Steel and Sorrow (9 page)

Nareash smiled. “Let’s see what else this place has to offer us.” He frowned, remembering a passing thought that had tickled his mind since their arrival on this side of the Great Divide.

Kaz. He’s probably dead, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.
“Tell your men to stay alert. Don’t let their surroundings blind them to what surrounds them.”

“Do you expect trouble?”

He lied. “No, but I would rather not be caught by surprise.”

Does Kaz haunt this place without a memory? That would definitely make things interesting.

They crossed the bridge and passed through the high outer-walls, surprised to see countless rows of fruit trees growing over relatively flat land. The orchard went on for acres before the group reached another bridge over a small canal. The bridge led them to the inner wall and finally into the city itself.

Unbelievably, Quarnoq showed no signs of neglect. Unlike the other cities of the land, plant life had not intruded upon the glorious architecture.

“Do people still live here? The city looks like it was just completed yesterday,” said Mizak.

“Sorcery. Am I right, Master?” asked Colan.

Nareash nodded. “Yes. It must have been woven into stone and wood itself.” His gaze turned up at one of the slender towers that lined the main road. Cylindrical in nature, it rose twice as high as anything he could recall in Cadonia. “True experts in the art once lived here.”

“So, we’re here. Now what?” asked Guwan.

“The library,” said Nareash. “Mizak?”

The old man flipped through an old piece of parchment. “We stay on the main road. The library is located in the center of the city.”

Nareash took off, leaving the others to follow. It took all his will not to break into a run. So focused on what lay ahead, he barely noticed the sights around him. Every spare moment since coming to Hesh he had spent learning about Quarnoq and its mysteries. Previous mentions of the lost continent of Hesh in documents on Estul Island stated that the ancient city contained wonders few could imagine.

Nareash rounded a bend where the jeweled path widened and branched off. At the crossroads of these intersecting streets stood a building, narrow at its base and broadening into an upside down triangle. Unlike the vibrant colors of the structures around it, the black walls of the library stuck out like a storm cloud on a clear summer day.

At first Nareash thought the effect was some masterful trick by the former sorcerers who inhabited the city, but as he neared his goal, his heart sank.

Sorcery had indeed been responsible for the appearance of the library. The stone had been scorched black from an intense heat, disfigured in spots. Though he knew the spell had been performed centuries ago, he could still feel the effects of it, a small hum buzzing in his ears.

Nareash ignored the questions fired at him from behind as he stepped through the splintered doorway. The smell reminded him of Lyrosene and his battle with the other High Mages.

In hindsight, I might have found a better way to seize the throne, but the guard had pushed me into acting sooner than I had planned.

At times, he regretted the lives he took that day, but even at his lowest of moments, he never felt as sick as he did staring at the damage around him. He bent and brushed aside soot from a piece of parchment. It crumbled in his hands. He wiped them, went to a nearby staircase and slowly ascended. Nareash paused at each of the eight floors, satisfied after a glance that its contents had not fared any better. Rage filled him as he reached the top floor. His last shred of hope left him when he saw the damage.

Twisted pieces of metal, wood, and stone littered the floor. The distorted remains told him he would never uncover their secrets. Nareash knew from his studies that the greatest inventions of Quarnoq had resided on this floor—instruments he could have used to regain Sacrynon’s Scepter.

He screamed, limbs shaking with anger. Sorcery caused a gust of wind to fill the room, kicking up ash and soot, swirling the debris around his still form. He closed his eyes and calmed himself. After a few minutes, the room settled. The effort took longer than he thought it should have.

What does it matter? The trip was a waste. All the work I did in creating a ship to get us here in order to avoid crossing the Great Divide again was for nothing. I’m stuck here, likely forever. You beat me after all, Master.

A throat cleared behind him and Nareash turned.

“I’m sorry, Master,” said Colan. “You’ve been up here for several hours and night is almost upon us. Perhaps, we should think about finding a place to sleep. The morning may yield better results.”

Nareash grunted. He walked past the young shaman without a word.

* * *

A fitful night of sleep spent pondering the struggles of his past did little to brighten Nareash’s spirit or restore hope to his mind. Still, he forced himself to rise the next morning and return to the library where the party worked diligently under his guidance.

If I must be stuck on this continent, I cannot let them see me lose control and carry stories back to Juanoq.

He gave specific instructions to everyone on how to handle anything that had been partially preserved, even the smallest scrap of paper containing a single word.

Though Nareash didn’t believe they would achieve much success, the group still labored from dawn until dusk each day. With a party their size, they combed every square inch of the library in less than a week.

He suffered through several false alarms after Mizak or even Colan exclaimed at some trivial bit of knowledge—a few sentences on irrigation techniques or methods for breeding superior animals for food and labor. Each time Nareash’s stomach would knot in excitement only to twist in disappointment.

He finally had enough.

“We’re done,” he announced. “Tomorrow we return to the ship.”

Mizak blinked. “But we only just got here.” The old man had found renewed energy at the prospect of learning secrets from his people’s past. “And we’ve only searched the library. Who knows what else there is to discover—”

“I know what we won’t discover,” said Nareash, cutting the man off. “We may find more bits of useless information like what we’ve already unearthed, but you and I both know the true riches were here.”

Mizak sighed. “It would be nice to at least learn why our ancestors fled.”

“Why indeed?” He lowered his voice and eyed Colan. “You must have figured it out by now.”

The shaman cleared his throat. “Master?”

“Have you practiced the art since reaching the city?”

“No. I’ve been too busy.”

Nareash shook his head, disappointed. “Try to do something simple. How is your control?”

The shaman closed his eyes. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he swayed on his feet as a small light formed in his hands. He opened his eyes and steadied himself as the light faded. “What happened?”

“The connection we use to practice sorcery is strained here, changed. It’s been difficult even for me.” He looked back at Mizak. “The people who once lived here were obviously masters of the art. But something happened. Right here in their library. What exactly? It doesn’t really matter. But it destroyed practically all of their records. And in the process, their ability to use sorcery had been severely impinged. So, they left.”

“Then why not just fall back to the cities we passed along the way?” asked Mizak. “You didn’t notice the effect before, did you?”

“Not to this extent. Perhaps, over time, the ability to use the art has improved there, but enough time hasn’t passed for Quarnoq to heal.” He shrugged. “The inhabitants must have left their cities and taken a chance to start over because they determined that the farther away they journeyed from Quarnoq, the stronger their connection remained.”

“That seems excessive,” said Mizak. “Who cares about sorcery when they still had everything else?”

“Spoken like someone who has never tasted true power,” muttered Nareash.

“That still doesn’t explain why our lands on the other side of the Great Divide aren’t filled with cities as extraordinary as those we’ve come across,” said Guwan.

Guwan’s observation surprised Nareash.

He faced the Kifzo. “I imagine war had much to do with it. By all accounts the people here were peaceful which was why they prospered. But from the records that were brought over and remain in Juanoq, we know that once Nubinya was settled, things changed. People began to question those in power, thinking they could do better. That’s when the various clans formed, each choosing their own little region to call home.” He paused. “And they’ve been at war with each other off and on since. It’s hard to create such wonders as what we’ve seen when people are constantly trying to kill each other. The knowledge to create gave way to those with the knowledge to destroy.”

* * *

In the choking blackness of night, Nareash sat alone on the top floor of the library. The rest of the party remained in camp half a block away, preparing for bed. Nareash knew he would regret not doing the same come morning when the journey back to the ship began. Yet, he found it fitting to spend their last night in Quarnoq amidst the ruins of his dreams.

With a few rare exceptions, nothing in life had ever come easily for Nareash. He had been orphaned as a boy after his parents died of disease. Nowhere to turn, he used the talent he had discovered to pick the pockets of Cadonia’s upper class in order to get by.

One chance meeting with an advisor to the king had changed his fortune. The noble had been the first ever to catch Nareash. Rather than turn him in, Gauge sponsored his studies at Estul Island.

Nareash had felt as though his dreams had come true until he learned how little natural talent he had. He eventually learned to replicate the lessons Amcaro taught, but only after working twice as hard as the others of his age and class. He made up for his lack of natural ability by spending every waking moment in Estul Island’s great library.

With the exception of a few, most ridiculed his serious nature. Nareash mostly didn’t care about the taunting of his classmates. He only cared what Master Amcaro thought of him.

“At it late again, Nareash?”

Nareash jumped in his seat and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Yes, Master.”

Amcaro smiled. “I wish everyone had your dedication. It would make my job much easier.” He walked over and patted Nareash on the shoulder. “What are you looking over tonight?”

Nareash’s excitement to talk privately with his Master added a tremor to his voice. “Oh, I found this marvelous text written by Sacrynon. I actually believe it may have been a personal journal as it spends a great deal of time discussing his friendship with Aurnon the First.”

“I see.”

“But the most interesting parts are his thoughts on the scepter he found in the remains of the Quoron Empire before he and Aurnon’s conquest of Thurum.”

Amcaro hastily removed his hand from Nareash’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Nareash,” he said closing the text and picking it up. “I thought this document had been removed. It isn’t something that one should study. If you want to learn about Sacrynon, then study my own writings on the man. I’ve removed the things that are better left forgotten.”

Nareash eyed the book with longing and frustration. “But Master, he talks about how to improve a connection to the art through use of the scepter.”

“The scepter drove Sacrynon mad. I know. I was there and I had to help Aurnon the First kill my Master. Put it from your mind. Aurnon destroyed it anyway. Study things that will improve your talents, not corrupt them.”

Amcaro quickly left the library, leaving Nareash once again alone.

In aggravation, he left Estul Island to visit Gauge. They did not see each other often, but he had become one of the few people Nareash could speak with openly.

“I can’t even look at Master Amcaro in the same way now,” said Nareash. “How can I respect someone so afraid to take chances?”

“It would be a mistake not to respect the High Mage of High Mages,” said Gauge. “But, that doesn’t mean that you can’t one day be more. I wouldn’t have gained you entrance to the school if I didn’t think you were destined for great things.” He paused. “Amcaro is a wise man, but also an old man. He has no desire to take chances or look for new ways to use his powers because no one has challenged him in a long time.”

“Are you saying I should question him openly?” asked Nareash, confused.

Gauge shook his head. “That would be disrespectful. However, if you continued your research in private and then took your findings to him, he might be more inclined to listen to what you’ve discovered.”

“And how am I to do that? He took Sacrynon’s journal.”

“You’ve told me how massive the library is. Chances are that if Amcaro misplaced one of Sacrynon’s texts, there are others as well. Plus, now that you know a bit about the Mad Mage, you might see things in Amcaro’s own teachings that give you more insight. It won’t be easy, but that doesn’t mean you should give up and leave your studies.”

Nareash didn’t. Just like Gauge had saved him from the streets and given him a path toward something better, the noble had also ensured that Nareash never lost sight of his goals to be the best.

But now, the path is muddled and there is no clear way to continue on. Do I give up and learn to be happy with what I have in Hesh? No one has the power to stand against me.
He grunted.
And at least I have someone to pass the time in Tobin.
He swore.

Nareash had hoped that Quarnoq would give him the answers he sought in order to return to Cadonia. References to Hesh on Estul Island had indicated that the lost continent had a connection to the Quoron Empire.

How?

Faint footsteps jolted Nareash from his thoughts. A light grew as it climbed the stairs. Guwan came into view holding a torch and wearing a troubled expression.