"Never mind," Jeddrin said; he could not scold servants anymore, he but a stonemason's get. "I read too late; I will sleep late as well. Tell the cook, if you will."

In his bedroom, the curtains had been pulled back, as he preferred on summer nights; he drew them, put the doc.u.ments on his table, and then undressed and washed himself before sliding between cool sheets. His mind produced scenes from Mikeli's account, a city filling with sand and refugees struggling to get away, carrying their tools or a few days' food...not the n.o.bles riding away on horseback he had imagined before.

When he woke and dealt with the day's work and then once more delved into the archives, he found more. Some were but fragments: "A man came to the sh.o.r.es of the lake and being thirsty, he drank, and in with the water he swallowed a seed, as it seemed, a seed small and eager to be swallowed, and therein began the ruin of the towers and the land." Others, also attributed to Mikeli, were longer, parts of a journal describing years of struggle to make a new Aare in a land unlike the old.

"The keys are gone," Mikeli wrote in one entry.

It took days to figure out what the "keys" were and what had happened, or what Mikeli thought had happened. Days in which a message from Alured, Duke of Immer, arrived, along with a squad of stern-faced soldiers and a man who claimed to be a scribe, demanding access to Andressat's archives, from which he hoped to prove Alured's right to the kingship.

"I will gladly show you the archives," Jeddrin said, "but we do not allow anyone to remove materials or to shuffle them about. I received the duke's earlier request and have been searching."

"But you are a busy man, Count Andressat," said the squad's commander, who named himself Captain Nerits. "The Duke is pleased to lend you a scholar to a.s.sist in the search."

"I have archivists of my own," Jeddrin said. "It is not our custom to let strangers poke and pry."

"It is not the Duke's custom to have his va.s.sals disobedient," the captain said. He did not draw a weapon-Andressat had his own guards in the room-but the threat was clear.

"Duke Alured's domain lies in the Immer valley," Jeddrin said. "Mine was never part of it."

"I would not be too sure," the captain said. "And all the more reason for the duke's scholar to study in your archives, as it would be in your interest to conceal evidence to the contrary. Nor should you miscall him Duke Alured now; he has chosen a new name to fit his new status, an ancestor's name from records he found in Cortes Immer. He is Duke Visla Vaskronin: remember that. As the duke means to rule, it would also be in your interest to show your submission now."

Cortes Immer was far from Cortes Andres: leagues and leagues lay between, forest and vale. Cortes Andres had never been breached, not even by Siniava, and in the aftermath of that war, Alured, Vaskronin, or whatever he chose to call himself could not have raised a large enough army to invade Andressat.

"Surely your duke has enough to do without bothering a poor stony land far from his own," Jeddrin said. "I mean no discourtesy, but I will not see my hospitality abused, either. If your duke's claim is proved true, I will accept his authority, but until then I I rule Andressat, and none other. I will escort your scholar to the archives, to see for himself why it takes so long to read and check every scroll and book." rule Andressat, and none other. I will escort your scholar to the archives, to see for himself why it takes so long to read and check every scroll and book."

"We will escort him-"

"You will not. You will remain here," Jeddrin said, with all the command voice he could muster. The captain shrugged; Andressat told his own guards to find them quarters in the citadel's outer ring. The scholar followed as he himself led the way into the inner citadel and then into the palace and finally, the main library.

The room was long, almost the full depth of the building, lit by tall narrow windows with shelves between. "This is one of the archives," Jeddrin said, watching the scholar's face.

"It is...impressive," the man said. He did look like a scholar, stoop-shouldered, his fingers ink-stained.

"It does not contain what the Duke of Immer seeks," Jeddrin said. "This room has been searched and cataloged. My own archivists-" He gestured to the end of the room, where a man sat working at a desk and a woman reached to a high shelf with a long pole.

"What is that?" the scholar asked, pointing at her.

"It is for retrieving scrolls or scroll cases from the top shelves," Jeddrin said. "My father invented it. He is the one who began the reorganization after a series of wet years brought a spring up-yes, even up here on this height-in the middle of the old archives. Things had to be moved in haste, dried, stacked anywhere room could be found, and the same weather that brought the spring gave his archivist lung-fever. Some records were lost and could not be restored, he told me-I was not yet born-and others damaged. It was some years before he could find someone qualified to begin copying the damaged materials, and as I'm sure you know, some once attacked by the black stain continue to decay-it was a race against the stain, not entirely won."

"But why were the archives on the floor in the first place?" the scholar asked.

"According to my father, his father and his wife's father both increased the collection-already large-buying up any antiquarian doc.u.ments they could find. They were enthusiasts, and they vied in finding old and rare scrolls, books, loose sheets. My father's father had not expected to inherit, and so had more leisure than I. But let's see how you do with this one-" Jeddrin pulled out a scroll he knew had been written but seven generations back.

The scholar peered at it. "It's old."

"Yes. I'm wondering if you can read it."

"I think-let me see-it is a record of...of goat breeding?"

"Yes. With notes of weather, diseases, and so forth."

"I don't recognize some of the words-" The scholar pointed.

Jeddrin said, "Rain."

"Really? It's not the same-"

"No. Our word for rain drops the second sound, and the breath-sound has narrowed."

"You've studied this?"

"My father insisted. I was to be his scholar, you see; my elder brother was to inherit-much the same situation as with my father's father. My elder brother slipped and fell on a vine stake and died of it; neither of us had married yet."

"So you can read all these?" The scholar waved at the shelves.

"Of course," Jeddrin said. "And older, besides. But now I'll take you to the store-pile, as we call it, things still unsorted. Apparently all my ancestors collected writings; it may not be fully cataloged even in my lifetime."

"I could help," the scholar said.

"I think not," Jeddrin said. "If you cannot read it, how could you catalog it?"

The store-pile filled a series of connecting rooms, divided by function. The farthest held unsorted materials, heaps and piles on floors and shelves. In the next, baskets and bins held roughly sorted items, those tainted by blackstain or blue carefully segregated from the rest, in closed containers. The two outermost rooms had tables where scribes copied out the most damaged materials.

"I employ five archivists and scribes at present," Jeddrin said to the scholar, whose jaw had dropped. "In my father's day, only one of these rooms had been cleared for copyists. Now two."

"I am sure the Duke of Immer would hire even more, if you would trust-"

"No," Jeddrin said, without heat. "Every family has records it does not share, and I am not handing over unsorted materials, that my family guarded for generations, without knowing what is in every one."

"How much work do you do here?"

"I? I have little time for it, though I try to spend an hour a day reading, to retain my skills. I am presently reading a series of letters between my great-great-grandfather and someone in Pliuni, discussing the breeding of goats and whether our goats here were brought from Old Aare or tamed from wild goats in the Westmounts."

"But if you aren't looking yourself, how do you know what the Duke seeks has not been found already?"

Jeddrin gave him a look that made the man step back. "Does your Duke, then, cook his own food? And will he himself read every item in the archives, should I send them?"

"N-no. He will hire scholars-"

"Even as I have done. He is a ruler; I am a ruler. I made it clear to my scholars what they were to seek, and they report to me. It might be found today, or tomorrow, or by Midwinter, or three winters after I am dead...or it might not exist at all. I wrote the Duke that if I found proof of his legitimate succession by blood from the n.o.bles of Aare"-the words hurt as he said them, considering what he now knew about his own family-"I would tell him and publicly acknowledge it. And I will. In my my family, we keep our word." That, too, sliced his spirit, for the doc.u.ments Alured sought were hidden away in the secret chamber off his bedroom, until he could decide what to do, the proof of his own lack of n.o.ble blood. "It would be helpful," he want on, "if the Duke knew more of his parentage." family, we keep our word." That, too, sliced his spirit, for the doc.u.ments Alured sought were hidden away in the secret chamber off his bedroom, until he could decide what to do, the proof of his own lack of n.o.ble blood. "It would be helpful," he want on, "if the Duke knew more of his parentage."

Gray Fox Inn, Fin Panir, Fintha

Arvid Semminson, now effectively master of the Thieves' Guild in Verella, finished his dull but satisfying lunch and picked his teeth while watching the staff of the Gray Fox common room at their work. He had not been in Fintha for several hands of years; the Girdish realm had outlawed the Thieves' Guild. He would not be here now, but for the Marshal-General's invitation; the Girdish wanted to know everything he remembered about their paladin Paksenarrion. The Marshal-General's seal on her invitation to him brought instant respect from the innkeeper, and he'd been given a table in the quietest corner of the big common room all to himself.

A heavily-bearded dwarf in typical clothing-yellow doublet over a checked shirt, green trousers, a blue hat with a red feather-and a beardless one in a green shirt over blue trousers came in. Arvid looked at the older dwarf as a servant led the two to a table near him. No clan ring on the dwarf's heart-thumb. A chain around his neck-not gold-which might hold a Guild symbol, like his own, tucked well into that shirt. Arvid looked away, listened to a serving maid stumble through a polite greeting in dwarvish and the dwarf's stilted but understandable Common in reply. The beardless one said nothing; the bearded one ordered for both.

Most people would have thought the beardless one a youngster, a mere boy, and the bearded one his father or other relative. Arvid knew better. He waved to the skinnier serving maid the next time she came by and ordered a pastry and herbal drink to round off his meal. She brought it on the same tray as the dwarves' food: Arvid shifted a little to face more away from that table and pretended to be absorbed in watching the more buxom serving maid flirt with a tableful of merchants across the room.

A dwarf thief and a kteknik kteknik gnome-and not a dwarf from Verella, because he knew every dwarf thief in the Verella chapter of the Thieves' Guild-would not be here in Fin Panir for anything less than business. Drawn by rumor or on a.s.signment? Arvid considered what he knew of Fin Panir from both previous visits and Thieves' Guild intelligence. Only one prize seemed worth the risk: that necklace-the one the Marshal-General thought might be part of a set of royal regalia. gnome-and not a dwarf from Verella, because he knew every dwarf thief in the Verella chapter of the Thieves' Guild-would not be here in Fin Panir for anything less than business. Drawn by rumor or on a.s.signment? Arvid considered what he knew of Fin Panir from both previous visits and Thieves' Guild intelligence. Only one prize seemed worth the risk: that necklace-the one the Marshal-General thought might be part of a set of royal regalia.

After a few minutes, the sounds of eating behind him-dwarves were notoriously noisy eaters-slowed and the two began to talk. Arvid missed the first, as the merchants finally stood to leave, sc.r.a.ping chairs on the floor and paying loud, slightly drunken compliments to the serving maid, the landlord, and the room at large. He watched the maid sashay to the bar, grinning over her shoulder before she dropped her tip into the box.

At last he could hear the two behind him. They spoke low, in the language of rockbrothers.

"I tell you, we we did not make it." That was the gnome, Arvid was sure by the timbre of his voice. did not make it." That was the gnome, Arvid was sure by the timbre of his voice.

"Nor we." The dwarf cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "But the elves say-"

"The elves care nothing for truth." The gnome, though wearing blue and green instead of sober gray, had not lost the gnomish accent. "Perhaps they made it, perhaps not. The question is, what should be done?"

The buxom serving maid came by with a full pitcher of summerwine and Arvid's herbal drink; she set it on the table, and he winked at her. Behind him, he heard the pitcher being set on the table, a resonant thunk. The girl went back to the bar; Arvid sipped his drink.

"We take it," the dwarf said. Arvid smiled to himself. What had promised to be a boring, hot midsummer journey now offered a delightful complication, perhaps even adventure. "And I still want to know where the stones came from," the dwarf went on. "Not from our mines, but where? Where are such mines, with such stones? Do we have brethren there, and if so, why do we not know it?"

"Take it where?" the gnome asked. "To whom? To whom does it belong now? That paladin?" Arvid could almost see the lift of the shoulder a gnome would give to the dwarf's other questions.

"It matters not whose it was," the dwarf said. "But the stones-"

"Not from your mountains, not from our hills; beyond that does not matter."

Arvid risked a casual glance all around the common room, including the table where the rockfolk talked; they were ignoring him, leaning across the table to talk to each other.

"Nor the Westmounts," the dwarf said, counting out the ranges on his thick fingers. "Nor the red rocks of far Kolobia, nor the gray rocks within sight of there."

"So far it does not matter," the gnome said again, impatient now. "But there is something...the rock sings trouble."

"Indeed it does," the dwarf agreed. "But it might also sing profit. Trouble and profit go oft together."

"You are greedy," the gnome said.

"I am not," the dwarf said. "But if gold falls into my hand, I will not let it slide through my fingers."

"If it is not your gold-"

"All the better." The dwarf grinned. "Is it not obvious that the Girdish do not need that necklace? It came to them by thievery, after all-contaminating their paladin-candidate that a thief gave it to her. We serve her reputation by taking it away, that reminder of her impurity."

"We cannot keep it!" the gnome said. "It is not ours; we neither made it nor bought it!"

Arvid had heard enough. Checking the hang of his sword, he rose and without hurry moved to their table. "Excuse me." He put his hand flat on the table between them. The dwarf should recognize the small tattoo on his thumb web. "Arvid Semminson, of Tsaia. It would be impolite to conceal from rockbrethren my fluent command of their speech, and perhaps by so doing discover that of their plans they would prefer not to have revealed." He smiled, showing very human teeth; rockfolk noticed such things. They would smell the metal of his sword and dagger and the hidden blades he wore here and there about his person as well. Good steel. Excellent steel. They would know the ore from which it had been forged.

"You are that thief who brought her out alive," the gnome said, recovering first.

"I am no thief," Arvid said, without heat and still in their tongue. "It is true I am in the Thieves' Guild, and of some consequence there-"

"It is said you saved her life."

"No. The G.o.ds saved her life; I but saw her carried to safety."

"You killed the accuser."

"That I did, but killing is not thievery."

"Of breath it is," murmured the gnome, but the dwarf shook his head.

"To kill one bent on murder is not murder," he said. He smiled up at Arvid. "Would you drink with us?"

"I would sit with you, but not drink; I have had what I can hold, and still do what needs doing this night."

Arvid felt the tension rise; the two nodded, however, and he pulled the chair from his own table to theirs. "You heard us speak of a necklace," the gnome said. "You have knowledge of it?"

"Little," Arvid said. "That lair was full of things, large and small, valuable and worthless. I found it; I gave it to her."

"Her. The paladin?"

"Yes; she was but a mercenary then."

"Why? Were you besotted?"

"It was a whim," Arvid said. He leaned back in his chair. "Clear to see she'd been born poor, and a mercenary doesn't make much. Yet she came with treasure, and no word from her mouth to explain it. Not the treasure that comes from looting burning citadels in the south. The money changer in Brewersbridge wouldn't talk, and I had my task there anyway, no time to put hot wires to his fingers. But from one of his servants, who liked mulled wine, I heard enough to know the treasure was old and varied, from deep in some cave, mayhap. Yet she was such a simple girl, happy with a full belly of the plainest food, comfortable with woodsmen and smiths and the like more than with the worthies of the town. Made friends with the innkeeper's daughter. I thought I'd see what a pretty necklace given as a gift would do for her. Would she change?"

"Where exactly did you find it?" the gnome asked.

"The thing that ruled there had it," Arvid said. "When it died, and everyone else was keening over the dead yeoman-marshal, I explored the private chambers. The thing was dead; the h.o.a.rd was surely stolen goods, but we had been granted the right to the value of what we brought out, less a tax to the town. I confess-" Arvid chuckled at this. "-I did not declare the necklace, nor have it valued; I don't know if Paks did. She had an almost gnomish attachment to law." He winked at the gnome. "Stronger than yours."

"I am-" The gnome stopped, confused.

"You are a kteknik kteknik," Arvid said blandly. "I have met your like before. Do not worry; I feel no need to share this knowledge with others of my kind."

"We know where Paksenarrion's treasure came from," the dwarf said. "Would you ask that?"