'The library endures as it always has,' Kiallas replied, disinterested. He didn't look like much of a scholar; his breastplate of shining steel had the rune of Hit, God of the Wind, emblazoned upon it. Intricate scroll-work detailed the edges of his breastplate, his vambraces and greaves, and the latter were topped with a small wing-shape that protected his knees.
A quiver full of javelins hung from his belt, but Amber was more interested in the pole-arm resting comfortably on his shoulder. Not as long as most spears, it had a curved head the length of a short sword; the major, trained to fight with scimitars, could well imagine Kiallas in flight, this weapon slashing beneath him.
'Still as engaging as ever I see,' the duchess said with forced cheer as she made her way around the white- eye and out into the daylight. 'This view, however, more than makes up for the lack of conversation.' She stretched her arms up and took in a deep breath before turning to look for Ruhen. 'My dear, come and see the Library of the Seasons.'
Amber and Kayel followed the boy out as Kiallas turned to descend the grey stone steps cut into the bedrock that led down to a stretch of meadow and a low-walled garden full of withered brown plants that a wingless boy was hoeing without apparent impact. Beyond that was the first of half-a-dozen enormous white-stone buildings that Amber now saw dotted the whole crater-like opening.
There were vertical cliffs on all sides, hemming in a space Amber guessed to be more than half a mile across – a valley like a dented bowl sheltered by the surrounding cliffs. Looking down on it all was the black dragon-tooth of Blackfang's single peak, rising from the apex of the valley's dented wall. He could hear falling water, and he saw the thin blade of a river flash behind the largest of the buildings, a huge six-sided construction with a green-furred copper dome and wings extending from three of the sides like an crippled insect.
None of the buildings were even remotely similar to each other. The nearest to the party was low and wide, with half of the second floor exposed to the elements. Furthest away, stepped levels crept up the cliff-face beside the enormous double-archway that led down into the Ismess quarter of the Circle City. There were dozens of figures in white visible, mostly without wings but all blonde – pure-blood Litse. Amber recalled his briefings; it was usually only the white-eyes who carried weapons, but clearly the presence of Lord Styrax and his attendants had stirred them up, for all the adult males nearby were armed, despite looking somewhat awkward.
'Remarkable,' Nai said, moving up beside him. He held his hand out, fingers splayed, and moved it through the air as though dipping his fingers into a stream, 'Nothing, nothing at all.'
'Looks good to me,' Kayel commented, grinning evilly at Ruhen as he spoke. 'I'll lake it.'
'Nothing at all?' Amber echoed, ignoring Kayel's contribution. For a moment he didn't realise what Nai was talking about. 'Oh, of course.'
Some unknown quirk in the formation of the library exploited the fact that just as some places were high in background magic, others were starved. The Library of the Seasons was one such place; magic simply would not work there. Try as he might, Nai would find no energies to draw from the air around him.
'I hadn't realised it would be like this,' he said, shivering. 'The air's so dry it tastes like sand on the wind. It's like suddenly having the colour blue erased from your sight.' Nai looked utterly bewildered; he didn't even notice the sharp look the duchess gave him.
'Well, get over it,' Amber urged him, and forced himself to look away from the awe-inspiring sight. 'There's work to do. Kiallas, can you tell me where I'll find Lord Styrax?'
'I am to escort you all to the Scholars' Palace so you may refresh yourselves.' Kiallas said, pointing to the tall building hugging the cliff-face, seven or eight storeys high with long balconies running the length of each floor. The white-eye looked at Amber with a mixture of disdain and faint contempt.
'I don't need an escort,' Amber said, trying not to let the white-eye arrogance irritate him, 'just point me in the right direction.'
'Visitors must be escorted at all times.'
'Fetch an escort then,' Amber said shortly. He pointed towards the largest of the buildings, the copper-domed one. It was called the Fearen House, where the library's collection of grimoires and treatises on magic were housed. If Lord Styrax was anywhere he was most likely to be nosing around those. 'We're going that way.'
Amber set off down the steps with Nai trailing along behind. He heard a fluttering sound and another winged white-eye, of lower rank judging by his armour, scampered over. With the sense of a weight lifting, Amber left the duchess and her bodyguard behind, their voices soon fading into the wind. He felt like shaking his body out like a dog, elated to be free of the oppressive tunnel and unpleasant company. It was hard to decide which one unnerved him most: Kayel, with his malevolent demeanour, or Ruhen, with the shadows in his eyes, but the fresh air was all the sweeter for being rid of the pair of them.
'What's that?' Nai asked when they reached the massive building, pointing at a dark stone monument at the base of the steps leading up to the portico. Beyond it was a crescent-shaped hump of ground twice the height of a man and more than twenty yards long.
'The Failed Argument,' Amber said, 'a monument to Kebren. The curved rock is called The Dragon, it's supposed to be the guardian spirit of the library.'
Their guard sniffed in annoyance. 'It is not called the Failed Argument,' he said. The white-eye was young and, though still taller than Amber, lacking any of Kiallas's glowering presence. 'It is the grave of an unknown Fysthrall who witnessed the death of Leitah, Goddess of Wisdom. The monument is to her memory, not to the patron God of the Fysthrall.'
'A monument to the failure of reason over violence then,' Nai mused. He walked around the oblong block of granite, looking for a seam in the rock and finding none. Unlike the buildings, the monument had been cut from the dark stone of Blackfang itself. Its surfaces had been smoothed and engraved with many lines of flowing script, but the dialect was too ancient for either of them to understand.
'Is he underneath?' Nai asked, looking at the paved ground at the base.
'Encased within the rock,' the Litse replied, not trying to hide his annoyance. 'Treat it with care, this library was founded according to his writings – my ancestors were charged by him with keeping the memory of Leitah alive.'
'Encased within the rock?'
Amber could see Nai assessing the monument, trying to work out how it had been made. He's not like Isherin Purn, he realised, necromancy isn't about power for this one. He's just so inquisitive he doesn't know when to stop!
'It must have been done in the city then,' Nai concluded. Without warning he reached up and hooked his fingers on the top of the monument. Their escort gave an indignant screech but Nai ignored him, pulling himself up so his head was above the level of the monument.
The white-eye pulled a javelin from his waist and raising it, ready to throw until Amber grabbed his arm.
'Nai, get down,' Amber ordered, The white-eye tried to twist out of his grip, but flight required him to be slender and light-boned, like a hawk, and Amber had the advantage of weight on his side. The Litse hissed in frustration and went fpr his dagger, at which point Amber gave him a hefty shove that sent the youth reeling backwards, wings unfurled and outstretched as he tried to regain his balance.
'Did you recognise the unknown soldier?' came a voice from the steps. Kastan Styrax stood there, in front of a mixed group.
Amber dropped to one knee.
'Well? I can see there's a face carved on the top, is it anyone you recognise?' Amber could hear the laughter in his lord's voice. Throughout history the Menin had never been able to resist bating the fussy, humourless Litse. For some reason it pleased Amber to realise his lord was not immune to that impulse, a rare glimpse of humanity in one normally remote and unknowable.
'Rings a bell, my Lord,' Nai replied cheerfully, prompting Amber to wince at the necromancer's blithe irreverence. 'I'm not saying I've got drunk with the man, but there's something about the eyes that's familiar.'
Their guard gave another squawk of outrage, but this time he only looked up at the steps for instruction. There was another Litse white-eye beside Lord Styrax, bigger than Kiallas, with flashes of gold on his ornate armour. He was watching the proceedings with a frown, but he so far he had refrained from getting involved. Now, as he started down the steps, Lord Styrax said quietly, 'Heel, Gesh.'
It was the first time in a while Amber had seen his lord out of armour; even a white-eye as strong as Kastan Styrax would find a full suit tiring in this valley, so he had opted instead for something more suitable for a nobleman. He wore an expensively tailored cream tunic with red braiding, and red leather cavalry boots, as
