Chapter 7
The Great Library

Sonea hugged her books closer to her chest. It had been yet another day of constant pranks and insults. The week loomed before her like an endless trial. Only the fifth week, she reminded herself. Five long years stood between now and graduation.

Each day was exhausting. When she wasn't enduring Regin and the other novices, she was going out of her way to avoid them. If the teacher left the classroom, even for a minute, Regin used the time to harass her. She had learned to keep her notes out of reach and to take extreme care whenever she walked across the room or sat in her chair.

For a little while she had managed to escape him for an hour each day by returning to Rothen's rooms at midbreak to eat with Tania, but Regin began ambushing her on the way to and from the University. She had tried staying in the classroom for the hour a few times, but once Regin realized what she was doing, he waited until the teacher had left and returned to harass her.

Eventually she had arranged with Rothen that she would meet him in his classroom during the midbreak. She helped him set up or dismantle the contraptions of glass vials and pipes for his lessons. Tania brought little lacquered boxes filled with savories for them to eat.

Her stomach always sank when the gong called novices to afternoon classes. Rothen and Tania had both offered to escort her to and from classrooms, but she knew that this would only confirm to Regin and his friends that they were getting to her. At all times, she endeavored to ignore the pranks and snide comments, knowing that reacting to them would only encourage more.

The final gong always brought relief. Whatever social games the novices indulged in after lessons must have been more interesting than taunting her, because the entire class always hurried away as soon as the teacher dismissed them. Sonea would wait until they were gone and then make her way in peace to the Magicians' Quarters. But just in case they changed their minds, she always took the long route through the gardens, choosing a different path every time and keeping close to other magicians and novices.

Today, like every day, as she neared the end of the corridor she felt her shoulders relax and the knot in her stomach begin to unwind. Silently she thanked Rothen for letting her stay in his rooms. It made her shudder to think of the torments Regin would have devised for her if she had to return to the Novices' Quarters each day.

"There she is!"

Recognizing the voice, she felt cold rush over her. The corridor was full of novices from higher classes, but that had never been a deterrent. She lengthened her stride, hoping to reach the busy Entrance Hall of the University where there was sure to be a magician or two, before Regin and his friends could catch up.

The sound of running feet filled the corridor behind her.

"Sonea! Sooooneeeeaaaa!"

The older novices about her turned at the noise. Sonea knew by their stares that Regin and his gang were right behind her now. She drew in a deep breath, resolving to face Regin without flinching.

A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her around roughly. She shook it off and glared at Kano.

"Were you ignoring us, slum girl?" Regin asked. "That's very rude, but I guess we can't expect you to have any manners, can we?"

They encircled her. She glanced around at the grinning faces. Hugging her books closer to her body, she stepped forward and pushed her shoulder between Issle and Alend to break free from the ring of bodies. Hands reached out, grabbed her shoulders and yanked her back into the middle. Surprised, she felt a growing dread. They hadn't tried to physically abuse her before, other than giving her arm a yank to make her trip over, or fall into something unpleasant.

"Where are you going, Sonea?" Kano asked. Someone gave her another shove in the back. "We want to talk to you."

"Well, I don't want to talk to you," she growled. Turning, she tried to push her way through again, but was shoved and pulled back into the circle. She felt a flash of fear. "Let me through."

"Why don't you beg us to, slum girl?" Regin jeered.

"Yeah, go on and beg. You must be good at it."

"You had plenty of practice in the slums." Alend laughed. "Surely you haven't forgotten so quickly. I bet you were one of those snivelling brats that hang around the back of our fathers' houses begging for food."

"Please give me some food. Pleeese!" Vallon whined. "I'm staaaarving!" The others laughed and joined in.

"Or perhaps she had something to sell," Issle suggested. "Good evening, my lord." Her voice became a suggestive wheedle. "Need some company?"

Vallon choked back a laugh. "Just think how many men she's had."

Sniggers filled the corridor, and then Alend recoiled from her. "She's probably diseased."

"Not anymore." Regin sent Alend a knowing look. "They told us the Healers checked her when she was found, remember? They'd have fixed her up." He turned to Sonea and looked her up and down, his lips pursed.

"So…Sonea." His voice became silky. "How much did you charge?" He moved closer, and as Sonea shrank away hands pressed into her back to push her toward him again. "You know," he drawled. "Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I could get to like you. You're a bit skinny, but I can overlook that. Tell me, did you specialize in any certain, ah, favors?"

Sonea tried to shrug away the hands on her shoulders, but the novices tightened their gip. Regin shook his head in mock sympathy. "I suppose the magicians said you had to give it up. How frustrating for you. But they don't have to know. We won't tell them." He tilted his head to one side.

"You could make a lot of money around here. Lots of rich customers."

Sonea stared at him. She couldn't believe he would even pretend to be interested in bedding her. For a moment she was tempted to call his bluff, but knew if she did, he'd claim she'd taken him seriously. Over his shoulders she could see that the other novices in the corridor had stopped to watch the scene with interest.

Regin leaned closer. She could feel his breath on her face. "We'll just call it a business arrangement," he crooned. He was just trying to intimidate her, and to see how much she would endure. Well, she had dealt with this kind of bullying before.

"You're right, Regin," she said. His eyes widened in surprise. "I have met many men like you before. And I do know exactly what to do with them." She snaked a hand up and wrapped it tightly around his throat. His hands flew to his neck, but before he could grab her wrist she slipped a leg around his and shoved with all her strength. She felt his knee buckle and enjoyed a surge of triumph as he fell backward, arms flailing the air, and crashed onto the floor.

Silence filled the corridor as all novices, young and old, stared at him. Sonea sniffed with disdain.

"What a fine example you are, Regin. If this is how the men of House Paren behave, then they have no better manners than the average bolhouse lout."

Regin stiffened and his eyes narrowed to slits. She turned her back at him and glared at the other novices, daring any to touch her again. They backed away and, as the circle broke, she strode through.

She had taken only a few steps when Regin's voice echoed loudly in the corridor.

"You're obviously well qualified to make such comparisons," he called. "How does Rothen compare? He must be a very happy man, having you living in his rooms. Ah, it all makes sense now. I always wondered how you managed to convince him to be your guardian."

Sonea felt herself go cold, then hot anger flooded her body. She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to turn back. What could she do? Hit him? Even if she dared strike the son of a House, he would see it coming, and shield. And then he would know how much he had got to her.

The quiet muttering of the older novices followed her down the corridor. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the stairs ahead, not wanting to see the speculation in their faces. They wouldn't believe what Regin had suggested. They couldn't. Even if they believed the worst of her because of her origins, nobody would think something like that of Rothen.

Would they?

"Administrator!"

Lorlen stopped at the University entrance and turned to face Director Jerrik. "Yes?"

The Director approached Lorlen and handed him a piece of paper. "I received this request from Lord Rothen yesterday. He wants to move Sonea to the winter intake of First Year novices."

"Really?" Lorlen scanned the page, skimming through Rothen's explanations and assurances. "Do you think she's capable?"

Jerrik pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Possibly. I've asked the First Year teachers, and they all believe she could do it if she studied hard."

"And Sonea?"

"She certainly seems willing to do the work."

"Then you will allow it?"

Jerrik frowned and lowered his voice. "Probably. What I don't like about this is the true motivation behind the change."

"Oh? What is that?" Lorlen resisted smiling. Jerrik had always maintained that novices never worked harder purely for the sake of learning. They were motivated by the need to impress, be the best, please their parents, or to be in the company of friends or someone they admired.

"As we expected, she hasn't mixed with the other novices well. In such circumstances, the rejected novice often becomes an object of derision for others. I believe she wants only to get away from them." Jerrik sighed. "While I admire her determination, my concern is that the winter class will be no more accepting, she will have worked hard for nothing."

"I see." Lorlen nodded as he considered Jerrik's words. "Sonea is a few years older than the others in her class, and she is mature for her age—by our standards at least. Most novices are little more than children when they come here, but they lose most of their childish habits during the first year. The winter novices may be less troublesome."

"True, they are a sensible group," Jerrik agreed. "Training in magic can't be hurried along, however. She can fill her mind with knowledge, but if she hasn't gained the skill to use her powers well, she may make dangerous mistakes later."

"She has been using her powers for over six months," Lorlen reminded him. "Though Rothen spent that time teaching her the basic education she needed to enter the university, her powers would have become familiar to her—and it must be frustrating to watch the other novices fumbling with theirs."

"So I take it you are in favor of allowing this?" He gestured to Rothen's request.

"I am." Lorlen handed back the request. "Give her the opportunity. I think you'll find her more resourceful than you expect."

Jerrik shrugged. "Then I will allow it. She will be tested in five weeks. Thank you, Administrator."

Lorlen smiled. "I will be interested to hear how well she does. Will you keep me informed?"

The old man nodded. "If you wish."

"Thank you, Director." Lorlen turned away and started down the University stairs to the waiting carriage. He entered, tapped on the roof to signal the driver, and leaned back as the vehicle jerked into motion. It passed through the Guild Gates and rolled on into the city, but Lorlen was already too deep in thought to notice.

The invitation to dinner at Derril's house had come the day before. While Lorlen often had to decline such invitations, he had reorganized his work to allow this visit. If Derril had more news of the murders, Lorlen wanted to hear it.

Demi's story of the murderer had chilled Lorlen. The cuts on the victim, the strange ritual, the witness' belief that the victim was dead before his throat was slashed … perhaps it was only because the idea of black magic was in his mind already that these murders sounded so suspicious.

But if they were the work of a black magician, that would mean one of two things: either a rogue magician capable of black magic was preying on people in the city, or this murderer was Akkarin. Lorlen shivered as he considered the implications of these two possibilities.

When the carriage stopped he looked up in surprise to find they had arrived. The driver climbed down and opened the door, revealing an elegant mansion fronted with balconies.

Lorlen stepped out and was greeted at the door by one of Derril's servants. The man took Lorlen through the house to an internal balcony overlooking the garden. Lorlen placed his hands on the balcony rail and gazed down at the drooping little oasis of vegetation; the plants looked sad and scorched around the edges now.

"I'm afraid this summer has been a little too much for most of my plants," Derril said mournfully as he walked out of the house to join the Administrator. "My gan-gan bushes won't survive. I'll have to arrange for new ones to be sent from the mountains of Lan."

"You should have them pulled out now before the roots spoil," Lorlen suggested. "Ground gan-gan root has remarkable antiseptic properties and, if added to sumi, is a good treatment for digestive disorders."

Derril chuckled. "You still haven't forgotten all the Healer training, have you?"

"No." Lorlen smiled. "I may grow into a grumpy old Administrator, but I'll be a healthy one. I've got to put all that knowledge of medicine to use somehow."

"Hmmm." Derril's eyes narrowed. "I wish the Guard had someone with your knowledge in their ranks. Barran has another mystery on his hands."

"Another murder?"

"Yes and no," Derril sighed. "They think this one is a suicide. At least that's what it looks like."

"Does he believe it was made to look like one?"

"Perhaps." Derril lifted an eyebrow. "Barran has come for dinner. Why don't we go in and ask him to tell you more about it?"

Lorlen nodded and followed the old man into the house. They entered a large guestroom, its windows covered by paper screens decorated with paintings of flowers and plants. A young man in his mid-twenties sat in one of the luxurious chairs. His wide shoulders and slightly hooked nose reminded Lorlen instantly of the man's brother, Walin.

Barran looked up at the Administrator, then rose hastily and bowed.

"Greetings, Administrator Lorlen," he offered. "How are you?"

"Good, thank you," Lorlen replied.

"Barran," Derril said, waving Lorlen into a seat, "Lorlen is interested in this suicide you've been investigating. Can you tell him the details?"

Barran shrugged. "It's no secret—just a mystery." He turned to look at Lorlen, his blue eyes troubled. "A woman approached a guard in her street and told him that she'd discovered her neighbor dead. He investigated and found a woman with her wrists cut." Barran paused and his eyes narrowed. "The mystery is that she hadn't lost a great deal of blood yet and she was still warm. In fact the wounds were quite shallow. She should have been alive."

Lorlen absorbed this. "The blade might have been poisoned."

"We've been considering the possibility, but if that's the case, then it must be a subtle poison we've never heard of. All poisons leave signs, even if the damage is only visible in the internal organs. We found no weapon, which might have retained some residue, and that is strange in itself. If someone slashes their wrists, the implement they used is usually close by. We searched the house and found nothing but a few kitchen knives, which were clean and still in their box. She wasn't strangled, either, from what we can tell. But there are other details which make me suspicious.

"I found footprints that didn't match the shoes of any servants, friends or family. The intruder's shoes were old and strangely shaped, so they left some distinctive markings. In the room where the woman was discovered, the window was unlocked and not quite closed. I found fingerprints and smudges on the sill that looked like dried blood, so I had another look at the body and discovered the same fingerprints on her wrists."

"Hers?"

"No, the fingerprints were large. A man's."

"Someone tried to stop the bleeding, perhaps, then fled through the window when he heard others approaching?"

"Perhaps. But the window is three stories up and the wall is smooth and has few handholds. I don't think even an experienced thief could have climbed down."

"Were there any footprints below?"

The young man hesitated before answering. "When I went outside to inspect the ground I found the strangest thing." Barran traced an arc in the air. "It was as though someone had flattened the dirt into a perfect circle. In the center were two footprints, the same as those in the room above, and others, leading away. I followed them, but they led onto pavement."

Lorlen's heart skipped a beat, then began to race. A perfect circle on the ground and a drop of three stories? To levitate, a magician must create a disk of power below his feet. It could leave a circular impression in soft soil or sand.

"Perhaps this imprint was already there," Lorlen suggested.

Barran shrugged. "Or he used some kind of ladder with a circular base. It is a strange case. There were, however, no cuts on the woman's shoulders so I don't believe she was a victim of the serial murderer we've been looking for. No, that one hasn't struck for a while, unless we simply haven't heard—"

The chime of a gong interrupted them. Velia appeared in the doorway, holding a tiny gong and striker.

"Dinner is ready," she announced. Rising, Lorlen and Barran started toward the dining room. She gave her son a hard look. "And there'll be no talking about murders or suicides at my table! It'll put the Administrator off his meal."

* * *

Dannyl watched from the carriage windows, as the grand yellow stone buildings of Capia moved in and out of view. The sun was low in the sky, and the whole city seemed to glow with warm light. The streets were full of people and other carriages.

Each day and most evenings of the last three weeks he had been occupied with visiting or entertaining influential people, or helping Errend deal with ambassadorial business. He had met most of the Dems and Bels that frequented court. He had learned the personal history of every Guild magician living in Elyne. He had recorded the names of Elyne children with magical potential, answered or forwarded questions to the Guild from courtiers, negotiated the purchase of Elyne wines, and healed a servant who had burned himself in the Guild House kitchen.

That so much time had passed without a chance to begin Lorlen's research worried him, so he resolved that the next time he had a few hours free he would visit the Great Library. A messenger sent to Tayend to ask if an evening visit was possible had returned with the assurance that he could explore the library at any time he wished, so when Dannyl learned that he would have this evening free, he had ordered an early meal and a carriage.

Unlike Imardin, Capia's streets wound about in a haphazard way. The carriage zigzagged back and forth, occasionally rolling around the side of a steep hill. Mansions gave way to large houses, which were replaced by rows of small, neat buildings. A turn over a rise took Dannyl along the edge of a shabbier area. Wood and other, cruder, materials replaced yellow stone, and the men and women roaming the street wore coarser clothing. Though he saw nothing as confronting as the sights he had seen in the slums of Imardin while searching for Sonea, Dannyl was mildly dismayed. The face of Elyne's capital city was so beautiful it was disappointing to find that it, too, had its poor area.

Leaving the houses behind, the carriage set out into rolling hills. Fields of tenn swayed in the slight breeze. Vare berry vines, planted in rows, hung full of fruit waiting to be harvested and then stored ready to make wine. Orchards of heavily laden pachi and piorre trees appeared here and there, some of the fruit being picked by teams of Vindo who travelled to Elyne each year for the work.

As the last rays of sunlight deepened from yellow to orange, and the carriage continued to roll farther away from the city, Dannyl grew concerned. Had the driver misunderstood his instruction? He lifted a hand to knock on the roof, then paused as the carriage turned around the foot of a hill.

Ahead, the dark ribbon that was the road curved to meet the base of a tall cliff. In the light of the setting sun, the yellow stone glowed as if a fire burned within. Shadows stood out starkly, marking straight edges, windows and arches of a towering facade that he recognized from sketches in books.

"The Great Library," Dannyl murmured in wonder.

A huge doorway had been carved out of the cliff face, filled with a massive wooden door. As the carriage drew closer, Dannyl saw that a small square of darkness at the bottom edge was actually a man-sized doorway built within the larger door. A figure waited beside it.

Dannyl smiled as he saw the man's bright clothing. He drummed his fingers on the window frame impatiently as the carriage slowly closed the distance to the library. As it pulled up before the facade, Tayend strode forward to open the carriage door.

"Welcome to the Great Library, Ambassador Dannyl," he declared, bowing gracefully.

Dannyl looked up and shook his head in wonder. "I can remember seeing pictures of this in books when I was a novice. They don't come close to showing what it's really like. How old is it?"

"Older than the Guild," Tayend replied, a little smugly. "About eight or nine centuries, we think. Parts of it are older, and the best is still to come—so follow me, my lord."

They stepped through the small door, Tayend closing and bolting it behind them, and entered a long corridor with a curved roof. This extended into darkness, but before Dannyl could create a globe light, Tayend directed him to a steep, torch-lit stairway at one side.

At the top of this Dannyl found himself in a long, narrow room. On one side were the windows he had seen from the carriage. They were huge, and filled with small squares of glass fixed within an iron framework. The wall opposite was patterned by squares of golden light. Chairs were positioned in groups of three or four at intervals, and standing beside the closest was an elderly man.

"Good evening, Ambassador Dannyl." The man bowed with the cautious stiffness of the very old. "I am Irand, the librarian."

Irand had a deep, startlingly strong voice that suited the inhuman size of the library. Short white hair covered his scalp thinly, and he wore a simple shirt and trousers made from a dusty gray fabric.

"Good evening, Librarian Irand," Dannyl replied.

A smile creased the librarian's face. "Administrator Lorlen informed me that you had a task to perform for him here. He said you would want to see all the sources that the High Lord checked during his research."

"Do you know what those sources were?"

The old man shook his head. "No, but Tayend has some recollection of them. He was Akkarin's assistant, and has agreed to help you in your search." The old man nodded to the scholar. "You will find his knowledge of ancient languages useful. He will also send for food and drink if you need it." Tayend nodded eagerly, and the old man smiled.

"Thank you," Dannyl replied.

"Well then, don't let me keep you waiting." Irand's eyes seemed to gleam for a moment. "The library awaits."

"This way, my lord," Tayend said, moving back to the stairs.

Dannyl followed the scholar down to the dark passage again. Lamps stood in a row on a shelf to one side. Tayend reached for one.

"Don't trouble yourself," Dannyl said. He focused his will and a globe light swelled into existence beside his head, sending their shadows down the passage. Tayend glanced at the globe light and winced.

"They always leave spots in front of my eyes." He reached up and took down a lamp. "I might need to leave you on your own at some point, so I'll take one with me anyway."

With the lamp swinging at his side, Tayend started down the passage. "This place has always been a store of knowledge. We have some crumbling bits of paper from eight centuries ago in one of our rooms, which contain references to a library of sorts that was old even then. Only a few rooms were used as a library originally. The rest of this place once housed a few thousand people. We've filled almost every room with books and scrolls, tablets and paintings—and we've carved more rooms out of the rock ourselves."

As they walked Dannyl watched the darkness retreat like some kind of magic-fearing mist. Abruptly, they came to a blank wall, the darkness fleeing to either side. Tayend turned and started down the passage to his right.

"So which languages do you know?" Dannyl asked.

"All of the ancient dialects of Elyne and Kyralia," Tayend replied. "Our old languages are very similar, but the further back you look, the more differences there are. I can speak modern Vindo—I learned it from some servants at home— and a bit of Lans. I can translate the ancient Vindo and Tentur glyphs, given access to my books."

Dannyl glanced at his companion, impressed. "That's a lot of languages."

The scholar shrugged. "Once you know a few, the rest come easily. One day I'll get around to learning modern Lonmar, and a few of their old languages. I just haven't had reason to yet. After that, well, perhaps I'll start on Sachakan languages. Their old tongues are also quite similar to ours."

After several more turns and a few stairways, Tayend paused at a doorway. With an unusually sober expression, he indicated that Dannyl should enter before him. Stepping through, Dannyl drew in a breath of amazement.

Uncountable rows of shelves extended into the distance, divided by a wide aisle directly in front of him. Though the ceiling of the room before him was low, the far wall was so far away he could not see it. Massive columns of stone filled the gap between roof and floor every hundred paces. All was sparsely lit by lamps set on top of heavy iron bases.

The enormous room emanated a feeling of incomprehensible age. Compared to the solid weight of the stone columns and ceiling, the books seemed like such fragile, temporary things. Humbled, Dannyl felt a melancholy descend upon him. He could remain for a year in this place and still make no more imprint on it than a moth wing brushing against the cold stone walls.

"Compared to this, everything else in the library is recent," Tayend said in a hushed voice. "This is the oldest room. Perhaps thousands of years old."

"Who made it?" Dannyl breathed.

"Nobody knows."

Dannyl started down the aisle, gazing at the endless shelves of books.

"How am I going to find what I need?" he asked despairingly.

"Oh, that's not a problem." Tayend's voice was suddenly bright—a sound that cut through the heavy silence of the room. "I have everything waiting for you in the same study room that Akkarin used. Follow me."

Tayend started down the aisle, his steps light and springy. After passing several shelves, he turned and walked between them, then reached a large stone stairway that rose into a gap in the ceiling. Taking the steps two at a time, he led Dannyl up to the beginning of a wide corridor. Again, the ceiling was disturbingly low. Doors stood open on either side, and Tayend stopped beside one and gestured for Dannyl to enter.

Dannyl found himself in a small room. A large stone table stood in the middle, and piled on top of it were several stacks of books.

"Here we are," Tayend said. "And these are the books Akkarin read."

The volumes ranged from tiny, palm-sized books to a huge tome that would have been a challenge to carry. Dannyl examined them, unstacking and restacking as he read the titles.

"Where do I start?" he asked aloud.

Tayend pulled a dusty volume from the middle of a stack. "This was the first one Akkarin read."

Dannyl looked at Tayend, impressed. The young man's eyes were bright with enthusiasm.

"You remember that well?"

The scholar grinned. "You need a good memory to use the library. How else do you find a book again after you've read it?"

Dannyl looked down at the tome in his hands. Magical Practices of the Grey Mountains Tribes. The date below the title indicated that the book was at least five centuries old, and he knew there hadn't been tribes living in the mountains between Elyne and Kyralia for at least that long. Intrigued, he opened it and started reading.