"We're halfway to the mountains," she said. "We'll be there before long, and we'll find the others. I know we will."
He nodded and they began walking through the field. They had been flying most of the night, but Fidelity wasn't weary yet, not enough to sleep. She needed to keep going, to cross the land, to reach the mountains of Dair Ranin; she would find no rest until she did. It was a cold day, and patches of snow covered the land. She shivered and tightened her cloak around herself. A coyote stared from between distant blades of grass, then fled. Crows circled and cawed above. Soon they reached a dirt road and walked between swaying fields of rye, wheat, and barley.
They walked, moving closer to the city. The road would take them by its walls before leading them farther north. Fidelity stared at New Confutatis with longing. Her left eye saw only smudges, and while her right spectacle lens still filled its frame, the crack in its center split the world. Still, she was able to make out pale walls topped with soldiers, perched firedrakes, and tillvine blossom banners. Behind the walls, she saw soaring towers and domes. She wondered if one of them was the library.
"We should go into the city," she said suddenly.
Korvin frowned. "Fidelity, you know we can't do that. It's too dangerous in there. Cities are swarming with priests, soldiers, paladins, and firedrakes."
She nodded. "And the wilderness is swarming with bonedrakes." She shuddered. "We've seen . . . ten bonedrakes since the two we killed? Eleven? More? More of the creatures fill the sky every day. We can't keep hiding in burrows and storm clouds. Sooner or later we'll have to fight the bonedrakes again, maybe many of them." She took a deep breath. "In this city rises the White Library. It's renowned for its bestiaries, books that detail every creature to crawl, swim, walk, and fly in the world. Maybe we'll find information about bonedrakes."
"Or maybe we'll find a thousand paladins on a thousand firedrakes."
"Maybe," Fidelity confessed. "But I think we should risk it. The undead fill the sky, and . . . what if they're hunting Domi and the others?" A lump filled her throat. "We know what firedrakes are. We know how to kill them. But a bonedrake is stronger than several firedrakes, and we need to learn everything we can about these creatures. That, and . . ." She lowered her head. "There's another reason I want to visit New Confutatis."
Korvin stood on the road and stared toward the city. Snow began to fall, dusting his hair and cloak. "It had better not be to admire the architecture."
She smiled wanly. "I wouldn't even be able to see the architecture well. That's the other reason. I need to buy new spectacles. My broken spectacles came from here originally. Old Master Ferin Lensmaker made them. He's made all the spectacles in the world, and many other lenses too--lenses to see tiny creatures living in water and stars in the night sky. To fight the bonedrakes, I don't only need to research them; I need to see them!"
Korvin groaned. "Fidelity, you know what I think, I--"
"We'll be safe, Father! Maybe even safer in there than out here. We'll hide in our cloaks and hoods, and nobody will know who we are. And I doubt any bonedrakes are flying above that city. The bastards freeze everything they fly over, colder than the worst ice storm. If they do serve Beatrix, the High Priestess won't send them to harm her towns." She tugged Korvin's sleeve. "Just for a few hours."
Korvin grumbled, but then he looked at her shattered spectacles and sighed. "One hour. That's all."
She hugged him. The old soldier cared more, she thought, about her eyes than about all the bonedrakes in the world. As she embraced him, his chest jostled the rim of her spectacles, and the cracked lens shattered and fell.
"It seems now we really have no choice," Fidelity said with a wry smile.
They walked toward the city. Now Fidelity could see only smudges from both eyes, but she could make out the pale walls, and she could see the glint of sunlight against the firedrakes and soldiers who stood above. When she squinted, she could even see the blurred, pale towers, though they soon faded into the snowy sky.
The road to the city was busy, and guards stood at the gates, testing everyone with ilbane. Korvin and Fidelity paid a peddler to smuggle them through the gates in his wagon, hidden beneath sacks of produce. Fidelity thanked the stars that humble city guards were, at least, easier to fool than determined paladins.
Inside the city, they emerged from the cart, and they walked down a cobbled boulevard lined with homes. Fidelity squinted to see many clay buildings, some two stories tall, with round windows and domed roofs--the homes of priests and commoners. Many of those people walked along the boulevard with her. To Fidelity, the priests in their woolen robes were mere white smudges, while commoners in burlap tunics were tan smudges. In the distance, she could make out several towers, mere faded lines, rising up into the clouds.
While her eyesight was blurred, her other senses were nearly overwhelmed. The music of the city played in her ears: the chiming bells of the temples calling to prayer, the chant of priests in marble halls, the song of caged finches in a window, the shuffling of feet and the thumping of donkey hooves, and the laughter of children, all combining into a symphony. The smells filled her nostrils: baking breads and simmering stews, incense burning in monasteries, and perfumes the priestesses wore. Even Fidelity's sense of touch came alive here: the brush of soft robes and coarse burlap against her, a stray cat rubbing against her leg, and the craggy feel of clay walls when she ran her fingers against them.
Anyone here, she knew, could potentially recognize her, even with her hood tugged low. Anyone here might be a priest or paladin searching for weredragons, armed with ilbane. She should be terrified, yet for the first time in many months, Fidelity actually felt some of her fear ease. She was no longer a lost soul wandering the wilderness. She stood in civilization again, close to beloved books, even if this civilization was ruled by the Temple, even if no copies of Requiem's books could be found here. She had survived war. She would survive this city.
"We should head to the library first," she said. "I can see well enough up close, and finding a book about bonedrakes is our top priority." She stared around her. "Which way to the library? Do you see any signs, Father?"
"No signs, and I'm not asking for directions." He stared around. "What does this library of yours look like? Describe it to me."
"A dome," she said. "A beautiful, wonderful dome all in silver, and four pale towers like beams of moonlight rise around it, each topped with a golden roof. It's a building said to make even gruff soldiers weep, and poets lay down their quills before it, knowing they could never write words as fair."
Korvin grunted. "Well, I see a silver dome and white towers and I'm not weeping. Got to be the wrong place."
Fidelity leaned forward and squinted, struggling to bring the world into focus. There--she saw it ahead! The dome shone like fallen moon, and she could even make out the towers around it, capped with gold. She straightened and blinked, and the library faded into smudges again, but she knew where it lay.
"It's beautiful," she whispered and grabbed her father's hand. "Let's go."
They kept walking down the streets, moving from boulevards to narrow roads and back to wide avenues. Monasteries rose at their sides, steeples soaring, and priests stood at their gates, blowing horns. Barracks loomed over clay homes like lions among mice, and soldiers stood on their battlements.
On a cobbled street, Fidelity leaped aside from the sound of many drumming hooves. Trumpets blared, armor chinked, and men cried out. Townsfolk moved to the roadsides and stared as a cavalcade, a hundred horses strong, came riding down the road. Paladins in burnished, white armor sat astride horses just as white and fair. Each man held a lance and shield emblazoned with tillvine blossoms. Behind these holy warriors of the Spirit marched hundreds of soldiers in chain mail and white robes. Above, screeching, flew three firedrakes. The beasts shot fire across the sky, then dived down to fly above the street, bellies almost skimming the horse riders. Townsfolk cried out in awe and knelt.
"The war is w
on!" cried the lead paladin, a beefy lord who shone with splendor. Fidelity didn't need sharp eyesight to make out his wide array of golden jewels and gemstones. Some of them looked like Horde jewels. "The Horde is vanquished, and the Temple is victorious!"
The crowd on the roadsides roared. Fidelity's heart sank, and memories of that Templer victory rose in her: the burnt children on the beach, people running aflame, the thousand ships sinking, the thousands of men and women drowning in the water, and Roen . . . her sweet, strong, wise Roen burning in the fire, giving his life to fight the paladins. She missed him so badly, and the horror of her memories made her head spin. At her side, Korvin placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"The Horde is destroyed!" cried the lord as the procession rode by. "And soon the weredragons will follow! Soon all the beastly reptiles will burn in our light, the cursed column will fall, and the Spirit will descend into the world."
As the crowd cheered, Fidelity balled her hands into fists.
No, she vowed. No, King's Column will never fall. It cannot fall while a Vir Requis still lives. And I will not die so easily.
When finally the procession passed them by, Fidelity tugged her father's arm. "We keep going. To the library."
As she walked, a new determination filled her.
She was not only fighting to survive. She was not only fighting to see Domi, Cade, and Amity again. She was fighting to defeat the Cured Temple and rebuild Requiem from ruin. She mustn't forget that, mustn't forget that hope, that dream.
"Remember Requiem," she whispered to herself. "Never forget."
* * * * *
They kept following the sight of the library's towers in the distance. Finally, after a few wrong turns, Fidelity and Korvin reached the library gates.
Fidelity tilted her head back, gaze up at the building, and sighed deeply.
"This," she whispered, "is a library."
With her bad eyes, she couldn't see the gargoyles said to perch upon the eaves. She wouldn't see the statues of ancient druids who stood along the walls and above the doors. She wouldn't see the horses, birds, and stars engraved into the marble columns. All these things Korvin had to describe to her. But she could see the silver dome gleaming, the pale towers soaring, and she could feel the magnitude of this place, the wonder of it . . . and the sadness too.
Here was the world's greatest repository of books, and yet so many books would not be found here. Books of Requiem. Books of old adventure and poetry. Books of astrology and mathematics and foreign languages. All those would be forbidden so long as the Cured Temple reigned. This seemed to Fidelity both the most beautiful and most sad place in the world, like a marvelous statue with broken arms, a thing of splendor marred beyond repair. How many thousands of books had once filled these halls, burned by the priests? How much knowledge and magic and wonder were lost? Perhaps for the first time, Fidelity realized that she was not only fighting for Vir Requis. She was fighting for all living souls who craved freedom and knowledge. She was fighting for wisdom, for books, and they were as holy to her as Requiem.
Coated in the grime of their long journey, wrapped in their snowy cloaks, they stepped into the library of marble and gold.
"It's a bit bigger than our old library, isn't it?" she whispered to Korvin.
She squinted to bring the library into focus, and suddenly Fidelity wished she had visited the lens shop first for new spectacles. She thought the floor was a great mosaic, but it was hard to be sure; she saw only smudges of color. She could see that pastel paintings covered the ceiling, but not see what they depicted. Statues rose between columns, but whether they were statues of druids, seraphs, or warriors, she couldn't tell.
But she didn't care for fineries today. Books filled this library--thousands of them, millions of them, lining countless shelves that filled the hall.
And she couldn't even read their spines.
"I'm going to need a little help," she said.
Korvin nodded. "Let's find a librarian."
"No." She shook her head and watched a white smudge--a robed priest, she presumed--walking between the aisles of books. "I don't want anyone to know what we're looking for. They must think we're simple pilgrims come to read the holy words of the Cured Temple. We'll find a proper book ourselves. All libraries, even Templer libraries, are divided into sections. The priests burn all books that aren't related to the Spirit, but they do keep bestiaries, tomes listing all the creatures of the world. They see all creatures other than Vir Requis, even monsters and magical beasts, as being the Spirit's creations. It's a holy task for scribes to detail all living species. Even, I hope, bonedrakes." She looked around her. "Help me find a bestiary section."
They spent a while exploring the library. Many of these books seemed ancient. When Fidelity leaned close, she could smell the dusty old parchment, and she ran her fingers across the leather covers. She swallowed several sneezes and sprayed a few more across the floor, cursing her sensitivity to dust. Yet despite her stuffy nose and itching eyes, she found peace in this library, a soothing quiet of the soul. She was a librarian, and books meant the world to her. She wished she could have stayed here forever, and in her daydreams, she was the librarian here, a mistress of knowledge.
Finally they found a section in the back, cloaked in shadows, and Korvin stopped walking. "The bestiaries," he said.
Fidelity shivered. They had entered a quiet, distant room in the library. It was cold here, and no windows broke the walls. The only light came from a flickering, glass-paned lamp that hung on a brick wall. No priests walked here. It almost reminded Fidelity of her secret cellar back at her own library, the place where she had stored her books of Requiem. But while that cellar had been cozy and comforting, this place brought cold sweat to her skin. Books crowded around her, wrapped in black and blue and red leather, and a chill seemed to emanate from them.
She stepped closer to the bookshelves, leaned closer to the spines, and squinted until she could read the titles.
"Fish of the Sea." She narrowed her eyes to slits. "Life in a Drop of Water. Hmm, not our book either. Olsen's Standard Book of Commonwealth Birds. Interesting but not much help here." She climbed onto a wheeled ladder and pushed herself between the selves. "Hound Training and Falconry, no . . . The Color of Dragons, hmm, that's an interesting one." She pulled the heavy, leather-bound codex off the shelf, but it only contained illustrations of dragons in every color with descriptions--completely meaningless--of each color's temperament. She placed the book back on the shelf and kept searching. "Herbs and their Pests, no . . . Wildlife of Terra, no . . . Hmm, what's this?"
She approached a codex that seemed older than the others. It was large, over two feet long, and wrapped in leather so faded and crinkly she could barely determine its color. Something about the book made Fidelity shiver. This book was old. Older than the Commonwealth. Maybe even older than Requiem. Cracked, golden letters were worked into the spine: Mythic Creatures of the Gray Age.
She turned her head toward her father, who was searching a bookshelf behind her.
"I found something," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
When she touched the book, it felt like a lightning bolt shooting through her. She sucked in breath. Visions flashed before her eyes of countless readers opening this book, seeking its knowledge. She saw the most ancient scribes writing its pages, explorers from forgotten eras reading its words. Fidelity gasped.
Perhaps the old heroes of Requiem--Queen Gloriae Aeternum, Kyrie Eleison, even King Benedictus--had once held this book, seeking help in fighting the griffins, nightshades, and mimics of old.
Clinging to the ladder with one hand, she tugged the codex off its shelf. It was a massive book, large as a shield, and she nearly fell. Korvin had to step forward and help her lower the tome and place it on a table. Dust flew in the air, and Fidelity swallowed several sneezes, coming close to sneezing all over the book and tearing it apart.
"Mythic Creatures of the Gray Age," Korvin read. "Didn'
t we have a copy of this book at our library?"
Fidelity nodded. "We did. We--" She covered her nose, stifling her sneeze. "We had a copy of the abridged version. That's the most common book you find these days. Some of the truly interesting creatures were cut out, deemed offensive to the Spirit. Griffins, salvanae, dragons, phoenixes . . . they all worship other gods, so they're heretics. But this book . . ." She passed her hand across the leather binding. "This looks like one of the original editions, produced here in Osanna--back when this land was still called Osanna. It's not even written in the Common but in Osannan High Speech." Her eyes shone. "I'm surprised the priests never burned it. Could be whoever runs this library has a love for forbidden books like we do, hiding this one far in the back, knowing priests stick to the prayer sections. This book is priceless, Father. Look at the craftsmanship! Look at the old parchment pages and the filigree, and--"
Korvin cleared his throat. "We're here to find information about bonedrakes, not admire ancient bookbinding techniques. Let's hurry." He glanced around him. "This city is swarming with the enemy, and priests are walking around in this very library. Find what you need to know and let's leave."
She nodded and opened the book. It creaked open like a rusty door, and more dust showered. Fidelity had to turn her head around and sneeze three times onto the floor. Finally she looked back, eyes watering, and blinked a few times. She sat down at the table and leaned closer, bringing the book into focus. Thankfully, while she saw only smudges in the distance, her eyes still worked at close range.
The book had opened at random to a beautifully illustrated page. It featured a colorful phoenix woven of orange, red, and yellow flames. It reminded Fidelity of Domi's dragon form. Many words in a tiny, delicate script were written beneath the illustration, describing the wrath of the phoenixes, warriors of the Sun God. Delicately, Fidelity flipped the page, revealing an image of a great woman of stone, fire in her eyes, dark wings sprouting from her back--Angel, Queen of Demons. Fidelity shuddered and quickly flipped to another page, this one showing an illustration of a familiar creature--Behemoth of the Horde, a legendary monster, thousands of years old, now lost in the sea.
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