The baron frowned. "Whispers concerning some old find… but no more. The royal family has no idea how deluded these sages and their ideas can be. If not for their public schools and pragmatic services, I couldn't see why the king continues to fund them." He shook his head. "If this project is the cause of deaths, perhaps someone in power will put a stop to it."
Rodian blinked and stood up as his thoughts turned inward.
Perhaps the true motive wasn't acquiring the folios but destroying them? This hadn't occurred to him before. He'd considered only greed or desire for secret information.
Âdweard hadn't realized what he suggested and spoke only from an intellectual perspective. On second thought, Rodian considered the motive unlikely. Destroying the transcribed passages still left the originals and the sages' own notes intact at the guild.
"Can we take you to the Sea Bounty for a late lunch?" Âdweard suggested.
"Thank you, no," Rodian replied. "I have other duties at the barracks and should head back. Bring your statements to Lieutenant Garrogh before signing them." He paused and turned. "Jason… my apologies, but I am trying to protect you. Stay away from Elvina until all this is over. Remember that, or suffer for it."
For once Jason's sullen demeanor broke, and he nodded. "I was only thinking of Elvina's good name."
Rodian kept his response to himself—no, you were thinking of yourself—but he believed Jason innocent of murder.
"I'll see you both at the next service."
He stepped from the office, pausing long enough to pay homage at the altadive at thr, then left to find Snowbird. But Âdweard's words echoed in his head.
If this project is the cause of deaths, perhaps someone in power will put a stop to it.
Chapter 7
Wynn burst into her room, going straight for her desk table without shutting the door.
But she stopped halfway and glanced at her storage chest. Changing directions, she dropped to her knees and lifted its lid.
Several items from her travels rested inside, but she reached for one in particular: a special quill with a white metal tip. It had been a gift from one of the elven elders during her visit among the an'Cróan, Those of the Blood. Closing her eyes, she could still remember Gleann's kind face as he'd pushed the quill and sheets of parchment at her, so she could keep a record of her experiences and observations.
The notes she recorded had survived a great deal—including a shipwreck and the grueling mountain trek through the Pock Peaks. But since returning home, Wynn hadn't used this quill. With all her journals confiscated, she'd almost felt as if she would betray the memory of Gleann's kindness by using the quill here.
She picked it up now and closed the chest.
Hurrying to her desk, she gathered a bottle of ink and a blank journal. Rubbing her crystal harshly until it glowed, she mounted it in the tin clip holder inside her cold lamp. Arms loaded, she hurried out, the lantern clinking against the door as she shut it.
It had been a long while since she'd been filled with a sense of purpose. She barely noticed Miriam coming up as she hurried down the far stairs.
"Hello, Wynn."
Wynn offered a quick smile and moved on. But when she cracked open the door at the stair's bottom, a double column of ten young initiates marched out of the gatehouse tunnel, straight toward the keep's main door.
Wynn pulled back and closed the door halfway.
A pair of apprentices, one in brown and the other in light blue, walked ahead of the initiates—a rather odd combination. Leading the procession was brown-robed Domin Ginjeriè. She was the youngest domin ever in the Order of Naturology. Obviously she'd taken a band of initiates for a field outing or perhaps some community service.
Right then Wynn had no wish to face anyone.
Thirteen sages passed through the keep's main doors.
And still Wynn waited. Giving them time to clear the entryway, she then raced quickly across the courtyard to the main building. Upon finding no one inside the doors, instead of turning left past the common hall, she went right down a long stone corridor. Passing the hospice, lower seminar chambers, and other rooms, she hooked left at the passage's end, intent upon reaching the spiral stairwell at the base of the east tower. Before she reached the antechamber's door, a smooth voice with a Suman accent floated from out of a seminar room across the passage
Wynn paused, stepping back to peek through the room's open door.
"The third element for practical consideration is Air," Domin il'Sänke said.
The domin sat upon a stool before a half circle of small benches filled by a dozen or more young figures in robes. Not all the students were metaologers. Several wore the pale blue of sentiology, and a few others the teal of conomology or the brown of naturology. There were even three initiates, though it wasn't common practice for such to attend seminars on special topics. Wynn knew she shouldn't linger, but she stood fascinated, watching as il'Sänke raised both hands, palms up, and the sleeves of his dark blue robes slipped, exposing his slender wrists.
She'd forgotten that he'd offered to teach during his stay, though she hadn't known he would include seminars for students from any order. Normally metaology seminars were held on the second floor, but it seemed he'd obtained a more commonly used room.
"Many novice practitioners discount Air as a lesser element," il'Sänke continued, "believing it less useful than Fire or Water… or even Earth." He slowly spread his palms, as if moving them consciously through the air.
Some domins and masters could prattle on until their students drooped, half-conscious, but all those here fixed their eyes on the dark-skinned domin. And Wynn noted a particular tall young man in midnight blue sitting far off to the left.
"Dâgmund?" she whispered.
She hadn't seen him in years, and knew him only in passing. He'd made journeyor and left on assignment before she'd even headed to the Farlands with Domin Tilswith. But now he was back? Perhaps he was finished, and returned for a new assignment.
Or was he here to petition for master's status already? It couldn't have been more than three years. And he certainly wouldn't be attending such a general introduction to metaphysical elements.
"Yet Water and Fire, even the dust of Earth, can be carried within Air," il'Sänke continued. "And thus Air could be viewed as most essential among the five elements, via either conjury or thaumaturgy. It can hold a special place as facilitator when dealing in works of higher complexity."
Wynn sighed. How nice it would be to simply join in, to listen to il'Sänke's teachings. But she didn't have time for such diversions.
Then Dâgmund turned his head, peering toward the door, and Wynn held her place a moment longer.
Stout cheekbones were his most prominent feature beneath pale blue eyes. At first he seemed troubled by the sight of her—or perhaps just confused. Then his high forehead smoothed. With the barest smile he nodded to her, but it took a moment before she nodded back.
She'd grown so accustomed to disdain, suspicion, and wariness cast her way that even a brief friendly acknowledgment was unsettling. Perhaps he hadn't been back long enough to hear about her. She'd barely known him, considering their differing paths, and hadn't seen him since her earliest days as an apprentic Cs ahere.
But she remembered one time in a room like this one.
Some apprentices of cathology wanted to hear a lecture by Premin Hawes on mantic practices of thaumaturgy. It wasn't really of interest to her, but Wynn tagged along anyhow. By the time it was over her curiosity had grown, and Dâgmund had been there among a great number of apprentices from metaology. She'd asked him a few questions in passing, wanting to read more on the theories and practices of information gathering via the arcane arts. He gave her the title of an obscure text hidden in the archives that covered the basics of rituals in thaumaturgical manticism. Little did she know then how much trouble that would cause her later.