Trudi Canavan - The Novice

“Older than the Guild,” Tayend replied, a little smugly. “About eight or nine centuries, we think. Parts of it are older, and the best is still to come—so follow me, my lord.”

They stepped through the small door, Tayend closing and bolting it behind them, and entered a long corridor with a curved roof. This extended into darkness, but before Dannyl could create a globe light, Tayend directed him to a steep, torch-lit stairway at one side.

At the top of this Dannyl found himself in a long, narrow room. On one side were the windows he had seen from the carriage. They were huge, and filled with small squares of glass fixed within an iron framework. The wall opposite was patterned by squares of golden light. Chairs were positioned in groups of three or four at intervals, and standing beside the closest was an elderly man.

“Good evening, Ambassador Dannyl.” The man bowed with the cautious stiffness of the very old. “I am Irand, the librarian.”

Irand had a deep, startlingly strong voice that suited the inhuman size of the library. Short white hair covered his scalp thinly, and he wore a simple shirt and trousers made from a dusty gray fabric.

“Good evening, Librarian Irand,” Dannyl replied.

A smile creased the librarian’s face. “Administrator Lorlen informed me that you had a task to perform for him here. He said you would want to see all the sources that the High Lord checked during his research.”

“Do you know what those sources were?”

The old man shook his head. “No, but Tayend has some recollection of them. He was Akkarin’s assistant, and has agreed to help you in your search.” The old man nodded to the scholar. “You will find his knowledge of ancient languages useful. He will also send for food and drink if you need it.” Tayend nodded eagerly, and the old man smiled.

“Thank you,” Dannyl replied.

“Well then, don’t let me keep you waiting.” Irand’s eyes seemed to gleam for a moment. “The library awaits.”

“This way, my lord,” Tayend said, moving back to the stairs.

Dannyl followed the scholar down to the dark passage again. Lamps stood in a row on a shelf to one side. Tayend reached for one.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Dannyl said. He focused his will and a globe light swelled into existence beside his head, sending their shadows down the passage. Tayend glanced at the globe light and winced.

“They always leave spots in front of my eyes.” He reached up and took down a lamp. “I might need to leave you on your own at some point, so I’ll take one with me anyway.”

With the lamp swinging at his side, Tayend started down the passage. “This place has always been a store of knowledge. We have some crumbling bits of paper from eight centuries ago in one of our rooms, which contain references to a library of sorts that was old even then. Only a few rooms were used as a library originally. The rest of this place once housed a few thousand people. We’ve filled almost every room with books and scrolls, tablets and paintings—and we’ve carved more rooms out of the rock ourselves.”

As they walked Dannyl watched the darkness retreat like some kind of magic-fearing mist. Abruptly, they came to a blank wall, the darkness fleeing to either side. Tayend turned and started down the passage to his right.

“So which languages do you know?” Dannyl asked.

“All of the ancient dialects of Elyne and Kyralia,” Tayend replied. “Our old languages are very similar, but the further back you look, the more differences there are. I can speak modern Vindo—I learned it from some servants at home—and a bit of Lans. I can translate the ancient Vindo and Tentur glyphs, given access to my books.”

Dannyl glanced at his companion, impressed. “That’s a lot of languages.”

The scholar shrugged. “Once you know a few, the rest come easily. One day I’ll get around to learning modern Lonmar, and a few of their old languages. I just haven’t had reason to yet. After that, well, perhaps I’ll start on Sachakan languages. Their old tongues are also quite similar to ours.”

After several more turns and a few stairways, Tayend paused at a doorway. With an unusually sober expression, he indicated that Dannyl should enter before him. Stepping through, Dannyl drew in a breath of amazement.

Uncountable rows of shelves extended into the distance, divided by a wide aisle directly in front of him. Though the ceiling of the room before him was low, the far wall was so far away he could not see it. Massive columns of stone filled the gap between roof and floor every hundred paces. All was sparsely lit by lamps set on top of heavy iron bases.

The enormous room emanated a feeling of incomprehensible age. Compared to the solid weight of the stone columns and ceiling, the books seemed like such fragile, temporary things. Humbled, Dannyl felt a melancholy descend upon him. He could remain for a year in this place and still make no more imprint on it than a moth wing brushing against the cold stone walls.

“Compared to this, everything else in the library is recent,” Tayend said in a hushed voice. “This is the oldest room. Perhaps thousands of years old.”

“Who made it?” Dannyl breathed.

“Nobody knows.”

Dannyl started down the aisle, gazing at the endless shelves of books.

“How am I going to find what I need?” he asked despairingly.

“Oh, that’s not a problem.” Tayend’s voice was suddenly bright—a sound that cut through the heavy silence of the room. “I have everything waiting for you in the same study room that Akkarin used. Follow me.”

Tayend started down the aisle, his steps light and springy. After passing several shelves, he turned and walked between them, then reached a large stone stairway that rose into a gap in the ceiling. Taking the steps two at a time, he led Dannyl up to the beginning of a wide corridor. Again, the ceiling was disturbingly low. Doors stood open on either side, and Tayend stopped beside one and gestured for Dannyl to enter.

Dannyl found himself in a small room. A large stone table stood in the middle, and piled on top of it were several stacks of books.

“Here we are,” Tayend said. “And these are the books Akkarin read.”

The volumes ranged from tiny, palm-sized books to a huge tome that would have been a challenge to carry. Dannyl examined them, unstacking and restacking as he read the titles.

“Where do I start?” he asked aloud.

Tayend pulled a dusty volume from the middle of a stack. “This was the first one Akkarin read.”

Dannyl looked at Tayend, impressed. The young man’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm.

“You remember that well?”

The scholar grinned. “You need a good memory to use the library. How else do you find a book again after you’ve read it?”

Dannyl looked down at the tome in his hands. Magical Practices of the Grey Mountains Tribes. The date below the title indicated that the book was at least five centuries old, and he knew there hadn’t been tribes living in the mountains between Elyne and Kyralia for at least that long. Intrigued, he opened it and started reading.

“So we just sit and listen?” Yaldin’s brow furrowed, and his eyes roved about as he concentrated on the voices in the Night Room. Rothen suppressed a chuckle. The elderly magician’s face was too expressive. Anyone who saw him would know that he was trying hard to listen to something.

But with Dannyl gone, Rothen needed someone else to “spy” on the other magicians. Everybody was being cautious now that a scandalous rumor was circulating. Since the rumor involved Rothen, the gossips always checked if he was nearby before talking freely, so he had decided to train his elderly friend, Yaldin, in Dannyl’s techniques.