Craig Saunders - Tides of Rythe

Tirielle didn’t mind at all. Unthor was prone to long periods of introspection, perhaps the only member of the Sard who harboured open discontent with their lot in life and the demands of their religion. Calling, perhaps, would be a more accurate description. Unthor never spoke of his disquiet, but brooded sometimes, a frown upon his broad face, sometimes stroking the side of his nose when he was in deep thought. He was not the best of company, but Tirielle had no doubts he would be watching warily tonight for anyone who followed them into the library. He would not forget his duty, even if it seemed that sometimes he found it hard to bear.

It gave her a chance to spend the evening with j’ark. Pouring over old scrolls and parchment was not quite the activity that Tirielle would have chosen, but they would be together, even in silence.

She caught him, rarely, in his lie. He said duty came above all else, but he could not deny that he found her attractive. She just wished he would come out and say so, or stop looking at her in that peculiar way of his that made her quiver inside.

When she could she stole a glance at him, or tried to catch him in an unguarded smile. She wished just for one moment he would set aside all that he was, and all that she was, and speak to her like a woman. Too often for her liking he called her ‘lady’, as if abashed to feel even her name slip across his tongue.

They were all alike, though. Stubborn, wilful men, devoured by purpose and forgetting their humanity. If they had had their way, they would be in Teryithyr already, and have left the Seer behind in their wake. She would not say I told you so, but they were outside the library tonight because the Seer had led them there. For all their talk of hope, and duty, they would never have found the right library. It was a city of books, and at least now they had somewhere to start. It was more than they had had before the Seer awoke.

‘Talented.’ That was what the Seer called her, that she could hear her mind-speak. What new strangeness, Tirielle wondered, would they discover on their quest? She could accept that the Seer could see futures, varied and shifting though they might be, but that she could speak directly into someone’s mind, and that she would be able to hear their thoughts, too? It was fey beyond words. Her powers were more than remarkable — she was in more danger now than ever. Should the Protectorate find the girl, they would not be so kind to grant her swift execution. Tirielle had no doubt that they would dissect her with their dark magics, make her do tricks for them to study, like a new animal, or rediscovered history.

Danger assailed them from all sides. She would not forget. The Seer had told them as much, that they would be split before the month was through, that they might or might not reach their goal — much they could have guessed themselves — but Tirielle had grown so accustomed to each and every one of her companions that she could not imagine them apart. What change could force them to divide? They could only become weaker if they were no longer together. Would they meet again? Tirielle had asked, but the Seer had only shook her head sadly with a weight that belied her years and said, ‘that, I cannot tell.’

The door creaked open and a librarian peered out into the darkness, myopic eyes straining to see further than an arms length. Librarians feared no violence in their halls — what thief would steal words? If only they understood the value of the words contained in these halls, the librarians would need a score of guards and the sturdiest of locks.

“Good evening, Reader. We come seeking knowledge.”

“At this hour?”

“Who among us could say that we have learned enough to sleep?”

“I suppose you have the fee?”

Tirielle withdrew a gold coin from her belt pouch and passed it to the librarian, who weighed it with his hand, and examine the coin.

“From Lianthre? You have come a long way on your quest for knowledge.”

“Distance is no bar, nor expense,” said Tirielle. She was aware of j’ark poised beside her. If she could talk her way in, there would be no need for violence, but they had already agreed that their need was great enough that a few cracked heads would not hurt. The Sard had argued vehemently against the use of such force against innocents, but Tirielle had sweetly pointed out that they were skilled enough to get by with a minimum of damage to the unfortunate recipient of their blows.

“You are welcome, of course, Lady,” said the Reader, squinting squarely into her face, seemingly unaware of j’ark beside her. He stepped aside and let them in, jumping somewhat as j’ark followed her inside.

“Oh, forgive me, I didn’t see you there.”

“No matter,” said j’ark, “thank you for allowing us entry at this late hour. I take it the fee is adequate for a few nights grace among the shelves?”

“Of course, Sir, you are more than welcome, at any hour.”

It was strange, some would think, that the libraries charged a fee of visitors, but the expense of hunting new volumes, and the competition among the many libraries for the greatest finds, was fierce. The gold in the librarian’s hand would mean more books, and it was that fact that he was calculating, not his sudden increase in wealth.

“We can find our own way about, if you don’t mind,” said Tirielle sweetly, touching the readers hand. He gulped, as if unused to a lady’s touch.

“Of course. You can find us in the main hall if you need assistance. The lists are on the first shelves, in chronological order above, in alphabetical order below, should you know what you are looking for…” at this he raised an enquired eyebrow, but Tirielle ignored it.

“Perhaps we will call on you before the night is through, should we require anything. Anything at all, my good man,” Tirielle added this last with a cheeky grin, and the squinting reader scuttled off, his back a little straighter.

“You seem to have brightened his evening, at least,” said j’ark.

“And what of yours?”

“My evening is already complete, my lady.”

Blasted men, she thought. But there was little time to waste trying to get j’ark to open to her touch tonight. If only he were as simple to please as the reader.

“We should stay together, I think, don’t you?” she tried.

“We could cover more apart…”

“What if I am attacked?” It was cruel, but she knew it would work. J’ark was only undecided for seconds.

“Very well, we will search together. Where should we begin?”

“We have no idea who we are looking for, the name of the work or author…perhaps, if the wizard is old enough…mmh…chronological lists? If we just find the oldest works, and work forward from there?”

“Sound, I think,” he said with an easy smile that warmed her heart.

She took down one of the tomes, heaving it to a nearby table, and scanned the entries.

“How is your history, j’ark?”

“I know only what I need. I know each and every battle fought by the Sard through the ages, but the wizard was lost before Sybremreyen’s records even began, before our order was born. I do not even know what his age would be called, less when it was.”

“Well, the records begin in the Shard epoch, which was over 700 years ago. It is the best we can do, although I doubt there will be any mention of the old ones, or the wizard, but the Seer says we will find it here, and we have nothing left but to believe her.”

Hefting the book high on her chest, she replaced it, and they walked down the aisle to the Shard wing, and the start of a long night.

But at least, thought Tirielle walking on with a private smile, it will not be lonely.