She had thought they were all the part of a single order. She had been disabused of that belief after listening to an extended tirade on the Orders and the finer (and less fine) points of each one. Afterward, Tiadaria had realized that looking for Faxon’s apprentice in Ethergate was similar to looking for a needle in a stack of other needles. After her most recent failure, she had returned to the inn for a friendly face and a few minutes to nurse her wounds.
Harold was behind the bar, polishing the wood with a tattered rag. His hands were so gnarled with age that by the time he had finished rubbing down the counter, he’d need to start over at the other end. Tia wondered how many years he had spent trudging up and down the floor between the bar and the drink cabinet and how long he had used the rag that he now brandished like a badge of honor.
Tia took a sip of the cider and tried to coax a useable idea out of the tumble of her thoughts. She had spent so much time in various libraries this morning that she thought she’d scream if she saw another book. Still, there were seven more libraries she had to explore and probably get thrown out of. Faxon’s apprentice had to be here somewhere and she’d find him even if she ended up being an old lady before she did it.
That thought hit her so forcefully that she dropped the tankard back to the table with a thunk. She stood and quickly walked to the bar, surprising Harold as he worked on his eternal polishing.
“How can I help you, Lady Tia? More cider?”
“No thank you,” she said quickly. “If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you lived in Ethergate, Harold?”
The old man smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Why, my whole life, Lady Tia. Born and raised. Why?”
“Can you tell me which library is the oldest?”
“Oh certainly,” he leaned out over the bar, stabbing a finger southward beyond the inn. “Take the south road to the center of the city. The oldest library is under the Reliquary.”
“Thank you!” Tiadaria took a garnet from her pocket and pushed it across the counter at the startled gentleman, leaving him to stare after her as she all but ran from the common room.
Though it was just after midday outside, it might as well have been midnight in the reliquary. The squat stone building had no windows and was illuminated by magic lanterns hung from pegs around the long, wide room full of shelves. After being stopped by the guards outside the door, she had assured them that she was vouched for by the King of the Imperium and showed them her writ as proof. Once inside, they had directed her to a quintessentialist so old that he made Jotun look young and sprightly.
His appearance was ancient, but the quint's mind was sharp, unmuddled by the years he had seen. As soon as Tiadaria had explained who she was and where she had come from, the elder quint nodded.
“You’ll be wanting Wynn, then.” He took a lantern down off a peg and motioned for her to follow him. “Come along then, the youngster rarely leaves the stacks.”
Tiadaria followed the old man, who moved surprisingly rapidly for someone of his apparent age. They descended a long flight of marble steps and emerged in a room lined with shelves. As they walked, Tia sneaked peeks at the books on the shelves. Many weren’t even proper books at all, but sheaves of parchment bound together by ribbon or string. Most of them were so weathered and yellow that she thought they would crumble to dust as the merest touch. She resolved not to handle anything in this library unless she absolutely had to.
Finally, they arrived at a table in a dimly lit corner of the library. The youngster the older quint had referred to was probably a couple years older than Tia, and he was so thoroughly engrossed in the book he was studying that the elder had to shake him to get his attention.
“Hmmm?” he asked absently, finally tearing his eyes away from the tome long enough to register that there were people standing next to him. “Oh, sorry.”
“Wynn,” the quint said tolerantly. “This is Lady Tiadaria, from Blackbeach, Master Indra sent her to find you.”
“Oh.” Wynn looked unsettled. “Uh, okay then. Thank you.”
Her escort shot her an apologetic glance and shook his head before retreating, leaving Tiadaria and Wynn standing there in silence. Tiadaria had expected Faxon’s apprentice to be as garrulous has Faxon himself was. As seemed to be the case a lot lately, she was wrong. They stood there awkwardly before she finally decided to take matters into her own hands.
“So you’re Faxon’s apprentice?”
The young man peered at her for a moment before nodding. “Yes, I help Master Indra with his research.” He pointed to the book on the table. “I really must get back to it. Fascinating stuff, really.”
“Oh?” Tia asked, cocking her head to read the text scrawled in the tome. “Three thousand types of fungus,” she read and raised an eyebrow. “Riveting reading, then?”
“Oh yes!” Wynn said at the most animated she had yet seen him. “Each of the specimens was categorized and defined by its unique characteristics, both magical and mundane.”
He turned back to the book and seemed to completely forget about her. Wynn sat with his chin in his palms, his head bowed over the weighty tome of mold. The only indication that he was even awake was the occasional turn of a page. Tiadaria stood by his elbow, completely at a loss. She cleared her throat, loudly, trying to recall his attention. He seemed to be lost in his own world. A world full of fungus, no doubt.
“Wynn?” she said tentatively. Slowly, Tia realized that tentative wasn’t going to get the job done. She reached over and flipped the book closed, the binding barely missing the tip of the young man’s nose.
“Careful!” he hissed, jumping to his feet. He caressed the book with a tender touch. “You could have damaged the binding, or torn a page!”
Tia had reached her breaking point. She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “I’m going to damage YOUR binding if you don’t pay attention to me,” she said savagely.
Wynn blinked, obviously unaccustomed to such forcefulness. He nodded, his hand still lingering on the book protectively.
“Faxon said that you’d be the person to ask about a relic we’re looking for,” Tiadaria said without a hint of flattery. “We need to know what the relic might be and where it is.”
“If Master Indra,” Wynn began, drawing out both the title and the surname. “Wanted to know about a relic, why didn’t he come here and ask about it himself?”
“Because, Apprentice Wynn, he sent me to start the research before he got here.” Tiadaria stabbed her thumb at her own chest and glared at Wynn. He was probably four inches taller than she was, and she felt sort of ridiculous trying to intimidate him. If only she had her scimitars…
The use of his title appeared to partially deflate Wynn and he slumped back in the chair at the study table. He gently moved the mold book to one side and peered at her expectantly. They stared at each other for a few moments before he heaved a long, drawn out sigh.
“I can’t help you find anything if you don’t tell me what you’re looking for!”
“Then ask,” Tiadaria snapped. “I can’t read minds!”
Wynn shook his head, as if he was dealing with some eminently unreasonable creature incapable of intelligent thought. “What relic are you looking for?”
“I don’t know,” Tiadaria stammered. “We know the Xarundi are looking for it, and that there are rumors of it being buried in snow and ice.”
“That’s all? If you don’t know what you’re looking for, how do you expect me to find it?”
Tiadaria lost the last of her patience. “Faxon said you were the person to ask!” Her shout echoed across the labyrinthine library. “If I knew what I was looking for, I wouldn’t need you, would I?”