The archive student sat at the desk with them, poring over a referential text of Julatsan lore, every now and then lifting a nervous head as the sounds of fighting reached his young ears.
‘We’re in no immediate danger,’ said Denser.
‘How do you know?’ asked the student, Therus, his freckled face displaying his awe of the Dawnthief mage next to him.
‘Because Hirad Coldheart hasn’t appeared to order us up to the walls,’ replied Denser. ‘Keep calm. Your soldiers have great hearts. They won’t crumble.’
Mollified, Therus went back to his reading. Erienne smiled and Denser leaned back and stretched his aching neck, taking in the vast shelves of magical text, theoretical research, casting analysis and lore - the latter incomprehensible to him and passed to Ilkar if any potential use was indicated.
They were seated at a desk near the door to the Library, facing an aisle flanked by five-tiered shelves that, studded by more desks, ran away fully two hundred feet. Five more such aisles made up the lower level and further shelves ranged around the walls, their highest texts accessible only by ladder. Two galleries held yet more of the accumulated wisdom of Julatsa and her allies, their ornate polished balustrades reflecting the gentle illumination cast by static Light-Globes. Below he knew, but hadn’t seen, older and more delicate texts were stored in carefully controlled atmospheres where the light seldom shone.
Julatsa’s Library, like that of Xetesk, was heavy with age and history, its dry paper-dust mustiness a delight to the bookworm’s nose. But, curiously for a building containing so much latent knowledge and power, the Library bore no mana weight. No yoke-like mass hung on the neck and, as Denser kneaded the taut back of his own with one hand and Erienne’s with the other, he was very glad of the fact.
‘Where are we at?’ he asked of anyone who cared to answer.
‘Nowhere particularly useful,’ replied Erienne, nodding her thanks as further ribboned parchments were edged onto the desk at her right hand. ‘We have established a possible link between Septern’s contained rip-building and the DimensionConnect used at Understone but nothing so far on the lore to combine the two into a closing pattern.
‘Therus vaguely remembers a note in the margin of a Julatsan text pertaining to mana flow and dimensional disruption caused by rip construction but can’t find it and you have discovered a way to maintain your pipe bowl at a temperature that burns the weed more effectively.’
‘And very important it is too,’ said Denser, a glint in his eye. Erienne thinned her lips.
‘It’s a disgusting habit.’
‘It’s my only vice.’
‘Hardly.’
Therus cleared his throat. ‘Sorry to interrupt but I’ve found something.’
‘Good?’ asked Denser.
‘Not entirely.’
‘Well, let’s hear it.’
The dreams chased themselves across Thraun’s mind with a clarity he would be unable to forget on waking. All the thoughts, feelings, scents and urges of his lupine half played out in his human mind and, for the first time, he would remember everything.
His consciousness fought to surface through the morass of his exhaustion and grief. A pit was open in his heart, and the protestations of his strained muscles, and bruised and stretched sinews and tendons merely added symphony to his sorrow.
He lifted his lids on a reality he had previously seen only through other eyes. The white, he remembered. It was the colour of the walls, the sheets and the bandages. The people too, some lying still, others moving amongst them. Here there was comfort but it was mixed with death.
Thraun mumbled the first of a thousand apologies to the friend he had failed and whose eyes, closed forever, no longer saw the world. The sound he made moved from whisper to growl and almost immediately he felt a hand on his brow, then the cool touch of a damp cloth. He focused, looking up to the face of an elderly woman whose lined skin surrounded eyes of stunning clear blue. She smiled down at him.
‘You do not have to fear retribution for what you are here,’ she said, her voice quiet. ‘Here you can rest secure.’
That they should be aware of his other form had not impinged on Thraun but he was calmed by the reassurance nonetheless. He didn’t have the energy to frame the words of thanks but the woman seemed to understand.
‘Do not hide your grief,’ she said. ‘It is human to cry. Your friends paid him great respect and he is at peace. Rest now. There is water by your bed. I am Salthea. Call me when you need me. Rest now.’
Thraun nodded and turned his face away, unwilling to let her see the first of his tears.
While waiting for Ilkar to arrive, Denser read and reread the entry Therus had found, Erienne doing the same. Its meaning was clear enough. There were other writings; important ones, detailing the living construct of interdimensional rips, how they sustained themselves against the buffeting of the void they travelled; how they affected the space around them, the implications of linking two dimensions and the implications of dissolving that link. To devise some kind of answer quickly enough to the problem staining the sky over Parve, they were writings The Raven needed.
Septern, said the entry in a report made to the Julatsan Council over three hundred and fifty years before, had delivered a series of lectures to a high-level symposium at Triverne Lake covering a good deal of his theoretical understanding of dimensional magic. His lecture papers he had bequeathed to the sponsoring college. It was a typically Septern-like act - he had never felt allegiance to any college despite his Dordovan birth.
It was just a pity the sponsoring college on that occasion had been Xetesk.
‘Would you believe it?’ said Erienne.
‘Given Styliann’s desire to get to Xetesk alone and unaided, yes I’m afraid I would,’ said Denser.
‘You think he knows about these texts?’
‘Without a shadow of a doubt. He and Dystran both.’
The door to the Library opened and Ilkar strode in, hands massaging his neck to relieve tension. Denser briefed him.
‘Next move?’ asked the Julatsan, shaking his head. ‘What’s your reading of Styliann on this one?’
‘He knows what we have to do and he’ll be aware of the importance of these writings. The fact that he didn’t tell us about them back in Parve tells me one thing. He wants to come to the dragon dimension with us.’
‘What for?’ asked Ilkar.
‘Well, it’s possible that he doesn’t trust us to find the solution alone but, given our respective talents, I rather doubt that. No, I think he’s curious, which doesn’t worry me, and I think he wants to eye up potential gain for himself and Xetesk, which does.’
‘Gain?’ Erienne was dismissive.
‘All I’m saying is, if he can do a deal with the dragons, or get some guarantees that aid Xetesk, whatever, he will.’
‘But he can’t get there without us, can he?’ said Ilkar.
‘Why not?’ asked Erienne.
‘Because we hold both the keys to Septern’s workshop,’ said Ilkar. ‘So he still needs us to help him get to the dragon dimension. And frankly, I’m confident the Kaan won’t just roll over to his demands. I’m not sure he quite understands how powerful they are.’
‘Such is the arrogance of the Lord of the Mount,’ said Erienne. Denser shot her a sharp glance but said nothing.
‘So we’ll take him with us?’ he said.
Ilkar shrugged. ‘To be honest, I don’t see we have much choice. And I’m sure Hirad and The Unknown will see it that way. We have to close the rip first and worry about Styliann’s motives later.’
Denser nodded. ‘In that case, and returning to your original question, our next move, or rather my next move, is to commune with Styliann. Since we appear to need each other, we’d better at least know each other’s position.’