The High King's Tomb

“It’s…” She groped for words. “It’s interesting.”

The archives boomed with Lord Fiori’s laugh. “Not what you expected, eh? Perhaps you will be more impressed to know the vaults were constructed by Clan D’Yer. They are not beautiful to look upon, maybe, but ingeniously built to protect documents stored here from light, flame, and damp. We hold that more important than fancy surroundings. The object is to preserve the documents for generations to come so they can be learned from; not to show them off.”

It made sense, but all the same, with Sacoridia’s history buried in what amounted to little more than a cellar, albeit a well-constructed cellar, didn’t it obscure the country’s past with it hidden from the view of ordinary citizens?

“I am honored,” she said, “that I get to view them.”

Lord Fiori laughed again. “I see you’ve learned to be quite the diplomat during your time as a king’s messenger. Speaking of which, I read the king’s message after your departure last night.” He removed it from an inner pocket of his waistcoat, the seals broken. “I’ve heard of this book the king seeks, though not recently, mind you. More a rumor of the book.” He rubbed the bristles on his chin, his gaze distant. “It’s been many a year, and if ever it existed, it vanished long ago. Alas, Selium contains only a rare volume or two related to works of magic. Most such documents were destroyed after the Long War. The collection of Selium, such as it was in those days, was plundered and cleansed.”

“Cleansed?” Karigan asked.

“Magic in all forms was suppressed by those who held a dim view of it after the atrocities committed by Mornhavon the Black. They did not distinguish between that which was neutral or good in nature, and that which had been tainted by darkness. Thus, our archives lack valuable information, including anything that could help us repair the D’Yer Wall. I’m afraid it may never be recovered.”

“So the book we’re looking for may have been destroyed after the Long War,” Karigan said.

“Destroyed or fallen into obscurity, and most assuredly not to be found in any of our collections. To make absolutely certain, however, I’ve our chief archivists and curators checking into it, and they will round up some idle journeymen to conduct a thorough search.” He grinned at Estral, who frowned in response. “The search will no doubt take months, so you should not further delay your other errands by waiting on us. I will pen the king a message telling him as much as I’ve told you, and should we come up with anything during our search, I will send along one of my own messengers with the news.”

With that, he set off to find his archivists and curators, leaving Estral and Karigan in silence.

Finally Estral said, “I guess this means you’ll be heading out soon.”

Karigan nodded. “Our orders are to go on with our other errands if the book can’t be found here. I suppose we’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Seems as though you just got here. I wish you could stay longer.”

“Me, too.”

As if to set aside the depressing news, Estral asked, “Would you like a tour while you’re down here?”

“Of course,” Karigan said, especially if it meant spending more time with her friend.

“We’ve only just been getting things back in order,” Estral explained, “after the renovations. When we were moving things, we came across some real gems that hadn’t been looked at in a couple hundred years—made it hard to pay attention to the work at hand. And there is always new stuff coming in—new songs and compositions, documents acquired from other collections, and the like. Keeps the archivists busy. Looking for that book may provide an opportunity to update the inventory. Which I’ll probably have to help with. I suppose it’ll be a good winter project.”

Estral did not look thrilled by the prospect, but as they delved into the depths of the archives, illuminated only by the single lamp she carried, the journeyman minstrel’s voice brightened and her step quickened as she pointed out various documents.

“These crates contain the correspondence of all the Fioris,” she said, “all the way back to Gerlrand, though there are only a few pieces from his time.” Pointing to an opposing section of shelves, she said, “These are the folk songs of Sacoridia as copied down over the last one hundred years. Each shelf below it goes back another hundred years. Some of it is gibberish as far as I’m concerned.”

And on she went, down the darkened row of shelves. Karigan glimpsed briefly the crates or sheaves of paper or parchment laid flat as Estral’s lamplight rolled over them. She made out spiderlike strands of faded ink on some of the documents, but that was all.

Deeper and deeper they went, Karigan growing more impressed by the immensity of the chamber. It had been difficult to discern its size from the entrance, and she no longer thought of the archives as a root cellar but as a tomb. A tomb for old documents. Now that she thought of it, entering the archival vaults had that same feel of entering the tombs sheltered beneath the king’s castle, with its clean air, low ceilings, lack of damp, and ability to preserve, though what the tombs preserved was a bit different…Clan D’Yer must have used similar construction techniques in both the tombs and the archives.

By the time they reached the end of the chamber, Karigan felt as though she’d been on some long subterranean journey. The dark hovering on the edges of Estral’s lamp and the silence around them held such a dense quality that it was hard to believe it was daylight above and the campus was alive with the comings and goings of students.