Барб Хенди - Of Truth and Beasts

The elf drew closer. He was young by human standards, but there was no way to be certain of an elf’s age after he reached early adulthood. He looked down at Wynn through the gate’s ornate ironwork and then suddenly blinked, his eyes widening.

Perhaps he hadn’t noticed Shade’s dark form at first. He was still staring when Wynn cleared her throat.

“We’ve just arrived and need rooms ... if possible.”

The elven sage met Wynn’s gaze, and then took in her gray travel robe.

“Domin Ch’leich âr Én’wir designates guest quarters,” he answered. “But he has retired.”

That name threw Wynn. Was it a title, a proper and family name, or what? It was something like “a ridge in a river’s mouth.”

“What is wrong?” Chane asked.

He must have sensed it from the elf’s tone, and Wynn quickly reiterated the problem. Ore-Locks shifted the chest’s weight on his shoulder.

“So much for Lhoin’na hospitality,” he said.

“They are quite hospitable,” Wynn countered, “but—”

“Please follow me,” the elf returned, this time in Numanese. With the twist of a key, he opened the tall gate and stepped aside.

Startled by the sudden change, Wynn stepped through with a nod of thanks. But again, the journeyor watched only the black majay-hì. Shade padded by him without returning his notice. Chane followed, and Ore-Locks came last.

Halfway to the entry alcove, the elven journeyor stepped ahead on his long legs. When he pulled the handle on one door in that dark space, warm light again spilled from the split.

The double doors were made from polished redwood. They fit delicately within the entryway’s shape, but were so tall and appeared so heavy that Wynn couldn’t imagine how the elf opened them with only one hand. Among a pattern of carved and glittering green filigree that arced from one door to the other, she read the New Elvish rendered in Begaine symbols.

FHÉRIN TRIJ FHORUS ... FHORUS TRIJ SHOLHUS ... SHOLHUS TRIJ FHÉRIN ... FÄIL-RÉUILACH ÂG ÄISH.

It matched the Numanese engraved in frame stones above the entrance to the new guild library in Calm Seatt.

TRUTH THROUGH KNOWLEDGE ... KNOWLEDGE THROUGH UNDERSTANDING ... UNDERSTANDING THROUGH TRUTH ... WISDOM’S ETERNAL CYCLE.

Wynn grew sad at the sight of the creed she had grown up believing. Truth in this place would be well hidden, just like First Glade’s ancient heritage. It was a hoarded secret rather than a worldly treasure to be safeguarded for all.

Worse than that, Wynn was no longer certain which was right or wrong in the details.

She’d never found drawings of this branch’s interior, so she had no idea how the place was laid out. As she stepped inside, memories of an’Cróan homes didn’t prepare her, and she slowed to a stop.

The floor was covered in grouted shale tiles of irregular shapes. But the walls themselves were much the same as she remembered in the Farland’s Elven Territories ... except for their size.

She tilted her head back, which was the only way to see the high ceiling above.

Like an’Cróan homes, the interior was bark-covered, rough and red like the structure’s exterior. In some places, bare wood showed through, although those openings appeared natural rather than cut. They exposed wood still glistening with life. Inside these openings, cold lamp crystals glowed outward, mounted in brass fixtures with frosted glass globes.

The size of it all was unbelievable, even for what she’d seen of the exterior. The entry chamber was easily three times the size of High-Tower’s study in the guild keep’s northern tower.

The walls flowed organically upward to the ceiling, beyond clear reach of light. To either side were wide, natural exits that might lead onward into the ring of redwoods. Directly across from the entrance was a smaller pair of polished redwood doors. Even those were tall enough that any elf would’ve had to reach up to touch the frame’s top.

“This way,” the journeyor said, heading straight for the second doors. He opened one, holding it as he waited.

Wynn stepped through the door and into a massive courtyard inside the redwood ring.

A few stone benches lined the pathways that she could actually see among hedges and bushes, trees and vine-covered atriums. Their guide pushed on, and she hurried to follow with the others. Along the winding way, the only other thing of note that she saw clearly was located in the center of the sculptured, living courtyard.

A round depression rested at the courtyard’s center, surrounded by stone steps or seating enclosing its open floor. At a guess, it could have held fifty or more. Perhaps it was a place for gatherings, not unlike the seminar rooms at the Numan branch.

At the courtyard’s far side, the elven journeyor opened a single door, and they all reentered the redwood ring. Chane and Ore-Locks paused to get their bearings as Wynn went straight to wandering about the room.

It felt circular, though an archway at the back led into another chamber. She spotted two narrow passageways in the first chamber nearer the door to the courtyard. The one on the left curved downward, and the one on the right led up. Both had steps of living, shaped wood that was free of bark.

Brighter light shone out from the back chamber, and the apprentice crossed quickly. Wynn followed.

An open area with benches carved into the walls awaited her. A stone pit in the floor contained glowing orange crystals—dwarven crystals—that emitted light and heat. It left her wondering how these sages had acquired them, since nothing like them were used at her own branch.

“A welcome sight,” Ore-Locks said, and Wynn found all of her companions close behind her.

Several freestanding benches stood on each side of the stone pit. This must be some type of common room. A wide shelf jutting from one wall contained glazed ceramic mugs, a pitcher of water, and a bowl of apples. Two tall openings directly on opposite sides led to smooth shale floor passages.

“Dawn is not far off,” the journeyor said. “I will speak with the domin when he wakes. Can you take your comfort here until then?”

“This is just fine,” Wynn said in relief, wanting to hold both her hands over the pit of crystals, but she glanced once at Chane. “Does the domin rise before dawn?”

“Usually ... sometimes,” the journeyor answered.

That could be a problem. But if need be, she could insist on housing Chane somewhere here in privacy.

“Thank you,” she said.

The tall elf bowed his head and stepped out into the courtyard, perhaps returning to his vigil at the main entrance. Wynn turned back to find Shade snuffling along the base of a wall, her tail in the air. Chane headed for a table and dropped their packs on it.

“This is the best we can do for now,” Wynn said. “I’ll get Shade some jerky and try to heat some water for tea. Ore-Locks, maybe you could cut up a few of those apples.”

He didn’t respond, but he set the chest down next to the packs. Chane sank onto one bench, his expression strained.

“Are you all right?” Wynn asked.

“Chuillyon serves the royal family of Malourné,” he said. “What is he doing here?”

She’d wondered that herself since they’d left the white-robed pretender leaning against Chârmun as if it belonged to him. She just shook her head.

“It may have nothing to do with us.”

Chane frowned at her. Yes, it was a weak evasion.

“What is the next step?” he asked.

Ore-Locks looked over as he sliced an apple, waiting on Wynn’s answer.

“I’ll deliver the message from the council,” she said. “That’s my excuse for coming—even if the letter is nothing more than a warning against me, then I need to start searching their archives. If anyplace has information on Bäalâle Seatt, it is most likely here.”