The Novice (14 page)

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.

“So we just sit and listen?” Yaldin’s brow furrowed, and his eyes roved about as he concentrated on the voices in the Night Room. Rothen suppressed a chuckle. The elderly magician’s face was too expressive. Anyone who saw him would know that he was trying hard to listen to something.

But with Dannyl gone, Rothen needed someone else to “spy” on the other magicians. Everybody was being cautious now that a scandalous rumor was circulating. Since the rumor involved Rothen, the gossips always checked if he was nearby before talking freely, so he had decided to train his elderly friend, Yaldin, in Dannyl’s techniques.

“You’re being too obvious, Yaldin.”

The old man frowned. “Obvious? What do you mean?”

“When you—”

“Lord Rothen?”

Startled, Rothen looked up to find Administrator Lorlen standing beside his chair.

“Yes, Administrator?”

“I would like to speak to you in private.”

Glancing about, Rothen noted that several magicians standing nearby were eyeing Lorlen expectantly. Yaldin frowned, but said nothing.

“Of course,” Rothen replied. He rose and followed Lorlen across the room to a small door. It swung open at Lorlen’s approach, and they stepped through into the Banquet Room.

The room was dark. A globe light flared above the Administrator’s head and floated up to illuminate a large table. Lorlen moved to one of the chairs. Taking a seat next to the Administrator, Rothen braced himself for the conversation he had been dreading.

Lorlen glanced at Rothen, then let his eyes slide to the table. He sighed and his expression became grim.

“Are you aware of the rumors circulating about you and Sonea?”

Rothen nodded. “I am.”

“No doubt Yaldin has told you.”

“And Sonea.”

“Sonea?” Lorlen’s eyebrows rose.

“Yes,” Rothen said. “She told me four weeks ago that one of her fellow novices had invented the rumor, and she was concerned people would believe it. I told her not to worry. Gossip has a lifespan, that speculation eventually becomes old news, and is forgotten.”

“Hmmm.” Lorlen frowned. “Rumors like this are not dismissed as lightly as you may hope. Several magicians have come to me to express their concerns. They feel it is not proper for any magician to have a young woman living in their rooms.”

“Moving her will do nothing to disprove the rumor.”

Lorlen nodded. “That is true. Nevertheless, it would prevent further speculation that could be quite harmful to you both. In retrospect, Sonea should have moved to the Novices’ Quarters when she began classes.” He looked at Rothen directly. “Not to prevent what the rumors suggest, but to prevent rumors beginning at all. Nobody believes anything untoward has occurred between you and Sonea.”

“Then why move her at all?” Rothen spread his hands. “She will still spend time with me in my rooms, in study or simply for the evening meal. If we give in now, how long will it be before others question the intent behind every moment we spend together?” He shook his head. “Leave things as they are, and those who are foolish enough to give this gossip credence will be assured that no evidence of improper conduct has been found.”

A wry smile curled Lorlen’s mouth. “You are confident, Rothen. What does Sonea think?”

“This rumor has upset her, of course, but she believes that it will be forgotten when she is no longer the target of Garrel’s favorite.”

“When—if—she reaches the winter intake?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think she will reach the higher class and manage to stay there?”

“Easily.” Rothen smiled, not bothering to conceal his pride. “She is a fast learner, and quite determined. The last thing she’ll want to do is slip back down to Regin’s class.”

Lorlen nodded, then looked at Rothen closely. “I don’t share your optimism about this rumor, Rothen. Your arguments against moving her have some merit, but if you are wrong, the situation could grow much worse. I believe she should be moved, for her own sake.”

Rothen frowned at the Administrator. Surely Lorlen did not think that Rothen would bed a novice, particularly a girl less than a third his age? Lorlen’s gaze was level and hard, however, and Rothen realized with a shock that the magician had actually considered the possibility.