young male attendant of his, who was holding the door open for the elderly lord. Aegyn was the very picture of Endran nobility. He was prim and proper, clothed in fine gray silk, and his skin had a slightly olive complexion. In his right hand he held a walking stick with an owl head. He was quite old, though I’ve always found it difficult to guess the age of an Endran. As you may know, Endrans who live near the Arclight invariably age at a slower rate. Therefore, from appearances alone, Aegyn could’ve been anywhere between eighty and a hundred and fifty years old.
I greeted him and his attendant at the door, and ushered them to a far corner, away from prying ears. I sat first, and pulled my hood down as he slowly sat down. His attendant stood several feet away, leaning against a ceiling support beam, as if keeping watch.
When he was seated, Aegyn smiled a wide smile, the many wrinkles of his face curling up. “I must say, this is quite a surprise. You have a reputation as an academic, certainly not one for subterfuge.”
“Desperate times,” I said.
“Are they?” Aegyn said.
“The Senate is trying to cover up the find of my life. The Chancellor won’t talk to me. I deserve to know why. The real reason.”
Aegyn laced his fingers together. Though I knew he couldn’t see me, I swore I saw his gray eyes focus in on mine. “I’m having a bit of a crisis of the soul on this, Professor.”
“Excuse me?”
Aegyn sighed. “On one hand, I have a duty to my people to see your work continued. I should welcome this meeting and what it stands for.”
“But…”
“But my heart says it’s wrong. You’re treading on dangerous ground, Professor. I recommend you go home, go back to your office in the Acamedria, go back to your classroom, and forget this whole thing. In a few weeks, you’ll find some new thing that piques your curiosity, child.”
“I’m not a child,” I said sharply.
“When you get to be my age, everyone is a child.”<
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“I just want to know what’s going on.”
“The Senate wants to prevent the Magisterium from getting a hold of the information off the wreckage of that wonderful Shian ship you found.”
“That much I gathered. As I understand it, the chancellor believes it could lead to the Magisterium acquiring some ancient technologies that could potentially threaten Celosa.”
Aegyn waved his hand dismissively. “It’s far more concrete than that. The crystal you found, the dragon journal, all of it points to one conclusion.” He paused, cracking his thin knuckles. “Have you heard of the Corelight, Professor?”
I shook my head.
“It’s an ancient and powerful primordial magic. One of five that shaped our world long ago. Its existence and location have been known to the Magisterium for some time now, but getting to it has been impossible.”
“If you know where it is, why can’t you reach it?”
“We believe the Corelight sits below the waters of Lake Yaserj. Thousands of years ago, the great city of Vor’aj sat on its surface. Along with their allies in Azror’jir, their civilization worshiped the Mad God, Nuruthil, and basked in the dark glow of the Corelight. Around the time the Mad God fell, the city was swallowed by the waves, never to be seen again. Expeditions have been sent to find its exact location, most never to be heard from again. The few that have returned, come back with fantastical reports of frightful monsters, void apparitions, and mechanical constructs that tear entire ships to shreds.”
“What does this have to do with the Shao Zhu?”
“Everything, Professor. You see, that crystal you found, it’s not Illdricyte. We believe it to be a fragment of the Corelight that was to be transported to Shindo. Magister Amelia Ross believes that the material you found in the wreckage could give us a solid clue as to how to enter Vor’aj, and bring back not only the complete Corelight, but a wealth of knowledge from the Old World. Thousands of texts, ancient magics spanning to the creation of Arkos. Everything and more.”
“What does the Corelight do, specifically?”
Aegyn frowned for a fraction of a second. “We… we believe it could function very much like the Arclight in Endra Edûn, providing health and longevity to millions of people. That’s our best guess, at least.”
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