by Jeff Wheeler
As he trailed after her, his mind started working through what he knew. From her dress, Lilliana appeared well traveled. She had studied to become a scholar in Vasha. Now, like him, she traveled to Thealon. And she had been tattooed with a rune that reminded him of those found in the book he had stolen in Gomald.
What was he missing? There seemed to be some connection he couldn’t place.
She did not speak much that day. Or that night.
They stopped in another small village and again Lilliana seemed to know some of the villagers, securing them lodging in the quiet inn at the center of town. The tavern held a few men dicing and drinking ale, but nothing like Novan usually saw in the larger cities. Most looked like village regulars simply out eating and drinking. The innkeep put them in a single room on the second floor toward the end of a short and poorly lit hall. A single mattress butted against the wall, a stained and chipped basin rested in the corner.
“I haven’t thanked you for helping me along the way,” Novan said as they closed the door behind them. Fading daylight filtered through a narrow window, and Lilliana lit the single candle that rested on the floor next to the mattress. “If not for you, I would have been camping along the side of the road each night.”
With the chill to the air, he would have been increasingly uncomfortable, though he had traveled much since joining the guild and had known worse days. Had he not met Lilliana, he might have resorted to begging aid on behalf of the guild. Often smaller villages would put him up in exchange for stories or a chance to have their histories documented.
“If not for me, you wouldn’t have crossed the river,” Lilliana reminded him with a laugh.
She had spoken so little over the last day that Novan felt relief when she did. “You’ve been here before.”
“I’ve made this journey many times. After a while, the people become friends. There is so little I can do for them, but I try.”
Novan frowned, wondering what the people would have asked of a scholar. It was unusual for scholars to be afforded the same courtesy as historians, but then, he was beginning to think there was more to Lilliana than a simple scholar.
“What brings you this way often enough to develop these relationships?”
“You have been to Thealon. Is that not reason enough to travel this way?”
“But Vasha is farther north. You would have to come south first. There wouldn’t be any reason to do that . . .” he started, then trailed off. “Unless you aren’t coming from Vasha. And not Gomald, I do not think. That means you travel from the south, and often enough that you know people here. What would bring a scholar of Vasha to the south?”
He asked the question mostly to himself, trying to puzzle out what he had learned of Lilliana. She surprised him by answering. And laughing.
She sat on the edge of the mattress and looked up at him. The firelight danced in her eyes. Her auburn hair caught the colors of the fading sunlight. Sitting as she was, arms crossed over her breasts, Novan could not help but find her lovely.
“For a historian, you have taken a long time to reach these questions,” she began. “When I first met you, I had already pieced together the fact that you were a historian, possibly separated from the guild—though I admit I cannot determine why—and were recently in Gomald, but were now running from there to Thealon. From the fact that you carry nothing but a small waxed bag, I presumed initially that you had nothing of value other than perhaps the work by Alaiht. Strange enough that you should have that. I imagined that it should belong with the guild, and likely in Masetohl if the rumors are true, or maybe in Voiga. Yet rather than returning to the guild, you seek Thealon and do not seem eager to have it known you are a historian. Most historians I have encountered are eager to announce they belong to the guild, flashing their mark as if to impress me.”
When she finished, Novan didn’t know quite what to say. He had seen that she had an observant eye, but this impressed him. Had she wanted to, she could have rivaled Alaiht, and he was widely considered the greatest historian in hundreds of years.
“How many historians have you known?”
She smiled, a hand coming to her neck and touching the ring hanging from the Lakeliis-made necklace. “Enough to recognize one of the guild. Enough to know that you were so distracted by what you were doing that you failed to behave like the others I’ve met.” Her smile widened. “Though if the stories of Novan are true, then you seldom behave like others in the guild, do you?”
Novan stiffened. “What have you heard of me?”
“That you care less about class and more about knowledge,” she answered. “In that, we are much alike. Part of the reason I helped you was that I wanted to know if that were true.”
“That meant you knew I was a historian before you paid my fare?”
She nodded. “You carry yourself far too freely to be anything but a historian. Your dress is clearly ambiguous. You have a keen eye for detail. And you begged the boatman in a way that practically demanded he let you cross. I think that had I not intervened, you still would have found passage.” She smiled slightly. “And there is something else about you that I cannot quite place. When I deduced that you were traveling to Thealon, I decided that it made sense that we travel together until I discovered what I wanted to learn.”
“And that is?”
Her eyes shifted to his pack. “When are you going to show me what you have taken?” She looked up at him and smiled. “Don’t be surprised. You do not hide it nearly so well as you believe that you do. The way that you covered your pack when the sky clouded over or the way you lean away when near water so as to keep it dry. And then there was the way you studied the markings. You had seen them before. Few outside have seen them.”
“Outside of what?”
She sniffed and shook her head. “I should not have to tell you. As a historian, these are questions you should have been asking, seeking the answers on your own.”
“I have many questions I ask.”
“Not the right ones,” she chided. “Not the questions you should be asking.”
Novan frowned. It had been a long time since he had been chastised so. “And you think that you’re asking the right questions? Is that why you make your trek from the south to Thealon often enough that people in these small villages know who you are and are willing to help?”
“That isn’t the reason they help.”
“And that wasn’t an answer.”
“No. And you still haven’t asked the right questions.”
Novan shook his head. “The guild feels the same way.”
She smiled. “Is that why you went to Gomald?”
“I went to Gomald for answers the guild refused to give.”
Lilliana studied him before sighing, pulling her hair to the side. The candle light flickered off the marking on her neck, making it appear to shimmer. “You have seen markings like this?”
She waited for him to nod.
“Few have. There is a certain power to the markings that, no matter how much I study, I cannot explain.”
“Where else have you seen them?”
Lilliana shook her head and let her hair drop back down over her shoulder, covering the markings again. “I have only seen them one place. The same place that I acquired them. A dangerous place, and one that I am lucky to have survived.” She shivered. “The risk was worth it, though. I have learned much by taking the test, much that can be useful to the others. What I would like to know is where you saw them.”
Novan stared at her, debating how to answer. Already he knew that he could not simply deceive her—she had proven that she would recognize it if he did. He glanced at his pack, trying to decide what he should do. If he passed on this opportunity, he didn’t know how long it would take him in Thealon to decipher the runes. Translating the words might take weeks by itself. And here he had someone who had seen the runes before. Shouldn’t he take advantage of that?
“I traveled to Gomald to meet with the High Pr
iest,” he started. “I knew little of the Deshmahne, only that they had gained favor in Gomald as well as parts of the south. I thought to take some time to study and learn from them.”
Lilliana’s eyes widened slightly. “What did you learn from them?”
Novan shook his head. “Nothing. The High Priest would not meet with me, and none of the other Deshmahne priests would either. Before departing, I visited the library. The collection there had a growing reputation. I thought that I might visit with the man in charge of their acquisitions. Only . . . when I surveyed the library, I realized that something was amiss. They had books that they should not. Original works made by historians that only the guild should have possessed.”
Lilliana nodded. “That is why you have the work by Alaiht,” she said. “You took them back. But that isn’t the reason you run to Thealon. Finding guild works wouldn’t have driven you like this. You found something else—something you couldn’t explain and didn’t want to go to the guild for help with.”
Novan pulled the book he’d taken from Nils out of his pack and sat next to Lilliana. After hesitating, he passed it over to her. She took it, looking at the cover with a confused expression. When she flipped it open, Novan saw that her face seemed to stiffen. She turned each page carefully, her lips moving as she read the words. Otherwise she said nothing aloud for long moments.
“You found this in the library?” She did not look up.
“It was late at night. I had snuck into the upper level where I had learned the guild works were stored. The library should have been empty—dark—but it was not. I found Nils copying this book.” He shrugged. “I did not know what it was but felt compelled to take it. I have not been able to understand, but when I saw the runes on your neck, I recognized them as similar to what is in this book.”
“Can you read it?” she asked, finally looking up and meeting his eyes.
“The ancient language?” he asked. “With enough time I should be able to translate it.”
She nodded slowly. “And have you deciphered what it means?”
He frowned, reaching for the book. Lilliana looked at him, holding on to the book rather than passing it back. “Not completely. Do you know what it means?”
Her eyes closed and she nodded again.
“Will you explain?”
“I’m sorry, Novan,” she started. Before Novan could protest, she turned and slid the book into her bag. And then, turning quickly, she struck him with her open hand under his neck.
* * *
Novan awoke with a painful headache. Darkness hung over the room so thick that he couldn’t tell whether he rested on the mattress or the floor. The air smelled wet and damp. As he brought a hand to his head, he realized that his hair was wet.
With a jolt he remembered what had happened. Lilliana had stolen the book.
He staggered to his feet and fumbled toward the door. When he managed to reach it, he threw it open, letting light from the hall stream in, and stood in the open door, struggling to understand what had happened.
Propping the door open, he shuffled around the room until he found his pack. Rummaging inside, he discovered that the books he had taken from Gomald were still there. The only thing she had taken was the book of runes.
But he still didn’t know why.
Novan grabbed his cloak and shuffled down the hall toward the stairs. Music drifted up from the common area. He smelled roasted meat and baked breads, both aromas making his mouth water but sending his stomach churning.
At the bottom of the stairs, he looked around the tavern. Most of the tables had a few people sitting around, either eating or drinking. Novan didn’t know how long he had been out. Was it still the same night, or had he been unconscious for a full night? The darkness made him think that he had not been out too long, but he did not know for certain.
He looked around for the innkeeper. If he could find the man, he could ask about Lilliana. Already he had decided that he needed to follow her and recover the book. If it was valuable enough to be stolen—twice, he reminded himself—then he wanted to decipher the text and the runes to learn why.
As he surveyed the tavern, he saw a man dressed in a black shirt and pants near the corner of the bar. Novan had seen dress like that before, but only in Gomald and on a Deshmahne priest. That one of the priests would venture into Thealon surprised him, especially so close to the city. The Urmahne priests viewed them as a cult blaspheming the nameless gods.
As he weaved into the tavern, he watched the priest, looking as he did for the innkeep. Nearing the kitchen, he realized that the innkeep stood across from the priest. Sweat dripped down his bald head, which he hastily wiped away. Novan found a seat close enough to listen, keeping his back turned so that the priest could not see him.
“You said she was here.” The voice sounded sandpaper rough, hoarse like some of the soldiers Novan had met over the years, voices strained from yelling.
“She was, but she left already. Listen . . . I’ve told you all that I know. I was asked to send word if she appeared, and I did my part. Now I want my reward.” The innkeeper’s voice had an edge to it, and his words were clipped.
The priest laughed. “You have done nothing worthy of a reward. Had you managed to keep her here, you might see what you seek, but you could not even manage that. Perhaps the next time you will be more prompt.”
The innkeeper sputtered. “More prompt? I sent word as soon as I saw her. That was the bargain.”
Novan shifted, trying to watch the conversation. He had no doubt that Lilliana was who the priest sought, but why would the Deshmahne priest look for her?
“The bargain was that you would notify us in time for her to be detained. You completed only half of the bargain. Now if you can tell me which direction she went, I might be inclined to offer a token reward.”
“She went north,” the innkeeper said. “By herself this time. Not sure what happened with the other that was with her.”
“What other?”
The innkeeper hesitated. “Might that be worth more than a simple token reward?”
The priest laughed softly. “Only if what you can tell me is worthy of a reward.”
“A man. Simple clothes. Carried little with him. Spoke with a northern accent.”
“What did he look like?”
“Average height. Dark hair. Hazel eyes. Sharp fellow it seemed.”
Novan heard something thunk onto the table and jingle softly. Coin. And plenty, by the sound of it.
“Where is he?” the priest asked.
Novan pulled his cloak around him and shifted in his seat. Had the innkeeper seen him?
“She left without him. They were on foot, so she couldn’t have gotten far.”
“Don’t worry about the girl. I will find her. But where is this other?”
“Upstairs. Last room. They stayed together. I thought you knew?”
A chair skipped across the floor as the priest stood. “If he is no longer there, the reward is forfeit.”
The priest started away, his feet making little sound as he made his way across the tavern. When he started up the stairs, Novan turned and looked at the innkeeper. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but shut it quickly.
Novan grabbed him. “Where did she go?”
“I thought she was with you . . .”
“Don’t lie to me. I heard what you told him but not why.”
“Then if you heard, you know that she went north.” The innkeeper was not a tall man, and age had stooped his back. He wiped an arm across his brow, smearing dirt into his skin. He looked nervously over Novan’s shoulder, toward the stairs.
Novan figured he had no more than a few minutes before the priest returned. And then he would either need to speak to him or keep hidden. Something about the priest made Novan nervous about facing him.
The innkeeper fidgeted with the sack of coins on the table. Novan grabbed his hand and pulled it up. “I think that you don’t deserve this,” he said, taki
ng the coins and stuffing them into his pocket. “Violating the trust of your patrons.”
“I violated nothing. The priests—”
“Are not recognized in Thealon. Would you like me to alert the church that you have aided the Deshmahne?”
The words had the desired effect. The innkeeper started sweating even more profusely. “Please. You don’t understand. I had no choice, not after what they did the last time.”
Novan frowned. He didn’t have much time to delay knowing that the priest would return any moment, but the comment had his attention. “What did they do the last time?”
The innkeeper shook his head. His eyes looked past Novan’s shoulders and widened.
Without turning, Novan released the innkeeper and slipped around him, unwilling to wait and see what would happen with the priest if he delayed. The door to the inn opened and a squat man came in, heavy jowls ruddy from the chill night. Novan squeezed past him, grabbing at the man’s cloak as he left. As he shut the door, he pulled the man’s cloak through with him, lodging him in the door.
As he hurried into the night, he heard the man sputtering. Novan suspected that might buy him a few moments, possibly enough.
He ran around the side of the inn. A small stable was there and he scanned the stalls. A mottled stallion looked at him from the nearest stall. Novan didn’t hesitate and saddled him quickly before jumping on. He left the coins behind, hoping there would be enough to pay for the stolen horse. If he’d had another choice, he wouldn’t have stolen, but instinct told him to worry about why the priest had come to Thealon.
Kicking the horse forward, he started out of the stable. In spite of the cool night air washing over him, he felt a flush of sweat as he headed north. A cloudless sky hung over him, the nearly full moon seeming to taunt him. Shouts sounded from behind but he did not stop to listen. He needed to reach Lilliana before the priest did.
Novan had not been atop a horse in months but felt it moving fluidly beneath him, as if sensing his urgency. He clung to the saddle, riding it hard as he followed the road. Trees lined the hard-packed earth, growing increasingly dense the longer he went. If he rode long enough to the north, he would reach the Great Forest. Somehow he didn’t think that was Lilliana’s intent.
