Of Truth And Beasts Part 25

Wynn was forced to cross through all the tables to him.

His face was triangular, like most elves', though slightly long of jawline. He appeared middle-aged, which might be considered young for a premin. His eyes became more disturbing the closer Wynn drew.

They were less slanted than a typical elf's, less amber, and glimmered with a shade of dark yellow.

"I am Journeyor Hygeorht of the Calm Seatt branch," she said, filling the unpleasant silence as she pulled out the sealed letter. "High Premin Sykion asked me to deliver this during my visit."

Premin Gyr didn't move or hold out his hand. The ghost of a frown pa.s.sed over his features, but he never blinked. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Premin Sykion sent a journeyor cathologer all this way to deliver a letter? Is something amiss?"

His tone was flat, the only inflection on "cathologer," as if the word were distasteful.

"Not that I know of," Wynn replied in feigned ignorance. She held out the letter again, and this time he took it as she added, "I also have research a.s.signments to conduct . . . in your archives."

Again he said nothing, simply turning the sealed message under his gaze. His dark yellow eyes then shifted and locked on her. His expression altered in an instant with a welcoming nod and faint smile.

Wynn grew even more wary.

"Be sure to see Domin In-Ridge about a room a.s.signment," he said. "Have you eaten?"

In spite of that smile, his voice was still cold-and jarring for the abrupt change of topic. Why would he use the domin's translated name, as if she wouldn't understand his native one?

"Not yet, Premin," she answered.

"Do so before making use of our archives. If initiates have cleared the meal, tell them I sent you. Something can be found in the kitchens."

"Thank you, Premin."

Wynn backed up two steps before turning.

There was nothing wrong with him that she could put a finger on. But she was eager to leave, and, hopefully, wouldn't need to meet him again. As she pa.s.sed through the archway and out of that chaotic chamber, she noticed that Shade hadn't followed. Wynn glanced back.

Shade was the one staring this time-at Premin Gyr. The premin watched her in turn, not a bit of shock or awe in his expression.

"Come, Shade," Wynn whispered. "Time to eat."

Shade turned, but not with any of her earlier urgency. Once they were back in the courtyard, Wynn took a deep breath, released it slowly, and put that odd encounter behind her.

Uncertain of her current position within the redwood citadel, she backtracked along the way she'd come. When she spotted a small group exiting into the courtyard, she grabbed the door to peek in. The meal hall waited inside, and Wynn felt a little more confident about finding her way around.

Better yet, the hall was almost empty.

Some dark bread, goat cheese, and late-season blackberries still graced the end of one table. Wynn made a beeline before someone cleared them away. Shade was satisfied with the bread and cheese. In the past she'd turned up her nose at anything baked, but these days, she'd even eat jerky and biscuits.

A few elven initiates looked at them-at Shade-but no one approached.

"Mind your manners," Wynn said, breaking off more cheese for Shade.

Shade snapped and gulped and then whined for more, sniffing at the table's edge.

"That's enough for now," Wynn said. "I need to find the archives."

The courtyard door slammed open.

Wynn stiffened on the bench when Premin Gyr strode in, his midnight blue robe swinging around his booted feet. Two young initiates sucked in audible breaths and scrambled out of sight. Gyr's gaze locked on Wynn, and her stomach knotted as he came straight at her.

"I am glad to have found you," he said, and the calm in his voice belied the hostility in his eyes. "I have been informed of a change of circ.u.mstance. Our guild is preparing for a complete restructuring of the archives. The work begins sooner than antic.i.p.ated."

Wynn dropped a hunk of cheese on her plate.

"It is unfortunate that you traveled such a distance," he continued. "At present, no one besides the archivists and their a.s.sistants will be allowed to enter. I do apologize."

Wynn flushed cold with shock as she stood up and carefully asked, "How long will this restructuring take?"

"Indefinitely . . . as it involves a great deal of work," he answered, and turned immediately to leave.

Wynn was left standing there, staring after him. This was far worse than what had happened in Chathburh after she'd delivered the first message.

"I am in no hurry," she called after Gyr.

"Then your stay will be a long one," he said, his back to her. "Of course, you are welcome to visit the public libraries in the branch's lower levels."

And he was gone.

Wynn was still numb, like the moment right after a sharp blow. It had never occurred to her that she'd be shut out. Not even her own superiors had gone that far. The frustration and the loss were overwhelming, and then shock burned away in anger.

What had that d.a.m.ned Sykion put in this message?

Wynn had sold a sacred cold lamp crystal for a more secretive pa.s.sage than she'd told her superiors. Chane had suffered through the caravan ride to get here. Ore-Locks was still on her heels, trying to force her onward.

And she'd been locked out from afar by Sykion.

What was going on inside her own guild branch? It wasn't enough for them to just get her out of their way for as long as possible, much as they'd connived to keep her connected to the guild and under watch. It now appeared she remained a sage in name only.

Shade rumbled softly.

Wynn wondered whether the dog reacted to Premin Gyr's demeanor or understood what had just occurred.

Two remaining initiates still stared at the courtyard door. They cast furtive glances at Wynn, as if she'd brought something fearful among them.

Wynn fled the meal hall, pulling Shade along. Once outside, she was panting in anger, frustration, and panic. This time the courtyard's serenity didn't help her. She wanted to hit something-or someone.

Had Sykion's unknown warning been so dire that Gyr had closed down the entire archives? It didn't seem believable. Or were the archivists really engaged in such a vast reorganization while giving Gyr a few moments' notice? That was just as far-fetched.

The sound of shuffling footsteps and sloshing water barely cut through Wynn's thoughts. A young initiate, perhaps fourteen, was hauling a bucket along the path in the other direction.

"Pardon," Wynn called, hurrying after the girl. "Could you point me to the archives?"

The girl blinked. The question appeared to confuse her as she looked over Wynn's gray robe. She pointed upward, above the courtyard.

"There," she said.

Wynn peered up, trying to follow the girl's finger. At a guess, the initiate pointed to one side of the redwood ring below one of its five spires.

"Thank you," Wynn said. "Shade, come."

They hurried around the courtyard's perimeter, leaving the elven girl staring after them.

Wynn kept looking upward, trying to gauge when they were somewhere below where the girl had pointed. When she thought they were close, she went for the first door she saw. She and Shade slipped inside a chamber barely larger than an alcove. It emptied into a wide pa.s.sage lined with more doors that ran along the middle of the redwood ring. Almost immediately, she heard raised voices.

Wynn followed the sound. She hurried into the pa.s.sage, saw a branch that sloped upward, and scurried onward.

"What is the meaning of this?" someone shouted in Elvish, but he had a heavy Suman accent. "You have no authority over the archives! I was here this morning, and there was no indication that it would be closed."

Wynn saw the top of a teal cowl over the pa.s.sage's rise and crept a little closer.

Two Suman conamologers in teal robes, one a middle-aged man with peppered black hair and another, perhaps a journeyor, were raising a fuss. To the pa.s.sage's left side stood a pair of armed patrollers, the She'ith. The first stood his place, staring ahead, as if the Suman sages no longer existed. He and his female counterpart blocked an opening.

Wynn shifted to the sloping pa.s.sage's right side for a better look. Beyond the patrollers, inside the opening, broad steps curled sharply upward through the structure like a spiral staircase. She couldn't see where they led, but for an instant, she was distracted from the dispute.

There was no lockable door in the opening, as there were in the stairwells down to the archives of her branch. In part, that explained the presence of the She'ith, though she'd never heard of armed guards placed inside any guild branch. Even when the threat of the wraith had come to her branch, there were limits upon what Captain Rodian had been allowed to do with his city guard contingent.

"Apologies, sir," the female patroller stated flatly. "The archives have been closed until further notice."

"Where was the first notice?" the elder Suman sputtered. "I will speak to the Premin Council about this breach of interbranch protocol."

The female patroller didn't even blink. Her male counterpart was equally silent and expressionless. With no response from either She'ith, the Suman sages turned away. The younger one spotted Wynn as they pa.s.sed.

"Do not bother," he said in Numanese. "It would seem that not all sages have the full amenities in this branch."

The elder was muttering angrily in Sumanese as they headed downward.

Wynn knew those two would get nowhere if Premin Gyr had any say. And he did, as one of the Premin Council here, as well as sitting in for the high premin. Was there something happening here beyond just hampering her? It made Wynn wonder what else was in Sykion's message.

Regardless, Wynn hadn't come all this way for nothing. She had to gain access to the archives if there was any chance they held some long-forgotten mention of an ancient fallen seatt. But without the means to even look for such, what was she going to do?

Chuillyon had kept the same rooms at the guild for nearly sixty years, though in the last thirty, he hadn't enjoyed them often. Most of his time was spent with the royal family in Calm Seatt, but he had no intention of ever giving up his quarters here. They suited him. Down in the earth beneath the base of the south spire-even beneath the giant roots of the redwood ring-he enjoyed nearly absolute peace and quiet.

Although his chambers in Calm Seatt's third castle were lavish, he preferred this place. Every item here was carefully chosen for a balance between subtle elegance and a monastic simplicity. In the main room, the desk and a small table had been shaped into flowing bentwood curves. A few sheot'a cushions of plain forest colors softened three basic chairs of polished mahogany. His more private room was in the back, beyond a pale blue, curtained doorway. That s.p.a.ce was filled with only a bed covered in a cream quilt of duller raw sheot'a, a wardrobe, a cushioned rocker to match his outer furniture, and a modest collection of favored texts. Oh, but there were a few little amusing toys from his youth, as well.

One small, carved scene, which could fit in his lap, had a twist crank in its bottom. When wound up, a woodsman hacked away at a tree until it toppled. The tree would bounce repeatedly off the woodsman's head, pounding him into the ground like a peg until only his head peeked out.

Nature had a wicked wit.

This toy had been a gift in his boyhood from what humans would call a favorite aunt. If only she had known what mischievous notions it would inspire over a lifetime. If nothing else, Chuillyon loved his jests. Or perhaps that was his refuge against what he hated most: sadness. There had been too much of that.

He sat at his desk, awaiting two visitors, hoping they would bring him more news than he had gleaned for himself. Why had Wynn traveled all this way? What was she up to now?

"Chuillyon . . . are you in?"

The deep voice was not one he had expected. He rose, stepping into the masoned pa.s.sageway between the guild's great roots.

"Premin?" he called back, glancing toward the stairwell leading upward.

"May I come down?"

"Please do."

Despite knowing the caller, Chuillyon was perplexed at the sight of Premin Gyr descending the stairs, bowing his head to avoid the ceiling. By necessity, they had been closely connected over the decades, but they did not visit each other's private chambers.

"Forgive the intrusion," Gyr said.

To Chuillyon's further surprise, his tone was almost apologetic-and quite out of character. Gyr's dark yellow eyes were troubled or angry, which was not out of character. A stray strand of light brown hair hung forward over one of his eyes, as if he was too distracted to notice it.

"What is wrong?" Chuillyon asked.

"A journeyor arrived from Calm Seatt with a message for the high premin."

Chuillyon took a deep, slow breath. "You mean young Hygeorht?"

"You know her?"

"Yes. What has she done now?"

Gyr took a folded paper from inside his dark robe. Its wax seal had been broken.

"High Premin Sykion of Calm Seatt sent this," he said, holding it out.

Chuillyon hesitated. "What is it?"

"Read it."

"Really," Chuillyon scoffed. "Is all this drama necessary?"

But he took it just the same. It was double wrapped, and he unfolded both enveloping sheets to view the letter within.

Dear T'ovar . . .

Chuillyon stalled at the informal opening, but he read onward.

The bearer of this message poses a threat. She has proven herself without conscience or reason, and is set on a course that will undermine guild efforts, safeguards, and preparation for what may come. For her own goals, she risks exposing hard-won knowledge to the ma.s.ses. We cannot allow this before we are fully prepared for the panic and backlash that will come if what we learn leaks out. I believe she comes to scavenge your archives in the hope of finding support for her interpretations and theories concerning the ancient texts still being translated.

Although she is under my authority, and is my responsibility, I have no further way to keep her from the texts other than to let her go abroad. I will not tolerate further interference with our efforts, yet I cannot expel her, and thereby lose limited control over her.

You have my leave to do what is necessary-and to do so now.

May you live in wisdom's eternal cycle.