any
problem reading it since it was written in modern-day Goblin.
In
Rudra Muralin’s handwriting.
Oh
hell.
I
opened Muralin’s journal on the table. The handwriting was identical—and
written nearly a thousand years earlier.
I
carefully closed both books, and told myself I was not going to scream.
My
father had been nearly nine hundred years old before the Saghred had taken him
last year. History said Rudra Muralin died about a thousand years ago as the
result of a dare.
On a
challenge from the goblin king, Rudra Muralin used the Saghred to create the
Great Rift in northern Rheskilia. The Great Rift was a mile-wide, nearly fifty-mile-long
tear in the mountains of the Northern Reach. In one of the aftershocks that
followed, Rudra Muralin fell off the highest edge into his newly created gorge,
bringing an abrupt end to a notorious shamanic career. A couple of his more
devoted disciples followed him like lemmings.
So
said history. History’s been wrong before.
And
if history was wrong, the greatest and craziest shaman to ever wield the
Saghred was alive and well and could be anywhere—including here.
“I’d
like to check both of these out,” I told Nelek, my voice surprisingly calm.
The
librarian looked at me like I’d just asked him to run naked through the stacks.
I didn’t want to get him in trouble, but one way or another I was leaving here
with both of Rudra Muralin’s books. They were small enough to fit under my
jerkin if necessary. I remembered the kid tacked to the ceiling. I smiled, and
Nelek swallowed nervously. I’d like to see Lucan Kalta try tacking me anywhere.
“But
the books are from the restricted section,” he said as if that explained
everything. It didn’t.
“Restricted
books can’t be checked out?”
“Only
those with the highest scholarly qualifications can—”
Time
for a change of tactic. “How are Paladin Eiliesor’s scholarly qualifications?”
“Impeccable,
but—”
“The
paladin needs to see these.” I gave him my most earnest look. “Nelek, isn’t
it?”
“Yes,
ma’am.”
“Nelek,
you heard what happened yesterday in the square?”
“I
wasn’t there, but I talked to some who were.” He paled. “Terrible business.”
“Yes,
it was. And as you can understand, the paladin is working hard to find who was
responsible. He would have come here himself, but he simply couldn’t spare the
time. Information in these books could really help him.”
He
looked incredulous. “Those books?”
“These
books. But it needs to be kept secret. Get these books for the paladin and keep
it quiet, and you’ll have the gratitude of the paladin and the archmagus.”
Nelek’s
eyes widened. “The archmagus?”
“The
archmagus.”
Nelek
glanced nervously at Vegard.
“Their undying gratitude,” Vegard told him.
That
man was unbelievably handy to have around.
The
librarian hesitated a moment longer, then drew himself up. “I’d be proud to
help. I have a good friend at the checkout desk. Let me see what I can do.”
Chapter 8
“Quick
thinking, ma’am,” Vegard told me, after Nelek had gone.
“I do
what I have to. I’m sorry I had to lie to your friend.”
The
Guardian shrugged. “You did what you had to. Are those two little books that
important?”
“They
are. I need to read them, and seeing how Lucan Kalta feels about me, if I let
them out of my sight, I’ll probably never see them again. Just how much pull
does Nelek really have around here?”
“Usually
enough.”
“You’ve
checked out books on the sly before?”
“All
the time in my student days. A lot of stuff I wanted to know was in books I
couldn’t get my hands on.” There was a gleam in Vegard’s sky blue eyes. “Make
friends in high places, or distribute coin in the right places.”
“So
how does Lucan Kalta know if someone walks out with his books?”
“My
student days were before Lucan Kalta.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah,”
Vegard agreed.
“Kalta
just seems to know,”
problem reading it since it was written in modern-day Goblin.
In
Rudra Muralin’s handwriting.
Oh
hell.
I
opened Muralin’s journal on the table. The handwriting was identical—and
written nearly a thousand years earlier.
I
carefully closed both books, and told myself I was not going to scream.
My
father had been nearly nine hundred years old before the Saghred had taken him
last year. History said Rudra Muralin died about a thousand years ago as the
result of a dare.
On a
challenge from the goblin king, Rudra Muralin used the Saghred to create the
Great Rift in northern Rheskilia. The Great Rift was a mile-wide, nearly fifty-mile-long
tear in the mountains of the Northern Reach. In one of the aftershocks that
followed, Rudra Muralin fell off the highest edge into his newly created gorge,
bringing an abrupt end to a notorious shamanic career. A couple of his more
devoted disciples followed him like lemmings.
So
said history. History’s been wrong before.
And
if history was wrong, the greatest and craziest shaman to ever wield the
Saghred was alive and well and could be anywhere—including here.
“I’d
like to check both of these out,” I told Nelek, my voice surprisingly calm.
The
librarian looked at me like I’d just asked him to run naked through the stacks.
I didn’t want to get him in trouble, but one way or another I was leaving here
with both of Rudra Muralin’s books. They were small enough to fit under my
jerkin if necessary. I remembered the kid tacked to the ceiling. I smiled, and
Nelek swallowed nervously. I’d like to see Lucan Kalta try tacking me anywhere.
“But
the books are from the restricted section,” he said as if that explained
everything. It didn’t.
“Restricted
books can’t be checked out?”
“Only
those with the highest scholarly qualifications can—”
Time
for a change of tactic. “How are Paladin Eiliesor’s scholarly qualifications?”
“Impeccable,
but—”
“The
paladin needs to see these.” I gave him my most earnest look. “Nelek, isn’t
it?”
“Yes,
ma’am.”
“Nelek,
you heard what happened yesterday in the square?”
“I
wasn’t there, but I talked to some who were.” He paled. “Terrible business.”
“Yes,
it was. And as you can understand, the paladin is working hard to find who was
responsible. He would have come here himself, but he simply couldn’t spare the
time. Information in these books could really help him.”
He
looked incredulous. “Those books?”
“These
books. But it needs to be kept secret. Get these books for the paladin and keep
it quiet, and you’ll have the gratitude of the paladin and the archmagus.”
Nelek’s
eyes widened. “The archmagus?”
“The
archmagus.”
Nelek
glanced nervously at Vegard.
“Their undying gratitude,” Vegard told him.
That
man was unbelievably handy to have around.
The
librarian hesitated a moment longer, then drew himself up. “I’d be proud to
help. I have a good friend at the checkout desk. Let me see what I can do.”
Chapter 8
“Quick
thinking, ma’am,” Vegard told me, after Nelek had gone.
“I do
what I have to. I’m sorry I had to lie to your friend.”
The
Guardian shrugged. “You did what you had to. Are those two little books that
important?”
“They
are. I need to read them, and seeing how Lucan Kalta feels about me, if I let
them out of my sight, I’ll probably never see them again. Just how much pull
does Nelek really have around here?”
“Usually
enough.”
“You’ve
checked out books on the sly before?”
“All
the time in my student days. A lot of stuff I wanted to know was in books I
couldn’t get my hands on.” There was a gleam in Vegard’s sky blue eyes. “Make
friends in high places, or distribute coin in the right places.”
“So
how does Lucan Kalta know if someone walks out with his books?”
“My
student days were before Lucan Kalta.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah,”
Vegard agreed.
“Kalta
just seems to know,”
Similar Books
