Martin Hengst - The Darkest Hour

In the pause that followed, Zarfensis idly considered abandoning this foolhardy meeting and returning to the Warrens. Surely he and Xenir were resourceful enough to find the relic on their own.

“ The relic you seek sleeps far to the north, buried in the ice of ages past, ” the Oracle’s voice was strong and clear. “ It lies within your grasp if you can find it and wake it, but beware, the Chosen are not the only suitors the relic seeks. There are others, climbing, sneaking, and burrowing through forgotten tunnels to find that which you seek. ”

“The vermin?” Zarfensis asked, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a feral snarl.

“ Among others, ” the Oracle laughed. “ More, now! ”

Zarfensis poured the remainder of the runedust into his palm and blew it toward the pillar. In a fluid motion, he had jumped to the lip of the tunnel, beckoning for Xenir to follow. They navigated the tunnel as quickly as the low ceiling would allow, finally emerging at the junction that had seemed unbearably hot not long before.

“My vision-” Xenir began.

“The relic exists, but we must hurry. There are others who seek its power as well.”

“How do we proceed?”

“We take back control of the council. We lead the Chosen to victory and exterminate the vermin, once and for all.”

Taking strength from the confirmation of Xenir’s vision, they started the long trip back toward the Warrens to put their plans in motion.

* * *

Tiadaria sat at a worn table in the common room of the Elvish Harlot. On the table in front of her a tankard of cider sat, barely touched. The search for Faxon’s apprentice had not gone well.

She had spent the morning searching library after library. It wasn’t until she had been turned out of the fourth library that she realized how many quints there were in Ethergate. She was realizing with no small sense of chagrin that there was probably a good reason that Faxon had wanted to accompany her. Most of the people she had talked to here were far too involved in their own affairs to give much concern to the apprentice of another Master, especially one from Blackbeach. That was the other thing she found odd, the seemingly high amount of animosity that existed between the quintessentialists here and those outside the capital.

She had thought they were all the part of a single order. She had been disabused of that belief after listening to an extended tirade on the Orders and the finer (and less fine) points of each one. Afterward, Tiadaria had realized that looking for Faxon’s apprentice in Ethergate was similar to looking for a needle in a stack of other needles. After her most recent failure, she had returned to the inn for a friendly face and a few minutes to nurse her wounds.

Harold was behind the bar, polishing the wood with a tattered rag. His hands were so gnarled with age that by the time he had finished rubbing down the counter, he’d need to start over at the other end. Tia wondered how many years he had spent trudging up and down the floor between the bar and the drink cabinet and how long he had used the rag that he now brandished like a badge of honor.

Tia took a sip of the cider and tried to coax a useable idea out of the tumble of her thoughts. She had spent so much time in various libraries this morning that she thought she’d scream if she saw another book. Still, there were seven more libraries she had to explore and probably get thrown out of. Faxon’s apprentice had to be here somewhere and she’d find him even if she ended up being an old lady before she did it.

That thought hit her so forcefully that she dropped the tankard back to the table with a thunk. She stood and quickly walked to the bar, surprising Harold as he worked on his eternal polishing.

“How can I help you, Lady Tia? More cider?”

“No thank you,” she said quickly. “If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you lived in Ethergate, Harold?”

The old man smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Why, my whole life, Lady Tia. Born and raised. Why?”

“Can you tell me which library is the oldest?”

“Oh certainly,” he leaned out over the bar, stabbing a finger southward beyond the inn. “Take the south road to the center of the city. The oldest library is under the Reliquary.”

“Thank you!” Tiadaria took a garnet from her pocket and pushed it across the counter at the startled gentleman, leaving him to stare after her as she all but ran from the common room.

Though it was just after midday outside, it might as well have been midnight in the reliquary. The squat stone building had no windows and was illuminated by magic lanterns hung from pegs around the long, wide room full of shelves. After being stopped by the guards outside the door, she had assured them that she was vouched for by the King of the Imperium and showed them her writ as proof. Once inside, they had directed her to a quintessentialist so old that he made Jotun look young and sprightly.

His appearance was ancient, but the quint's mind was sharp, unmuddled by the years he had seen. As soon as Tiadaria had explained who she was and where she had come from, the elder quint nodded.

“You’ll be wanting Wynn, then.” He took a lantern down off a peg and motioned for her to follow him. “Come along then, the youngster rarely leaves the stacks.”

Tiadaria followed the old man, who moved surprisingly rapidly for someone of his apparent age. They descended a long flight of marble steps and emerged in a room lined with shelves. As they walked, Tia sneaked peeks at the books on the shelves. Many weren’t even proper books at all, but sheaves of parchment bound together by ribbon or string. Most of them were so weathered and yellow that she thought they would crumble to dust as the merest touch. She resolved not to handle anything in this library unless she absolutely had to.

Finally, they arrived at a table in a dimly lit corner of the library. The youngster the older quint had referred to was probably a couple years older than Tia, and he was so thoroughly engrossed in the book he was studying that the elder had to shake him to get his attention.

“Hmmm?” he asked absently, finally tearing his eyes away from the tome long enough to register that there were people standing next to him. “Oh, sorry.”

“Wynn,” the quint said tolerantly. “This is Lady Tiadaria, from Blackbeach, Master Indra sent her to find you.”

“Oh.” Wynn looked unsettled. “Uh, okay then. Thank you.”

Her escort shot her an apologetic glance and shook his head before retreating, leaving Tiadaria and Wynn standing there in silence. Tiadaria had expected Faxon’s apprentice to be as garrulous has Faxon himself was. As seemed to be the case a lot lately, she was wrong. They stood there awkwardly before she finally decided to take matters into her own hands.

“So you’re Faxon’s apprentice?”

The young man peered at her for a moment before nodding. “Yes, I help Master Indra with his research.” He pointed to the book on the table. “I really must get back to it. Fascinating stuff, really.”

“Oh?” Tia asked, cocking her head to read the text scrawled in the tome. “Three thousand types of fungus,” she read and raised an eyebrow. “Riveting reading, then?”

“Oh yes!” Wynn said at the most animated she had yet seen him. “Each of the specimens was categorized and defined by its unique characteristics, both magical and mundane.”

He turned back to the book and seemed to completely forget about her. Wynn sat with his chin in his palms, his head bowed over the weighty tome of mold. The only indication that he was even awake was the occasional turn of a page. Tiadaria stood by his elbow, completely at a loss. She cleared her throat, loudly, trying to recall his attention. He seemed to be lost in his own world. A world full of fungus, no doubt.