The High King's Tomb (28 page)

“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:

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.

K
arigan 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.

By the time they reached the end of the chamber, Karigan felt as though she’d been on some long subterranean journey. The dark hovering on the edges of Estral’s lamp and the silence around them held such a dense quality that it was hard to believe it was daylight above and the campus was alive with the comings and goings of students.

The chamber ended at a room framed by a broad arched entryway. It contained a worktable and a couple sections of shelving that were mostly empty. The lamplight glistened against a seam of crystalline quartz that jagged through the smooth granite of the back wall like a streak of lightning. Inset into the wall was an alcove with a manuscript displayed in it.

“This was the area we discovered during renovations,” Estral said. “It was all walled off and we had no idea it was here.” She walked past the table to the alcove. “And it was here we found some old manuscripts, but only the one remained intact.”

Karigan followed Estral into the barrel-vaulted chamber and over to the alcove. She looked down on the manuscript. It was yellowed and stained. She knew what it was without Estral telling her. This was why Estral had brought her on the “tour,” to show her this one thing: the
Journal of Hadriax el Fex.
Her ancestor, the murderer.

Her fingers hovered just above the fragile title page. She could not read the scrawl on it, for it was written in the imperial tongue, but she knew the translation:
My Voyage from Arcosia to the New Lands; the Country There and Its Resources; My Adventures Among the Heathen Inhabitants; Our Settlement of Morhavonia; and the Long War that Ensued. Journal of Hadriax el Fex, Count of Fextaigne.
Then in Old Sacoridian, he had written:
Hereby known as Galadheon.

“The paper must have been from Arcosia,” Estral commented, “and of a very high quality to last all these years. Our ancestors had nothing like it.”

Sacoridian ancestors,
she meant. Karigan’s ancestor was of Arcosia. “I sent my father the copy you made for me,” she said. “But I don’t know if he’s bothered to read it.”

Her fingers trembled and she withdrew her hand without touching the manuscript. Though she could not read the words, words in her ancestor’s own hand, they seemed to speak to her, reach out and resonate. She turned her back on it.

Why was it that everything she had once thought to be true, like her father’s fidelity to her dead mother, had been turned upside down? It wasn’t enough that she had become a Rider instead of the merchant she had always planned to be, but even those things she had thought incontrovertible, like her heritage, had been swept out from under her feet. Everything that had been the foundation of who she was turned out to be nothing but lies. She swiped away unexpected tears.

“Karigan?” Estral’s voice held a tinge of concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything and nothing.” She strode down the aisle between shelves but did not get far before she stood in darkness. Estral had not followed. She turned and saw her friend standing at the alcove gazing at Hadriax el Fex’s journal. After a few moments, she left it behind, her lamplight pushing the dark down the aisle and revealing piles of scrolls on the shelves to either side of them.

“Is it something to do with Hadriax?” she asked.

Karigan took a shuddering breath. “My people were fishermen, or still are, I presume.” Her father had never taken her to Black Island where he grew up. There was little love between him and his father, the grandfather she’d never met. “Simple Sacoridian fishermen. They’re not supposed to be descended from imperial murderers.”

Estral cocked her head the way she did when listening very closely, or turning something over in her mind. “It was war, and atrocities were committed on both sides, by Arcosians and Sacoridians both. Karigan, you aren’t your ancestor. Hadriax el Fex is long dead and gone to dust. Besides, he was courageous enough to renounce Mornhavon in the end and aid the League. If he had not, the outcome of the war might have been far different.

“As for your family on Black Island, they are not the simple folk you think. Your grandfather holds a good deal of prestige among the islanders and owns several fishing vessels.”

“I–I didn’t know.” Karigan scrunched her eyebrows in consternation. It was not fair that Estral knew more about her family than she did. “I know only the stories my father and aunts told me. Seems my father has kept a number of things from me.”

“I’m sure he had his reasons,” Estral said. “Your family was poor when your father left the island, and though they are not exactly prosperous by some accountings, they are, for fishermen, doing well enough for themselves.”

“How do you know?”

“Our minstrels voyage out to the Night Islands from time to time, where they are eagerly received, for news is sparse and visitors rare, especially visitors gifted in music and tale telling. The minstrels watch and listen, and learn the affairs of the communities around them.”

I should have guessed,
Karigan thought.