Reign of Ash (29 page)

“You’re looking for another disk?” Zaryae asked.

Blaine shrugged. “Perhaps. If each Lord of the Blood received a disk, then there are – or were – thirteen of them. Whether they all still exist, and whether or not they’re important, we don’t know.”

“What else should we look for?” Illarion asked. “It’ll be dark soon. We can easily pass the night in here.” He inclined his head toward the fireplace. “We saw enough wood to make a fire, take the chill off the room. Piran and Borya say there are food and wine as well.” He grinned. “We’ve spent the night in far worse places.”

Kestel slowly made her way around the room, looking at the manuscripts. She reached up to select a leather-covered volume from a shelf at shoulder-height.

“Oh!” she cried out as a book fell from above her, and she jumped to the side, barely avoiding being hit by the wood-bound tome. It clattered loudly on the stone floor at the edge of the carpet. Blaine turned sharply at the noise, just in time to see the shadows shift, and felt a sudden chill.

Kestel turned to the others and stepped back from the shelves. Her face was ashen. “I wasn’t anywhere near the shelf that fell from,” she said. “And the shelves are set into the wall, so I don’t think I wobbled the case when I pulled out a book.”

Illarion moved to where the fallen manuscript lay. It had a carved wooden cover bound together with leather straps, and the stack of parchment held between the covers was nearly as broad as a man’s hand. With a wary glance upward, Illarion retrieved the volume. “It’s good you’re quick. You could have been hurt if this had hit you. It’s heavy.” He carried the tome to one of the study tables and laid it aside.

“It wasn’t an accident,” Blaine said. “I saw the shadows move.”

“You’re saying ghosts threw that at Kestel?” Piran said incredulously.

Blaine shrugged. “That’s my guess. Now the question is, were they warning her away from something or trying to get her attention?”

“Do you think Geir will find us, once the sun sets?” Piran asked. “Odd as it sounds, if we’ve got to spend a night or two in here with dead mage ghosts, I’d feel better with a biter on our side.”

“He knew where we were headed. He’ll be here,” Blaine replied. He looked toward the large fireplace, where a painting of Charrot, Torven, and Esthrane hung above the mantel. Images of the High God and his consorts were common, but something caught Blaine’s attention.

“Take a look at the painting. Does it strike you as odd?” he asked.

The others studied the image for a moment. “In other paintings, Charrot is always the dominant figure,” Kestel said after a pause. “But in this one, Esthrane is larger than either Charrot or Torven. She’s been painted to look luminous, while the others almost look mortal next to her. And both Torven and Charrot are looking at her with complete adoration.” She frowned. “In every other paining I’ve seen, Esthrane and Torven are always looking at Charrot.”

“Esthrane is definitely the main figure,” Illarion said. “Some might say such a painting is blasphemous.”

“But if we’re right, and the scholars here were supported by the Knights of Esthrane, then it would make sense that they held her in high regard,” Blaine mused. “I get the feeling we’re in the right place.”

Zaryae had crossed to stand in the large window. The wooden shutters had wide enough slats so Zaryae could still see out. “There’s a storm coming,” she murmured.

Blaine looked up sharply. “A magic storm?”

Zaryae shook her head. “No. But the clouds are dark. Snow.”

Kestel shivered. “We’re pretty high up. A heavy snow could make it difficult to get back down the mountain.”

Blaine shrugged. “Not much to be done about it. Let’s see what we can learn – about what happened to the scholars, and about where the Knights may have gone.”

“What about Vigus Quintrel?” Kestel asked.

“The longer we’re at this, the more I think Quintrel and the Knights may be bound together somehow. That doesn’t mean Quintrel is with the Knights, but if they had old
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among them, and they created hidden fortresses for themselves, who better for Quintrel to learn from if he wanted to create a place for his followers to disappear?” Blaine reasoned.

Illarion had joined Zaryae at the window. “The clouds are moving in,” he said. “I suggest we get the animals settled and bring Verran and Desya inside. Perhaps some food and wine would do us all good.”

Piran and Borya went to help Verran and Desya shelter the horses and wagons, with the promise they would bring back both wine and firewood. Zaryae and Kestel went to see what in the kitchen’s stocks might supply them with dinner. Illarion and Blaine headed back upstairs to borrow bedding from the dormitory rooms to make their night’s stay more comfortable.

They had gathered up armloads of blankets and pillows and turned to leave when Blaine heard the sound of voices and footsteps in the corridor. He and Illarion set down their burdens and drew their weapons. Slowly, they moved toward the doorway. But when they reached the corridor, it was empty.

“If someone was up here, he didn’t have time to go far,” Illarion said, a hard set to his jaw.

Together they searched the rooms on either side of the hallway but found nothing. “You heard it, too?” Blaine asked.

Illarion nodded. “It sounded like several people were moving down the hallway, talking, although I couldn’t make out what they said.” He frowned. “They were too loud to be trying to take us by surprise.”

“As if they were just students, going about their business?”

Illarion met Blaine’s gaze, then nodded again. “Yes. Exactly like that.”

Blaine went back and gathered up the bedding, and Illarion followed him. “Perhaps our ‘hosts’ are starting to make themselves known. The question is – are we welcome or not?”

“I
don’t like this place,” Piran said, brushing snow off his cloak. Desya knelt next to the hearth, building a fire, as Verran handed him bits of kindling and pieces of wood. Borya began to light the lanterns atop the library tables, adjusting the mirrors behind them to dispel the gloom.

“We kept hearing things that weren’t there,” Desya agreed. “I know the woods. Been a tracker all my life. I know what the wind sounds like in the trees, and the sound of a fox or a rabbit. What we heard wasn’t anything natural. Or alive.”

“Kept seeing shadows moving, and there wasn’t a wind,” Verran added, moving closer to the fireplace although the small blaze was hardly yet enough to warm him. “And I know that, after Edgeland, I should be the last to complain about the cold, but whenever the shadows would move, I swear it felt like a wind off the glacier. It chilled me to the bone.”

“Did anything try to harm you?” Illarion asked, concern clear in his face. His tall hat was perched atop his head, adding to his height, and the long, wavy hair that fell to his shoulders framed his narrow face.

“Not when we were standing watch,” Desya said, standing and brushing off his hands on his pants. His odd cat’s eyes looked even more golden in the firelight. “But when we went into the buildings for supplies, things kept falling on us. A piece of wood nearly clipped me on the head when we went to get the wine, and I still don’t know where it came from.”

“The shed with the firewood had farming and gardening tools in it,” Verran said, his angular features drawn with cold and peaked with uneasiness. “One minute they were leaning against the wall, and the next, they fell over on me. I got hit in the head with a rake, and a scythe nearly took off my ear.”

“I saw the tools fall,” Desya said. “Nothing had been near them.” He frowned. “There was something interesting about the stables. They were built of large blocks of stone and partially carved into the side of the cliff. There are bands of iron running around all four walls, as well as a couple of bands across the ceiling. I don’t think they have anything to do with holding the place together.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen a stable built like that. It seemed like a keep.”

“The horses were restless,” Borya added. “We put them all the way in the back, in the part that was carved into the cliff, just in case we get any magic storms.” He shook his head. “After I heard about what happened to Desya and Verran, I took down everything from the walls that I could move, just in case. There was enough hay to feed them, and we drew water from the well.” He frowned. “It’s clear the scholars had some animals of their own. But they’re gone and no bones to be found.”

“Just like the mages,” Piran said. He looked toward Blaine. “If I get a vote, I vote we get out of here.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen soon.” Geir’s voice came from the doorway. His sudden appearance startled everyone. Snow still clung to his hair and his cloak. “The roads across the river are already deep with snow. It looked to me like the storm was heading this way.”

He walked into the room and set his cloak aside, then looked askance at Blaine. “You’re injured. I can smell the blood. What happened?”

Blaine gave a terse recap of the attack of the gryps and the battle on the bridge. Geir listened in silence, but his expression was worried.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t with you to fight those things,” Geir said. “Best we travel by night when we leave here, until we’re well out of the plains. There are other hazards to be reckoned with in the dark, but the gryps only fly by day.”

He moved closer to where Blaine stood. “You’re running a fever.”

Blaine made a dismissive gesture. “I’ve been worse. Let me get some food and wine, and a good night’s sleep, and I should be fine.”

Geir gave him a look that told Blaine the
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disagreed, but he said nothing else about the matter. “What have you found?”

Blaine quickly recapped their explorations. “We left the library and shrine for last,” he finished, “as well as the cellars.”

Geir gave a cold smile. “Leave the cellars to me. I’ll need to make use of them come dawn. And if there are any surprises down there, I’m best equipped to deal with them.”

“I don’t think the spirits are fond of us eating their food,” Kestel said when she and Zaryae returned from the lyceum’s kitchen. They each carried wooden platters heaped with dried fruit, smoked meat, hard biscuits, and cheese.

“To them, we’re invaders, thieves,” Zaryae said. “They didn’t invite us here.”

“And the bones of the relics? Do those spirits have an opinion about us?” Kestel asked.

Zaryae shrugged. “I won’t know until I dream.”

“What happened?” Blaine asked.

“Small things,” Kestel replied. “Doors opening after they’d been shut and latched. Pans falling off the wall when no one was nearby.” She paused. “Then Zaryae told the spirits to stop. She said we were friends of the Knights, and that we had come to bring back the magic.”

“And?” Blaine asked.

Kestel shrugged. “Everything got quiet. We gathered up the food and left.”

Blaine looked to Zaryae. “You spoke to them. Do you think they understood you?”

Zaryae’s expression took on a distant look. “I’m quite certain that they heard me. What they decide to do about what they heard is up to them.”

“Are you a medium?” Blaine asked.

“No,” she replied. “I can see and hear the spirits, but I can’t control them like a necromancer could, and they can’t possess me, as they could with a medium.”

Everyone except Geir sat down around the library’s study table to eat. Piran had brought back a cask of wine, and with the food Kestel and Zaryae found in the kitchen, everyone had more than enough. The fire took the chill off the large room, but despite the welcoming glow of the dancing flames, Blaine did not feel that the library’s inhabitants had fully accepted their presence.

“Since I’ve already had my dinner,” Geir said, “I have a few things to report.” He stood near the hearth. The combination of a recent feeding and the glow of the fire softened his usual pallor.

“I scouted the area before I came inside,” Geir said. “The forest harbors no threats beyond a pack of wolves and a family of bears.” He leaned against the wall. “It appears that magic storms have struck near this area several times since the Great Fire. There are places where the trees have been flattened or uprooted. Some look fairly recent.”

Blaine nodded. “It would make sense, since magic was stronger than usual, for the wild magic to be drawn here.”

Geir folded his arms across his chest. “Agreed. I also spotted an observatory atop the cliff. I thought it would bear investigating.”

Blaine nodded. “The sooner the better, between the chance of snow and the risk of getting caught in a magic storm.”

“Shouldn’t you wait for daylight?” Kestel asked, worried. She gave Blaine a wary look. “And are you sure you’re up to it?”

“If we get a storm – snow or magic – we might not get another opportunity,” Blaine replied. “And once the storm hits, I’ll have plenty of time to recuperate.” Geir’s glance told him that the
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suspected Blaine might be more injured than he let on, but he said nothing more.

“I’ll come with you,” Borya volunteered. “I’m not bothered by either the cliff or the snow.”

While the others continued to search the library, Blaine, Borya, and Geir gathered the supplies they needed for their climb to the observatory. Geir needed no extra light, but Borya and Blaine both lit lanterns, and Borya grabbed a coil of rope.

The three men hiked the short trek to where the steps began at the edge of a steep cliff. “I’ll go first,” Geir said. “Rope yourselves to me, the way the goatherders do. Put Blaine in the middle. I’ve got enough strength to keep you both anchored, and Borya’s got the advantage of being an acrobat.”

They tied off the rope and began the climb. The winds buffeted them and made the flame in Blaine’s lantern flicker wildly. He shuttered all but a sliver of the globe, hoping to avoid attracting attention. Borya did the same, leaving only enough light to guide their path.

The stone steps were old and snow covered, sloping in places and too narrow for Blaine to place his whole foot on the risers. Geir kept a steady pace that accommodated his mortal companions. Blaine kept one hand on the rock of the cliff wall, resolutely refusing to think about the sheer drop to the left. The ache in his injured leg was growing worse, but Blaine did his best not to limp.

“I’m not looking forward to the return trip,” Blaine muttered.

Despite his heavy cloak and hat, the cold wind chilled Blaine to the bone. He eyed the sky warily. A light snow had begun to fall, but from the look of the clouds, there was more to come. By the time they reached the top of the cliff, Blaine’s heart was pounding and he was breathing hard, his breath clouding in the cold air. Geir was unaffected by the effort, and while Borya seemed as winded as Blaine felt, the acrobat was actually grinning.

“That was fun,” Borya said.

“We would be unwise to linger,” Geir cautioned. “The weather in these mountains can change without warning. You’d mind the cold being stuck here for the night, and I would regret the trip come dawn.”

They made their way warily toward the old observatory, on guard for attack. To Blaine’s relief, they reached the building without incident. If the others noticed that Blaine was moving more slowly than usual and favoring his injured leg, they said nothing.

Compared to the size of the lyceum, the observatory was small and unimposing. Built like a lighthouse, the observatory was a tall cylinder of stone. Blaine could not see all the way to the top of the tower, and he wondered how badly the upper floors had been damaged in the Fire that destroyed part of the lyceum.

Geir entered first, alert for danger, but if any predators lurked in the darkness, they chose not to attack a
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.

“More stairs,” Blaine muttered as they lifted their lanterns in the gloom of the tower’s entranceway. The first level of the observatory was strictly functional, without ornamentation on its walls or floors. The walls were whitewashed, and the floor was rough-hewn planking, weathered by use and age. The stairs wound around the inside of the tower, cantilevered from the walls. A wooden railing bordered the open side of the steps, but given its age, Blaine was leery of trusting it. Borya untied them from their climbing rope and coiled it over his shoulder.

“Let’s see what remains above,” Geir said, heading toward the stairs.

The first landing held three rough cots with straw mattresses, a few chairs, and a table.

“No fireplace,” Blaine noted.

Geir chuckled. “Occupational hazard. Hard to see the stars if smoke is rising from the chimney. But I doubt anyone lived here for long. I suspect the mages stayed for short periods when they were studying the stars and were probably as glad to return to the lyceum as we’ll be when this is over.”

From the look of the room, it had been a while since it was last occupied. They returned to the stairs and climbed to the next level. “This is promising,” Geir mused as they entered a rudimentary library. A broad table sat in the center of the room. Shelves around the walls held astrolabes and sextants, as well as a number of scrolls and manuscripts. The windows on this level were still intact, mullioned glass in a leaded honeycomb pattern.

Borya wandered over to a side table where several oil lamps with mirrored reflectors sat awaiting the vanished scholars. He lifted one of the lamps and smiled. “Still has oil in it,” he remarked. He hunted around until he found some straw in a basket next to a small brazier the scholars probably used to heat the drafty room and lit several of the lanterns.

“Now we have light for a proper search,” he said.

“And we’ve just announced our presence to the world,” Geir replied drily, with a nod toward the windows. “But it can’t be helped. Let’s be quick. We still have another level to search, and we don’t want any company.”

Geir, Borya, and Blaine spread out, each examining a third of the room. They gathered up armfuls of the parchment scrolls and carried them to the table, carefully unrolling them to discover their contents.

“Star maps,” Borya said with annoyance. “I guess that shouldn’t be a surprise.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Geir said. “From what I can see, it appears the scholars were tracking the movement of the constellations at the seasons, the equinox, and the solstice.” He lifted one of the manuscripts and paged through it.

“This book, at least, is filled with theories about the ‘traveling bodies,’ the stars that fall through the sky or streak across the heavens and are not seen again, or that reappear only after many years,” Geir added. “It’s what I’d expect to find in an observatory, but not of consequence to your task.”

Between the pain and fever, Blaine was growing light-headed. He tried to keep his focus and concentrate on the task at hand, refusing to give in to his injuries until they completed their search. Blaine had finished going through the manuscripts and scrolls in his section, finding them to be as Geir described. Then a small chest under the side table caught his eye, and he knelt to examine it. “That’s interesting,” he mused. “This looks to have a Tollerby mechanism lock. I wonder what the scholars thought was important enough to put in a box like this?”