Uncountable rows of shelves extended into the distance, divided by a wide aisle directly in front of him. Though the ceiling of the room before him was low, the far wall was so far away he could not see it. Massive columns of stone filled the gap between roof and floor every hundred paces. All was sparsely lit by lamps set on top of heavy iron bases.
The enormous room emanated a feeling of incomprehensible age. Compared to the solid weight of the stone columns and ceiling, the books seemed like such fragile, temporary things. Humbled, Dannyl felt a melancholy descend upon him. He could remain for a year in this place and still make no more imprint on it than a moth wing brushing against the cold stone walls.
“Compared to this, everything else in the library is recent,” Tayend said in a hushed voice. “This is the oldest room. Perhaps thousands of years old.”
“Who made it?” Dannyl breathed.
“Nobody knows.”
Dannyl started down the aisle, gazing at the endless shelves of books.
“How am I going to find what I need?” he asked despairingly.
“Oh, that’s not a problem.” Tayend’s voice was suddenly bright - a sound that cut through the heavy silence of the room. “I have everything waiting for you in the same study room that Akkarin used. Follow me.”
Tayend started down the aisle, his steps light and springy. After passing several shelves, he turned and walked between them, then reached a large stone stairway that rose into a gap in the ceiling. Taking the steps two at a time, he led Dannyl up to the beginning of a wide corridor. Again, the ceiling was disturbingly low. Doors stood open on either side, and Tayend stopped beside one and gestured for Dannyl to enter.
Dannyl found himself in a small room. A large stone table stood in the middle, and piled on top of it were several stacks of books.
“Here we are,” Tayend said. “And these are the books Akkarin read.”
The volumes ranged from tiny, palm-sized books to a huge tome that would have been a challenge to carry. Dannyl examined them, unstacking and restacking as he read the titles.
“Where do I start?” he asked aloud.
Tayend pulled a dusty volume from the middle of a stack. “This was the first one Akkarin read.”
Dannyl looked at Tayend, impressed. The young man’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm.
“You remember that well?”
The scholar grinned. “You need a good memory to use the library. How else do you find a book again after you’ve read it?”
Dannyl looked down at the tome in his hands. Magical Practices of the Grey Mountains Tribes. The date below the title indicated that the book was at least five centuries old, and he knew there hadn’t been tribes living in the mountains between Elyne and Kyralia for at least that long. Intrigued, he opened it and started reading.
8
Just What He Intended
“So we just sit and listen?” Yaldin’s brow furrowed, and his eyes roved about as he concentrated on the voices in the Night Room. Rothen suppressed a chuckle. The elderly magician’s face was too expressive. Anyone who saw him would know that he was trying hard to listen to something.
But with Dannyl gone, Rothen needed someone else to “spy” on the other magicians. Everybody was being cautious now that a scandalous rumor was circulating. Since the rumor involved Rothen, the gossips always checked if he was nearby before talking freely, so he had decided to train his elderly friend, Yaldin, in Dannyl’s techniques.
“You’re being too obvious, Yaldin.”
The old man frowned. “Obvious? What do you mean?”
“When you—”
“Lord Rothen?”
Startled, Rothen looked up to find Administrator Lorlen standing beside his chair.
“Yes, Administrator?”
“I would like to speak to you in private.”
Glancing about, Rothen noted that several magicians standing nearby were eyeing Lorlen expectantly. Yaldin frowned, but said nothing.
“Of course,” Rothen replied. He rose and followed Lorlen across the room to a small door. It swung open at Lorlen’s approach, and they stepped through into the Banquet Room.
The room was dark. A globe light flared above the Administrator’s head and floated up to illuminate a large table. Lorlen moved to one of the chairs. Taking a seat next to the Administrator, Rothen braced himself for the conversation he had been dreading.
Lorlen glanced at Rothen, then let his eyes slide to the table. He sighed and his expression became grim.
“Are you aware of the rumors circulating about you and Sonea?”
Rothen nodded. “I am.”
“No doubt Yaldin has told you.”
“And Sonea.”
“Sonea?” Lorlen’s eyebrows rose.
“Yes,” Rothen said. “She told me four weeks ago that one of her fellow novices had invented the rumor, and she was concerned people would believe it. I told her not to worry. Gossip has a lifespan, that speculation eventually becomes old news, and is forgotten.”
“Hmmm.” Lorlen frowned. “Rumors like this are not dismissed as lightly as you may hope. Several magicians have come to me to express their concerns. They feel it is not proper for any magician to have a young woman living in their rooms.”
“Moving her will do nothing to disprove the rumor.”
Lorlen nodded. “That is true. Nevertheless, it would prevent further speculation that could be quite harmful to you both. In retrospect, Sonea should have moved to the Novices’ Quarters when she began classes.” He looked at Rothen directly. “Not to prevent what the rumors suggest, but to prevent rumors beginning at all. Nobody believes anything untoward has occurred between you and Sonea.”
“Then why move her at all?” Rothen spread his hands. “She will still spend time with me in my rooms, in study or simply for the evening meal. If we give in now, how long will it be before others question the intent behind every moment we spend together?” He shook his head. “Leave things as they are, and those who are foolish enough to give this gossip credence will be assured that no evidence of improper conduct has been found.”
A wry smile curled Lorlen’s mouth. “You are confident, Rothen. What does Sonea think?”
“This rumor has upset her, of course, but she believes that it will be forgotten when she is no longer the target of Garrel’s favorite.”
“When - if - she reaches the winter intake?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think she will reach the higher class and manage to stay there?”
“Easily.” Rothen smiled, not bothering to conceal his pride. “She is a fast learner, and quite determined. The last thing she’ll want to do is slip back down to Regin’s class.”
Lorlen nodded, then looked at Rothen closely. “I don’t share your optimism about this rumor, Rothen. Your arguments against moving her have some merit, but if you are wrong, the situation could grow much worse. I believe she should be moved, for her own sake.”
Rothen frowned at the Administrator. Surely Lorlen did not think that Rothen would bed a novice, particularly a girl less than a third his age? Lorlen’s gaze was level and hard, however, and Rothen realized with a shock that the magician had actually considered the possibility.
Lorlen couldn’t believe this of him! How could he even think about it? When had Rothen given Lorlen cause to
