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The priest slammed his fist on the table. “And you think that can be changed?” he shouted.

“Good,” Thomas breathed. “Then you do see it. Elyon won't be the toy of any man, not even Qurong. How dare you allow him to make the Great Romance his tool? He's reduced your great religion to nothing more than shackles to harness the will of his people. It makes a mockery of Elyon. And of you.”

“Enough!” Ciphus had regained control of himself. He set his jaw and folded his arms. “This is pointless. I think our time is over.”

“Yes,” Thomas said.

Ciphus looked momentarily off guard by Thomas's quick agreement. He dipped his head. “Then you will—”

“Yes, I may have a way to change the imbalance of power between you and Qurong.”

The priest's eyes skittered to the door. He blinked rapidly. “You should leave before you earn my drowning as well.”

“Exactly. Qurong would drown the high priest for simple words against him. He has it backward. You should have the power to drown him for words against the Great Romance.”

Ciphus wasn't ready to capitulate. He knew how dangerous this talk was, because he knew that Thomas spoke the truth. Ciphus
did
serve Qurong. He needed to see the way out before hinting at any agreement.

“The Books of History have a power that is beyond Qurong,” Thomas said in a soft voice. “These holy Books may restore the power of the Great Romance to its rightful place. Politically speaking. And with it, you.”

A wry smile twisted Ciphus's lips. “Then you don't know, do you? The Books of History, which you were so desperate to find, aren't even legible. Your ploy here has failed.”

“You're wrong. They are legible, and I can read them.”

“Is that right? Have you ever seen even one of the Books?”

“Yes. And I can read it as if I myself had written it.”

The smile faded.

“I also know there are blank Books. They contain a power that would change everything. And I know how to use them.”

“How did you know about the blank Books?”

Thomas had guessed that there were more; now he knew. “I know more than you can possibly guess. My interest in the Books of Histories isn't as frivolous as you think. Now they may save both of our lives.”

Ciphus picked up his chalice and drank. “You don't realize how bold these statements are.”

“I have nothing to lose. And with what I will propose, neither do you.”

He emptied the glass and set it down, refusing to make eye contact. “Which is?”

“That you take me to the Books of Histories and let me prove their power.”

“Qurong would never allow it. And even if he did, how do I know you wouldn't use this power against me?”

“The Books are truth. I can't use the truth against the truth. You represent truth, don't you? Have I harmed even one man since Justin's death? I am a trustworthy man, Ciphus, mad or not.”

The priest eyed him cautiously. “Qurong won't allow it.”

“I think he would if the request was properly phrased. It's a matter of the Great Romance. But do you need his permission?”

A light crossed the priest's eyes. He paced, stroking his chin.

“You're sure you can read the Books.”

“I'm sure. And I'm sure that you have nothing to lose by testing me. If I'm wrong, you will simply return me to the dungeon. If I can't demonstrate the power, you will do the same. But if I'm right, we will change history together.”

“And why would you want to change history with me?”

“I don't necessarily. I want to live. That is my price. If I'm right, you will ensure the survival of me and my friends.”

Thomas knew that Ciphus probably couldn't or wouldn't ensure any such thing. He also knew that there was probably no power to show Ciphus. Using one of the blank Books might change things in the other reality—good reason for this plan in and of itself—but the Books would prove powerless here.

No matter. These weren't his primary objectives. He was following another thread. A very thin thread, granted, but a thread.

“Even if I'm wrong about the power, the ability to read the Books of History will give a new power by itself.”

“So you can show me how to read them?”

Thomas smiled. “You haven't been listening. You have no idea what you have in your hands, do you? I am your path to the power that's justly yours.”

Ciphus picked up his glass, drained the last of the fruit juice, set it down firmly, and walked toward the door. “Then we go.”

“Now?”

“What better time? You're right; I don't need Qurong's permission. I have access to the library. I will say that I'm taking you there to extract a full confession from you in writing and to interrogate you on several writings we've found from your Circle.”

“I will only show you what I know on one condition.”

“Yes, I know. Your life. First the Books.”

“No, one other condition. I insist that a third party be present.”

“What on earth for?”

“My protection. I want a party to witness our agreement. Someone who's disconnected from your own authority yet has enough authority to corroborate.”

“Impossible! It would be tantamount to telling Qurong that I'm working against him!”

“Then choose someone who wants to see the Books of Histories unveiled as much as you do. Surely there's someone Qurong respects enough to listen to in the event you turn against me, yet who doesn't pose a threat to you.”

“I don't see it. If you show another person this power, what value is it to me?”

“I won't show them the power. I'll only demonstrate that I can read the Books. This will be enough for them. How about his wife?”

“Patricia. She would just as soon shove a knife into my belly as bathe in the lake.”

“Then who is taken with the histories?”

“The librarian, Christoph. But he's hardly better. I don't see the value of this absurd demand. If I'm to trust you, then you'll have to trust me.”

“You have reason to trust me. My actions have never undermined you. I, on the other hand, have enough reason to question you.”

Ciphus strode deliberately back to his desk. “Then we have no agreement.”

“Surely there's someone in the royal court who has enough interest in the histories to bend the rules a bit.”

“The royal court is a very small community. There's his wife and his daughter and . . .” Ciphus faced him. “His daughter's quite taken with the histories.”

“The one who's to marry Woref? Chelise. Fine, I don't care who it is as long as she is impartial and has a love for the Books. There's no risk to you. We won't tell her that you intend to overthrow her father, only that you've agreed to make my case to Qurong if I can indeed reveal the knowledge contained in the Books. Out of respect to Qurong, you refuse to bother him with the matter until you've verified that I have something to offer.”

“No more talk of overthrowing!” Ciphus whispered harshly. “I said no such thing! It's strictly as you said—I'm following up this matter with full intentions of bringing it to Qurong's attention if it has any merits.”

“Of course. And you may send Chelise out of the room when it comes time for me to show you the power of the Books.”

Ciphus frowned. “Guards!” he called.

“Agreed?” Thomas asked.

“I'll speak with her.”

The door opened a few moments later and two guards walked in.

“Return the prisoner to the dungeons.”

13

T
he arrangement was simple, though a bit suspicious to Thomas. Chelise had agreed to wait for them in the inner library at dusk after the librarian had left for the day. Why so late? Thomas wanted to know. Because Chelise often outlasted Christoph in the library, Ciphus said.

Ciphus used his own mounted guard to transport Thomas in chains through several miles of forest to an expansive walled retreat that was surprisingly beautiful. Stunning, in fact. The moment they passed the main gate, he wondered if he hadn't awakened in his dreams, surrounded by a botanical garden in southern France.

But no, he was sleeping in a plane above the Atlantic. This royal garden was very real.

The entire complex was nestled in a large meadow that Thomas remembered well. The botanical garden hedged in by manicured shrubs was new, but the orchard had been here before. Stone paths wound perfect circles around six large lawns, a different fruit tree centered in each one. The orchard was also circular, as was the botanical garden.

This was Qurong's circle, Thomas thought. At the center stood a two-story structure made of fine wood. Three other buildings—homes, by the looks of them—had been built in each corner of the retreat. A fourth was cordoned off behind the garden.

“The villa that Qurong will give Woref and his daughter as a wedding present,” Ciphus said. “She doesn't know yet.”

“And that's the library?” Thomas asked, nodding at the large building they were approaching.

“Yes.”

It looked far too large for any library, much less one built to hold the Horde's Books. Clearly, whatever it housed was more precious to Qurong than the Great Romance. Ciphus could surely see that much now. Maybe for the first time.

They entered through large double doors into an atrium, empty except for an ornately carved black desk and yet one more of the bronze statues of Teeleh.

“Wait here,” Ciphus told his guard.

“What about these?” Thomas held out his shackled arms.

Ciphus hesitated. “Free his arms. Leave the leg chains.”

Thomas rubbed his wrists. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me yet. After you.”

He followed Thomas into a two-story room that looked old despite its relatively new construction. Ten large desks covered the floor, each with its own lamp stand. The walls were lined with shelves, each filled with scrolls and bound books. Two staircases rose to the second floor, where Thomas could see similar bookcases behind a wooden railing.

He looked around, awed by the woodwork. This was the doing of Forest People. Even the books . . .

“May I?” he asked, stepping toward a bookcase.

Ciphus didn't answer.

He withdrew a bound book from one of the shelves. It was the kind he'd taught the Circle's scribes to use from his memories of the histories. Pounded bark bound around reams of crudely formed paper. He opened the book. The script was an elementary cursive form.

“These are our own histories, created by the scribes,” Ciphus said. “Qurong is quite taken with history. Everything is carefully recorded, even the most mundane details. During the day every desk is occupied by historians. We have our own temple scribes to record the history of Elyon since the Second Age.”

“The Second Age?”

“The Great Romance since our time as one.”

“Then you acknowledge that it's changed.”

“Everything changes,” Ciphus said.

Thomas looked around the room. “The building is larger than this one room. What's in the rest?”

Ciphus indicated a door on the far side. “Chelise is waiting.”

Thomas walked around the desks, put his hand on a large brass handle, and pushed the door open. Several torches lit a large room lined with book-cases, floor to ceiling. Thousands of books.

Thomas released the door and stepped in. The cases rose twenty feet and were serviced by a ladder. No ornate desks or candlesticks here, just books, many more than Thomas had imagined.

Leather-bound books.

The Books of Histories?

“These . . . what are these?”

“The Books of Histories, of course.”

“This many? I . . . I had no idea there were so many! These are all Books of Histories?”

“Not exactly an encouraging admission from the man who claims to know all there is about the books,” a voice said quietly on his right.

Thomas turned. Chelise stood behind a large desk, on which she'd opened one of the Books. She stepped around the desk and walked toward them, black robe flowing around her ankles. She'd left her hood back, revealing long, dark, shiny hair. The contrast between her white face and so much black was quite startling.

“Did you think my father carried all of the Books with him wherever he went?”

Her eyes searched his, and for a moment he thought she might have recognized him from the desert.

She faced Ciphus. “I don't have all night. Either this albino knows something or he doesn't. We can establish that much in a few minutes.”

“Matters of the histories are never established flippantly,” Ciphus said. “I told you an hour.”

“Spare me the eloquence, Priest. Can he read them or not?” She turned to Thomas. “Show us.”

Thomas was still too stunned to think straight. He knew that this might be his only opportunity to spend any time with the Books. What were the chances of finding the particular Books that dealt with the Great Deception and the Raison Strain?

“How many are there?”

“Many,” Chelise said. “Many thousands.”

Thomas walked farther into the room. Torchlight cast a wavering yellow glow over the leather spines. “Are they categorized?”

“How can we categorize what we can't read?” Ciphus asked.

“You can't even read the titles?”

“How can we? They aren't in our tongue.”

But they
were
in the common tongue. He looked at a Book on the nearest shelf.
The Histories According to the Second of Five.
What that meant he had no clue, but he could read the words easily enough. They'd all heard that the Horde couldn't read the Books of Histories, but this seemed a bit ridiculous. Were their minds so deceived? And now Ciphus was among them.

“Did you think that the record of everything that has ever happened would be found in two or three Books?” Chelise asked.