The field offices of the Korranberg Chronicle resided within the House Sivis enclave. While not officially employed by the gnomes’ Notaries Guild, the Chronicle used the house’s scribes and magewrights to maintain their archives.
Soneste’s own identification papers gained her admittance within the office, for which she was glad. She could have used Hyran’s writ to shorten her wait, but she refrained. The less she waved it around, the less conspicuous her investigation would be.
When her name was called, she approached the front desk. The gnome clerk regarded her from under bushy white brows. His body was aged and lean, but his eyes were fast and sharp.
“What can I help you with, young lady?” he asked.
“I am hoping to peruse the issues that you published in the weeks following the signing of the Thronehold Treaty.”
“Specific dates, young lady,” the gnome demanded.
Soneste thought about it. The Treaty, which had ended the Last War, had been signed in the autumn of 996, almost two years ago. Hyran had said Charoth’s return to Korth was soon after.
“May I see Aryth through Olarune of 996?”
The clerk scowled down at her from his lofty perch. That was forty-eight editions of the Chronicle she was asking to see. Even in broadsheet form, that would be a thick sheaf of papers to compile. Soneste knew she could produce Hyran’s writ and gain access without question.
Instead, she said, “Please, sir. It would mean a great deal to me right now.”
The gnome cleared his throat and shook his head. “Fine,” he muttered. Soneste waited in awkward silence as the clerk wrote down her request, signed it, and finally incanted some sort of enchantment to authorize it.
He summoned another employee, a young human, who stared at Soneste with poorly-disguised interest. She was beginning to learn how to differentiate the classes of Karrnathi society. From his sensible clothing and an air of entitled self-respect, this one was clearly middle-class, but he would have been too young for mandatory enlistment in the final years of the war. He was handsome, certainly, but a bit too young for her. She was also beginning to admire the Karrns’ contrast of dark eyes with fair skin. She offered him a smile, if only to expedite the process.
“Take the young lady to a reading room,” the gnome ordered, handing the boy the authorization papers.
“Your weapon must remain, lady,” the younger clerk said, his face turning red. He pointed to her rapier.
Accustomed to the procedure from the Chronicle office in Sharn, Soneste complied. She did not volunteer the crysteel dagger still hidden in her boot. After leaving the suggested donation, Soneste was led through a series of corridors lit only by dim cold fire, passing open rooms where historians and other researchers poured over giant tomes. She was brought to a small room of her own, and the boy asked her to wait as he walked awkwardly away.
An oversized open book was propped upright at the center of the room. Its pages were blank. The thick spine was bound to the tabletop by means of a rotating metal hinge, which allowed the reader to angle the contraption as desired. A cylindrical slot at the top of the thick spine was ready to receive. These viewing tomes were an invention of Sivis design, crafted by dragonmarked artificers of the house.
Soon after, another gnome clerk entered the room with a leather kit under one arm. He partially unrolled it upon the table then produced the first of the rune-scribed rods pocketed within.
The gnome held it up before her and pointed to the name and number carved in fine characters along its length. “This is Mol, the first week of Barrakas, 996,” he said by way of explanation, then slid the rod into the spine of the viewing tome.
The pages of the opened book immediately flooded with large, luminous words. A moment later, the light faded but the text remained. Soneste was looking upon the edition of the Chronicle exactly as it had appeared in print on that day. He unrolled the leather portfolio to reveal the remaining rods. There were a lot to go through.
“Thank you,” Soneste said, slipping the gnome a few sovereigns for the inconvenience, which he accepted without a word. He spoke an arcane syllable and the cold fire lamps upon the wall brightened.
When the clerk left her to her research, she immediately set to work. She was aware of the chroniclers checking in on her occasionally, despite their magical safeguards against theft, but she paid them no mind. Her eyes flashed through the large pages quickly, searching for key words that might have some association to Lord Charoth,
When she reached the month of Zarantyr, almost exactly two years past, she found what she was looking for.
Forgehold Disaster Survivor Renounces Own House
Zarantyr 11th, 996 YK
KORTH-Lord Charoth Arkenen d’Cannith, esteemed arcanist and former director of a secret forgehold, formally renounced on Zol all ties to House Cannith. The self-imposed exile stood before barristers of Korth’s Justice Ministry, wearing a mask and concealing his body in dark robes. Agents of the Twelve were summoned to bear witness and scrutinize the mysterious claimant with divination magic.
Believed slain along with thirty-two other forgehold personnel in Therendor of 992, Lord Charoth reemerged last Nymm to take possession of his family’s estates. According to the director’s testimony, the unethical demands placed upon him by his house superiors between 990 and 992 YK led to the forgehold’s destruction.
It was not until the disaster that the existence of the forgehold, a facility sources refer to as the Orphanage, became public knowledge. Lord Charoth, the promising arcanist of the Arkenen family, was presumed dead, along with the forgehold’s entire staff.
Only the director’s return four years later has suggested otherwise. When asked why he delayed news of his survival, Lord Charoth explained, “I have been in dark and painful places and have tried these last few years to hide this fate. Mine have been the sins of fear and denial. Now that the war has ended, I feel Karrnath can weather such a hard truth, a truth I am ready to admit.”
As a consequence of the disaster, Lord Charoth’s body allegedly sustained severe damage. Jorasco healers were immediately sent to attend him when his return was announced, but the former director refused them. “It was not mere fire that has scarred me,” was all he told the Korranberg Chronicle regarding his condition.
Nor is Lord Charoth willing to disclose the location of the Orphanage. “It is an evil place now,” he explained. “The innovations that came from its workshops have been tainted by the unethical demands of my former superiors. I will not afflict any man or woman with the horrors of that ruin, nor subject House Cannith to further embarrassment. Despite the atrocities committed by the house, it suffered a devastating blow along with the whole of Khorvaire on the Day of Mourning. I wish the house renewed prosperity.”
Added Lord Charoth, “And I wish them farewell.”
Among the thirty-two presumed dead at the Orphanage was Erevyn Korell d’Cannith, chief artificer and minister of the facility. Korell was a student and friend of Aarren d’Cannith before the latter’s excoriation and subsequent disappearance in 970 YK.
Agents of House Cannith could not be reached for comment.
Soneste sat back, letting the information sink in. Charoth’s fate was dramatic indeed, yet how could so many people die and only one man, the forgehold’s own director, conveniently survive? Others must have wondered the same, investigations undertaken. Did they yield dead ends?