by Tim Pratt
“How about a ring?” Tobern went to the footlocker at the end of the bed and lifted the lid, rooting around inside for a while.
Eldra looked at Rodrick, raised one eyebrow, and kissed the air at him.
Tobern returned to the bed and held out … a chunky silver ring, but not a signet. “This is an old family heirloom, and I would be honored if you’d take it to give to your son, or daughter, when the time is right.”
“Oh, Tobern, you’re so generous.” She clasped his hands in hers, warmly, and then took on an abstracted expression. “Is this—this isn’t the ring, is it? The one the founder of your family passed down from son to son to son? My great-grandmother told me about it once in a letter—
He laughed. “You mean the signet ring? No, nothing like that. This was my grandfather’s ring, a gift from my grandmother, but he couldn’t bear to wear it, after she passed—too many memories—and he gave it to me. No, the signet … Well, in truth I should have left it back at home for my brother, since I’m unlikely to ever have children.”
“Oh, well, if you’d like to give it to me, I was going to visit the estate anyway…”
Nicely done, Rodrick thought.
Tobern shook his head. “That’s kind, but that ring … it’s the one connection we have to our family’s founder. I know it’s a bit ridiculous, but it’s sort of a solemn thing, passing it from hand to hand, man to man. My brother plans to visit me in a few months, and I’m going to give it to him then. Did you know, there’s even this old story—almost a family legend—about the ring. They say it’s the key to a vault full of treasure. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
Eldra listened to him avidly, focusing her full attention on him, and he gave his full attention back to her as he spoke. Rodrick rose, stretched, yawned, and reached into the pocket where he’d concealed a length of leather wrapped around several bits of lead. Eldra narrowed his eyes at him, then suddenly bent double, retching horribly.
Tobern leapt up. “Cousin! Cousin, are you all right?”
“I—I just— Air, I need air. Please, help me out.”
The crusader put his arm around her and helped her to her feet, and Eldra contrived very naturally to knock over both their teacups in the process, retching and gasping all the while. Rodrick leapt to his feet and opened the door for them. “You tend to her, good master, and I’ll just clean up that mess.”
Tobern ignored him as thoroughly as a king would ignore a sparrow, all his attention focused on his sick relation
When they were gone, Rodrick went and rifled through the chest at the end of the bed until he found a small box full of letters bound with ribbon, colored stones, locks of hair—and, yes, an ancient signet ring bearing the distorted image of a crow. He pocketed the ring, put everything back as he’d found it, then picked up the cups and dabbed a bit at the puddle of cold tea with one of the crusader’s shirts.
When Rodrick got outside, Eldra was clearly much better, leaning against the wall of the adjoining barracks with a wan smile on her face. “I’m so sorry. It’s the foreign water, you see. I’m not entirely accustomed to it yet, and sometimes my stomach…”
“Are you sure you’re all right? I could find a healer…”
She patted Tobern’s cheek. “You’re too good to me, Cousin. No, I think I should go back to the inn and rest. Perhaps I can call on you tomorrow?”
“I’ve got sentry duty tomorrow, but the next day? I can try to arrange some leave, and show you some of the sights of Lastwall.”
“Nothing would please me more.” She squeezed his hand, then leaned on Rodrick. “Take me home.”
As they walked out of the crusader compound and onto one of the well-maintained streets of Vellumis, she said, “Give me the ring now.”
He sighed and passed it over. “As if I’d steal it from you. I don’t know where the vault is, except for someplace with hills, where they grow spelt.”
“And even then I could have been lying. Maybe it wasn’t a hill at all, but a rock wall. Maybe it wasn’t spelt, but millet. I still feel better with it in my hand.”
“You reminded him of the ring, you know. He might go looking for it. When he realizes it’s missing, he might suspect you.”
She shrugged. “We won’t be in Vellumis long. The inn where I claimed to be staying isn’t the place where I am. He won’t think I stole the ring, anyway, though he might think you did. Even if he does suspect me … He’s a young and idealistic crusader. A little disillusionment will do him a great deal of good. He might even live longer.”
26
THE INTERDICTED LIBRARY
They met the Specialist in a row of market stalls, where he was happily arguing with a pottery seller about various methods for firing and glazing pots. When Eldra and Rodrick arrived he looked at them blankly for a moment, as if unsure who they were, then said, “I found a room for us.”
They followed him through the orderly streets of Vellumis until they reached an unassuming house of stone and timber, leading them around the back to a cellar door. “The place is owned by an old blind woman living on a widow’s pension—her husband died in some battle long ago, and while the Crusaders give her enough to live on, she was happy to take some extra coin to rent out her basement.”
They followed him into the dark, where he lit a lamp, and Rodrick grunted. The Specialist was good at procuring and facilitating, he had to admit. For a root cellar, it was almost cozy, with three cots and blankets—and, of course, an array of glassware and vials on a wooden table in the corner. “We needed a base of operations if we’re going to free Hrym,” the Specialist explained. “This place is conveniently located between the Bastion of Justice and the Interdicted Library.” He frowned at Eldra. “I assume you succeeded in your mission?”
Eldra nodded. “If we’d failed, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Did you get the items we discussed?” Rodrick said.
“Yes, and I did the necessary forging, too. Come see.”
Rodrick examined the Specialist’s work. “I have no idea what the real thing is supposed to look like, but this is certainly impressive. The seals, and the calligraphy … this paper is more substantial than some clothes I’ve owned. You’ve got a real gift for this sort of thing. Why didn’t you try to trick your way into the library like this in the first place?”
The Specialist smoothed his mustaches. “I am not as skilled at imposture as you and Eldra. I have no natural talent for pretending to be something I’m not, and while I’ve always thought I should study acting, there are only so many years in one’s life. Besides … I thought I had a secret way in. If I’d been faced with no approach but the direct approach, I’m not sure what I would have done.”
“Fortunately, for this operation, you can just be yourself: inscrutable and distracted. I’ll be in charge of pretending to be someone else. Should we go now?”
The Specialist shook his head. “Better to wait a few hours, until it’s later in the guards’ shift, when they’re more bored.”
“Right. Of course.” Rodrick looked around the cellar. Spending the next several hours just sitting here would be intolerable. The only reason he wasn’t going mad with worry over Hrym was because he was keeping busy, exercising his mind and occupying his body. The others didn’t really understand. They heard Hrym speak, but they still thought of him as an object, a sword with peculiar magical properties.
But Hrym was more than a wondrous item to Rodrick. He was more, even, than a friend, or a brother-in-arms. Sometimes Rodrick thought he and Hrym were in some way two halves of a broken circle, made whole only by their partnership. Rodrick had never felt complete until his hand first closed on Hrym’s hilt. He’d lived a life before the sword, and in that life he’d been so alone he hadn’t even recognized his solitude. His life had always been devoid of trust, but with Hrym, there was someone he could count on completely, without question, or hesitation, or misgiving.
Of course, he’d never tell Hrym any of that—the sword would
mock him relentlessly—but those were the facts. Prinn would either abuse Hrym’s powers for his own gain, or keep the sword in the antimagic sheath that kept him unconscious, and Rodrick couldn’t leave his partner to either fate.
“Could you stop pacing?” the Specialist said from his alchemy table. “It’s making me very nervous.”
Rodrick stopped. He hadn’t even been aware of his own relentless motion, his brain full of Hrym Hrym Hrym.
Eldra seemed to understand, and put her hand on his arm. “You know, I didn’t have a proper breakfast, and it’s past time for lunch. Come with me to get something to eat? Then you’ll be properly fortified for your next mission.” She snorted. “‘Mission,’ did you hear me? I wasn’t in the Volunteers for long, but it was long enough for their nonsense to rub off on me.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea. We’ll walk around a bit, clear my head, feed the body.”
They went into the open air and strolled down the street arm-in-arm. “Though it pains me to suggest obscuring your gorgeous face,” Rodrick said, “you should probably put up your hood. It’s a big city, but it would be awkward if your ‘cousin’ caught sight of you.”
“Why don’t you have to hide your face? He saw you, too.”
Rodrick shook his head. “He met me, but he didn’t see me. He just saw a servant. He was too busy gazing at you to notice anything else.”
“He did seem a bit smitten, poor boy. As far as he knows we’re only just barely related by blood, the thinnest of trickles, and in his experience even first cousins sometimes get married. Did you see how his face fell when I told him I was to be wed?”
“I did. And then he immediately felt guilty and became more chivalrous to make up for it. You really are very good at what you do, Eldra. Now, hood up, please.”
She sighed, but complied. “I feel like Merihim, hiding in this damn cloak.”
“Oh, now. You’re slightly prettier than Merihim was.”
Eldra scowled. “Slightly?”
“She had a nice face, even if it was the color of fresh blood, and apart from the way she smirked all the time. She had a very good body. Before it exploded, anyway.”
“A good body! You shouldn’t talk this way to a woman you love, Rodrick.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t.”
“Fair enough. You shouldn’t talk this way to a woman you lust after, either.”
“I know what we have, Eldra. You flirt, you joke, and you insinuate, but I realized about two days after I met you that I’d have to enjoy the banter and flirtation on their own merits, because you were never going to follow through.”
“Oh, I don’t know about never. The time hasn’t seemed quite right yet, though. When we shared our room in the Bastion, I honestly thought it was inevitable, but now … those cots the Specialist got don’t look too comfortable, and there’s a certain lack of privacy.”
“Let me rephrase,” Rodrick said. “It’s better for me to assume that there will never be anything more than flirtation between us, because otherwise, I would spend all my time wondering and hoping, and in general being distracted from my other duties.” He paused. “Besides, you’re old enough to be my great-grandmother.”
“You have to admit, I’ve held up well, though.” She patted his arm. “Maybe I’ll bake you some cookies, then, or knit you a scarf.”
* * *
After a pleasant meal at a chophouse, where Eldra’s sparkling conversation almost made Rodrick stop thinking about Hrym for whole minutes at a time, they returned to their basement. The Specialist was waiting, already dressed in the dull garb of a soldier, complete with mail shirt. Rodrick hurriedly dressed in similar garments, procured by the Specialist, who’d managed to acquire clothing that fit Rodrick better than many garments he’d picked out himself.
They grabbed a handle on either side of a heavy metal box, about two feet on each side, and wrestled it out of the cellar and into a wheelbarrow. After a glance at the Specialist, who just looked at him expectantly, Rodrick sighed, grabbed the handles, and began to wheel their burden forward. The Specialist had planned a route that stuck to alleyways and little-traveled side streets, and while they saw a few people, they didn’t encounter any crusader officers who might ask pointed questions.
The Vellumis branch of the Interdicted Library was a dilapidated stone building in a row of the same, so obviously abandoned that small plants were growing from cracks in the walls. “Very convincing,” Rodrick said. “Aren’t they afraid the walls will come tumbling down?”
“They’re very solid on the inside,” the Specialist said. “And fortified with magic, too. I think I know what to expect in there, but if things become … complicated … you still have my special ring, yes?”
Rodrick held up his hand, displaying the hollow ring loaded with the sleeping potion. “I do indeed. But I thought we wanted to do this quietly?”
“We do, but in case things get … loud … be prepared to disable the nearest guard, hmm?”
“I’m always prepared for treachery. Present situation excepted.”
The Specialist led Rodrick around the back of the building, then hammered his fist on a stout wooden door.
A panel in the door slid open, and eyes appeared. “What do you want?”
The Specialist held up the document he’d forged, its parchment and seals so official-looking that Rodrick felt an elemental variety of fear every time he glanced at it. “We’ve got a new addition to the collection.”
“Let me see the documentation.”
The Specialist slid the parchment through the opening, which slid shut. After a full five minutes, the panel slid open again. “This all looks to be in order. Let me unlock the door.”
That was apparently a laborious process, with many bolts sliding free, before the door opened silently on well-oiled hinges. The Specialist went in first, and Rodrick pushed the wheelbarrow after him, grunting at the effort.
The guard, a sandy-haired fellow about Rodrick’s age, whistled. “Must be a bad one.” He nodded at the metal box. “Haven’t seen one that heavily sealed more than once or twice before.”
Rodrick put down the wheelbarrow and mopped his brow, looking around. There was a desk, a chair, and a small woodstove in this dim and windowless room, and beyond that, a fence of iron ran from wall to wall and floor to the ceiling, the bars so close together it would have been hard even to wriggle a finger through the cracks. It was impossible to see what lay beyond the wall of iron. A gate in the door was heavily chained and barred, almost as if to keep something inside locked up. The gate glimmered with bluish light, probably some sort of magical ward.
“You been on this duty long?” Rodrick said as the guard resealed the door behind them.
The man grunted. “Two months, this time, but I’ve done two other rotations. Most people don’t manage more than one.”
“Huh. Why’s that? Seems a little dull, but I’ve met plenty of soldiers who’d appreciate a nice quiet posting.”
The guard shook his head. “Ha. You might think it’s quiet. Most of the time it is. But sometimes the books make noise. They whisper, sort of, and while I can’t ever make out the words, some people can. Depends on what kind of mind you have, or so they say. I’ve never been much for daydreams and flights of fancy, and that’s the best kind of guard for this place. Practical, down to earth. Even so, nobody’s allowed to do more than three months at a stretch anymore. There have been … incidents.”
Rodrick looked appropriately worried. “Magic. Never liked the stuff.”
“You and me both, brother.”
“Are you all alone in here?”
“Nah. Always at least two of us, since some … mishaps … in the old days. Now they station one out front here, and one back in the cage.”
“The cage?” Rodrick glanced at the warded iron wall again.
“Where the books are locked up. They’re more dangerous than any wild animal. My partner’s a spellcaster, in case there’s a problem a sword can�
�t solve.” He nodded to the Specialist, who was fussing with the bolts and chains holding the metal box closed. “He doesn’t talk much, does he?”
Though that was a hilariously inaccurate statement, Rodrick just nodded. “Doesn’t seem to. I don’t know the man well. He’s an expert in these sorts of things, apparently.”
The guard nodded sagely. “Sure. You can’t let just anybody handle these books and scrolls and things. You have to know what you’re doing. That’s my partner’s territory, though, and he’s welcome to it. I’m just here to stab anyone who tries to break in. Where’d this new book come from?”
“I was with General Andraste’s division, up in the Hold,” Rodrick said. “We took down an orc camp, and found a whole cache of magical artifacts, including this book. One of the shamans fought to the death rather than surrender it.”
The guard grunted. “Say what you will about orcs, they aren’t afraid to die. Didn’t realize they were much for reading, though. I’ll call my partner, so he can examine the book and see where it needs to be shelved.”
Rodrick kept a bland expression. “No need to go to all that trouble. I’m sure my friend here can put it away.”
The guard shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way. You can’t just shove the book on a shelf—you have to do tests and make sure there won’t be any negative interactions.” At Rodrick’s questioning look, he said, “You know how, when you mix the wrong chemicals together, you can make a poisonous cloud? Or mix together the right powders, and you can make something that explodes?”
