“Elect,” Orisian said, a touch more sharply than he intended, “I came here because of what Bannain told me in Kolkyre. I wanted to learn what you know of Aeglyss, because he stands among enemies who have killed my family and my friends, and because na’kyrim whom I trust — Yvane, and Inurian too — judged him a danger to me and to my people. If you are willing to talk to me, I will listen. If you are not, tell me now so that I can go where I am needed.”
Cerys regarded him in silence for a moment or two. Rothe was glowering at her. The Elect’s hand had gone to the chain around her neck, her elegant fingers brushing the dark metal.
“Has Herraic given you chambers above?” she asked.
“He’s looking after the warriors who came with me. I would be grateful if we” — he glanced around, including Rothe, Ess’yr and the others — “could be found somewhere to rest here, with you.”
“Of course,” the Elect said, with a subtle nod. “We will find room for you. I don’t suppose Herraic particularly wants na’kyrim or Kyrinin taking up room in his keep. I’ll send him a message that we’ll take care of you. Bannain will show you where to go. You can rest a little; we’ll have some food brought to you. Then I will talk with you, Thane, and we will see what help we might be to one another.”
There were no windows in the chamber that Bannain found for them. The walls were damp, and every crevice seemed to have a spider’s web woven into it. It was as much cave as room. A dozen simple beds lined one wall. Rothe prodded one of the thin mattresses after Bannain had left them. It looked as smooth as a bag of hazelnuts.
“Straw,” the shieldman concluded. “Doesn’t smell too good.”
“It’ll do,” Orisian said. “We’ll not be more than one night here, with any luck.”
He sat on one of the beds, but promptly rose and moved further away from the oil lamp Bannain had left. The orange flame at its wick was giving off tendrils of noisome black smoke.
“I’m sure there’d be room for you with Torcaill and the rest,” Rothe muttered as Orisian tested another bed. “Herraic’d find better quarters for a Thane than this.”
Orisian glanced at Ess’yr and Varryn. The two Kyrinin were silently and methodically bedding down at the far end of the chamber. As always, they ignored the beds and made camp on the floor.
“No, Rothe. This’ll do. One night; that’s all.”
Rothe looked disappointed, but stretched himself out on his bed. He winced as he folded his injured arm across his lap.
“You might get some help for that here, you know,” Yvane observed. “Amonyn, one of the Council: he’s a gifted healer. It works better when the wound’s fresh, mind you, but he can fashion more mending out of the Shared than-”
“There’s no need for that,” Rothe said hurriedly. “It’s well on the way to healing itself. I don’t need that kind of help.”
Yvane shrugged and sat down opposite Orisian.
“I thought we might have a warmer welcome,” he said to her.
Yvane raised her fine eyebrows. “That was not so cold, by the standards of this place. Believe me, short of being na’kyrim yourself, you could not hope for much more. You’re a stranger, come to them in fraught times. It’s frightening for them. Don’t forget, there’s not many here have seen as much of the world as Inurian did, or as I have. They’re not used to outsiders. They hate any disturbance of the tight little circles they walk in here. Round and round and-”
“Frightening?” Orisian interrupted her.
“Of course they’re frightened,” Yvane said, and Orisian wondered if that was truly a hint of scorn he heard in her voice; and whether it was meant for him or for the na’kyrim of Highfast. “Do I need to list the reasons for you? There’s war, and not far away. Armies are marching hither and thither, none of them — whatever cause they fight for — filled with friends of na’kyrim. You turn up here with more warriors than have visited in however many years: a Thane, and one they’ve had no chance to take the measure of.
“Worse than all that, there’s Aeglyss. Everyone here is sick. You shouldn’t forget that, even if you can’t understand it, can’t feel it. I’m sick. His malice taints the Shared, and everyone here can feel it, every hour of every day. I’m tired before I get out of bed in the morning, because from the first instant of wakefulness I can hear his strength rumbling in the back of my mind. You folk with your pure blood, the gates of your minds are shut against the Shared; barred and bolted. Us poor na’kyrim, we’re open. There’s nothing between us and him. And he’s a horror, believe me.”
Orisian regarded her thoughtfully for a moment or two. She was afraid, he realised. What she described might or might not be true of Cerys and the others here in Highfast, but it was certainly true of Yvane herself. For days now, she had been on edge, and fear was part of what had put her there.
“I do believe you,” he said, hanging his head.
“Good.” She said it softly, almost gently.
Behind her, Hammarn was laying out half-finished woodtwines on the bed. He hummed to himself as he did so, nodding in agreement with some silent internal statement. Yvane glanced at him and smiled sadly.
“ Na’kyrim are no more perfect than anyone else. But we are different. There are kinds of understanding here that you’ll not find anywhere else. There is wisdom, if you can dig it out. You believed in Inurian, didn’t you? Trusted him?”
Orisian nodded.
“Remember that. What you believed in is here too, even if it’s not as obvious as it was in him. If you want to understand what Aeglyss means, this is the only place you might find an answer.”
“I know. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know that.”
Two young na’kyrim brought platters of simple food. They were nervous. They averted their eyes, and watched the floor.
“I was told to wait,” one of them said. “When you have eaten, I am to escort the Thane to the library. The Elect will see him there. Just the Thane. No one else.”
The smell was powerful, and instantly recognisable: the dry, dense admixture of parchment, bindings and dust. Orisian knew it from Inurian’s room in Castle Kolglas, this aroma of books and manuscripts. Here in Highfast’s Scribing Hall it was far stronger, far more pervasive, as if it had accumulated in layers in the air over all the years since the na’kyrim had first come here. The ceiling of the hall was high, yet the smell filled the cavernous space.
The far wall of the great chamber was natural stone, smoothed and polished by human hands but still part of the fabric of the peak on which Highfast stood. Small windows had been cut high up and they shed a muted light on the racks and shelves of books, scrolls and manuscripts. There were balconies on the wall opposite them, with dark tunnels burrowing back into the heart of the mountain. A few na’kyrim sat at tables, most of them writing, one or two simply reading from massive tomes. None of them looked up at Cerys and Orisian’s entry.
“This is the main reason for our presence here,” said the Elect. “The reason why Grey Kulkain granted our kind leave to make this our refuge.”
Orisian looked around. He could hear the scratch of quills on parchment, the creak of some heavy leather- bound book being opened.
“We gather what writings we can,” Cerys continued. “Copy those that are fading or damaged. We seek to learn from the collected wisdom of those who created the books, of course, but our most important duty is preservation.” She picked up a slim, worn volume from a shelf and turned it in her hands, showing Orisian the wear and splits in its binding. “Knowledge is a fragile thing. Almost nothing remains of the Second Age of the world. Even the early parts of the Third are misty. The War of the Tainted and the Storm Years were enough to cost us a great deal: our histories, our memories of the Kingships and of what came before them are poor.”
“I’ve never seen so many books,” Orisian said.
“Nowhere else in the world are so many gathered together, I think.” Cerys regarded him sternly. “Can you read?”
“Yes. Well enough.”
“That’s good. I imagine Inurian saw to that. A Thane should be able to read. There’ve been some who couldn’t. Tavan, your uncle’s father, was one, I believe. And if Thanes can’t read, what’s the point of all this?” The Elect gestured at the studious na’kyrim at their tables.
“If you rely only on Thanes to read your books and learn the lessons of the past, you might be disappointed
