Reign of Ash (31 page)

“This building is old,” Geir said. “Whoever created the ceiling and floor art would have done it before the maps were stolen.”

“I’ve got the tracing of Connor’s map of the Continent, showing the places of power,” Kestel said excitedly. “In daylight, we can find a way to transfer the tracing to the map on the floor.” She looked upward. “Then, if we take the tracing up to the ceiling, we should be able to match the places of power and no-power to the stars. That should give us the missing portion of the star map,” she said with a grin.

“But what does that tell us?” Piran grumbled. “That we don’t already know?”

“It shows the position of the stars over the land at a specific time of the year,” Illarion answered. “From that, an astronomer could calculate the date – and the location.”

“The time of year is important for a mage,” Zaryae said. “The solstice and the equinox are dates of great power, and many mages plan their workings for those dates because the magic is strongest then.”

Blaine looked to Illarion. “We’re not far out from the solstice. If the Cataclysm disrupted the magic, would the solstice be our best shot to bind the magic again?”

“It’s something to consider,” Illarion replied. “But if you believe the solstice would help you restore the magic, it doesn’t leave much time to figure out exactly how you’re supposed to do that.”

They filed back into the library, and Blaine sank into a chair by the fire, while Geir began to pace. Blaine stretched out his injured leg, trying to find a comfortable position. He rested his hand on his thigh, then quickly moved it when even the light pressure was too painful to bear.

“Magic waxes and wanes for many reasons,” Zaryae said. She had taken a seat next to the fireplace, and the flickering flames cast her face in light and shadow. “The time of day, the weather, the skill, and the power of the one wielding the power – and the time of the year.”

The wind tore at the shutters, whistling across the slats, while outside the storm raged, and the wind made the fire billow. Somewhere in an adjacent room, a loose shutter banged against the stone walls.

“So magic is stronger some days than others?” Blaine mused. He looked to Geir and Illarion. “And an astrologer could tell the date by the position of the stars?”

Both men nodded. “Certainly, if the stars and their positions were detailed enough.”

“Which means that the entranceway marks a particular date,” Verran said, his previous reluctance gone now that he was warm. “But we have no way to know what was special about that date. It might not have anything to do with bringing back magic. Maybe it’s the date the lyceum was built, or the head mage’s birthday.”

“Perhaps,” Illarion said. “But I doubt mages would go to that much expense for vanity. No, the map in the entrance serves a purpose, but we don’t yet know whether it aligns with your concerns.”

Just then, a loud thump made them turn. “That damn book!” Piran said. The wood-bound book lay on the floor.

“Wait,” Kestel said. She walked over and picked up the heavy tome. Then she looked toward the corners of the room, where even the lanterns and firelight did not fully dispel the shadows. “I’m a little dim, but you keep moving this book around,” Kestel said to the shadows. “All right. You’ve got my attention.” She looked at the others. “Maybe the ghosts weren’t trying to kill me when they pushed this off the shelves. Maybe they were trying to get us to look at this particular book.”

She lifted it to the table and began to page through the book as the others gathered around her. “The cover is heavy,” Kestel murmured. The two pieces of burnished wood were tied together rather than bound with a spine. In between were hundreds of parchment pages, yellowed with age, all cut to fit between the covers.

“What’s the subject?” Blaine asked.

Kestel frowned and shook her head. “This can’t be right. It’s a storybook – or a history – about Valshoa.” She looked up, mystified. “But Valshoa is only a legend.”

“May I take a look?” Geir exchanged places with Kestel and began to leaf through the parchment. “Valshoa is a legend, but most legends have root in fact,” he said. “Valshoa disappeared centuries ago.”

“Maybe a big storm wiped it out,” Piran countered. “Or a volcano. When I soldiered, we passed through a lot of places where there were just ruins of old buildings or towns.”

“Valshoa was a city of mages,” Illarion said. “The legends say that the mages didn’t want to be distracted from their magic, so they built a city for themselves and used their magic to discourage visitors. Over the years, they became more and more reclusive. Their magic made people avoid their city and helped outsiders forget about them.” He shrugged. “So the stories say.”

“So they made people forget they were there, and people thought the city disappeared?” Piran asked, pouring himself another tankard of wine.

“There are many stories, but who knows how much is true?” Illarion said. “If they are true, then at least a few people managed to visit the city and return – or escape.”

Blaine stared at the wood-bound book. “And at least a few who may have wanted their privacy as much as the mages,” he said quietly.

“What are you thinking?” Geir asked.

Blaine frowned. “We’ve got a city that vanished – a city that must have been in a place of power to be known for its mages – and a group of immortals who needed a secure place to hide. And we’ve got Vigus Quintrel, who suspected that something terrible was going to happen and needed sanctuary for the mages and scholars he gathered.”

“You think the Knights of Esthrane found the ruins of Valshoa and made it their sanctuary?” Kestel asked as Geir continued to page through the parchments held between the wooden covers.

“Who knows? But it’s possible there could be
talishte
who actually remembered Valshoa, isn’t it?” Blaine asked.

Geir nodded. “Yes, although most don’t survive that long.” He paused. “A small number of Elders remain. It’s certainly possible that they could have had firsthand knowledge of Valshoa.”

Piran gave Blaine a horrified look. “I don’t care what you say, I’m not hunting up some thousand-year-old
talishte
and asking for directions,” he said and drained the tankard.

“I would counsel caution as well,” Geir said. “The Elders are not known to welcome strangers, especially mortals. They live in seclusion and rarely even see others of our kind. If we must seek the counsel of the Elders, it’s a task best left to Penhallow.”

“Listen to the vampire,” Piran said. “He’s talking sense.”

Kestel’s gaze had not left the book in Geir’s hands. “What else did you find in the manuscript?” she asked.

Geir continued to turn the pages. “It’s a fairly complete history of Valshoa, from what I can make out. Oddly enough, it was marked with a blue ribbon. But no map.” He paused. “And a note from our mysterious friend.” He held up a loose sheet of parchment that was much newer than the rest of the manuscript.

“What’s that?” Blaine asked.

Geir gave a thin smile. “Another coded set of jottings signed with a ‘VQ,’” he reported.

“Vigus Quintrel,” Kestel said. “How is it that he’s always a few steps ahead of us?”

“More like we’re a few steps behind him,” Blaine replied, taking a look at the paper. “After all, Quintrel knew what he was planning. We’re scrambling to figure out the puzzle before time runs out.”

Blaine looked at the notations on the loose sheet. Some of the markings resembled those on the obsidian disks. Names and initials were jotted on the sheet, along with words in a language Blaine did not recognize, and a series of numbers.

“The numbers appear to be longitude and latitude,” Geir said. “But what they direct us to, I don’t know.”

“Could it be Valshoa?” Kestel asked, excitement coloring her voice. “Let me see.” Geir obligingly placed the heavy book back on the table. Kestel carefully turned the manuscript over and let her fingers move slowly over the back cover.

“Kestel?” Verran said tentatively. “What are you doing?”

“I noticed when I picked the book up that the back cover seemed different from the front,” she said, still examining the wood. “Then when Geir picked it up, I could see that the back cover is thicker.”

“You think there’s a hidden compartment?” Verran’s interest grew livelier with the prospect of secreted valuables.

Kestel grinned. “I think the back cover is hollow. Do you want to do the honors?”

Verran’s eyes were alight as he traded places with Kestel and let his fingers play over the old wood. “It’s inlaid, but someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look ordinary,” he mused. “Usually it’s the other way around. Someone who can only afford a simple thing wants it to look like more than it is.”

Verran bent to have a closer look. “Wait, I can see the lines where the pieces fit together. Between the grain and the finish, whoever made this did a good job.”

“Can you open it?” Kestel asked excitedly.

It seemed to Blaine as if even the shadows gathered closer to where Verran hunched over the book. “Don’t be doubting me, Kestel dear,” Verran quipped. “Of course I can open it.”

“If it was worth going to that much trouble to hide something, would the book’s owner have spelled the compartment shut?” Piran asked.

Verran gave him a sour look. “Might have. But the magic died, remember? So did binding spells and the like. Ah!” he said suddenly, and he smiled. “I think I found a catch.”

There was a quiet
click
, and a thin panel of wood came loose in Verran’s hands. “Oh yes,” he enthused. “Oh yes.”

“Don’t make love to the bloody thing,” Piran grumbled. “Just tell us what’s inside.”

Verran was enthralled enough with his find that he did not spare a look for Piran. His slender fingers worked at the small compartment until he had teased out a folded piece of brown parchment. “Yes!” he shouted, then suddenly realized how loud his voice was.

“What have you got?” Kestel asked, moving closer. This time, Blaine was certain he saw the shadows shift in corners of the room quite apart from where the fire cast their silhouettes.

“A rather old piece of parchment,” Verran said, handing the folded square to Geir. Geir carefully opened it. “Now this is interesting,” he said quietly.

“What?” Verran asked, stretching onto his toes to see over Geir’s shoulder.

“By the looks of it, we’ve found Valtyr’s last map,” Geir replied. “And it’s of Valshoa.”

“Valshoa?” Kestel said, frowning. “I mean, it makes sense, given where we found it, but why would Valtyr bother with creating a map like that —”

“Because Valshoa did exist,” Zaryae said triumphantly, her eyes shining.

Geir studied the faded writing on the map. “More so than the other three, it seems to be a detailed map of a fairly small area. Two maps were of entire continents, and the third was of the heavens. This is a map of the city itself and its immediate environs. And perhaps,” he added, looking more closely, “of places where the power waxes or wanes inside the city.”

“Are there any clues that might help us find the city itself?” Illarion asked, peering over Zaryae and Kestel for a glimpse.

“Nothing that I can see,” Geir said and placed the map with the others on the table.

Blaine’s head pounded, and his fever left him sweating and flushed. As the others clustered around the maps, he poured himself another glass of wine.

Kestel studied the maps. “I wonder whether Connor and Penhallow found any more disks.”

Geir shook his head. “I have no news, other than the sense that Penhallow and Connor are reasonably safe. We’ll have to wait for them to rejoin us to find out more.”

Zaryae bent close to the wood-bound manuscript. She turned the manuscript over, focusing on the carving on the front cover. “Look at this,” she said, holding one of the disks next to the carved wood.

“Do you see?” She pointed to a downward-facing curve with a slash through it. “This is the same on both the disk and the cover.” Zaryae frowned. “I’ve seen this symbol somewhere else. Somewhere recently.” She looked up and grinned broadly. “I remember! It was carved into the door of the shrine.”

“Then let’s have a look,” Kestel said excitedly.

“I’m not much for shrines,” Piran said. “And it’s nearly my turn to take over the watch from Desya. I’ll stay here and make sure nothing happens to the maps.” He glanced around himself. “I don’t trust this place. The sooner we’re gone, the better.” Borya nodded his agreement.

“I agree,” Geir said, “but likely for different reasons.”

“I’m staying near the fire,” Verran said. “If there’s a lock to pick, come and get me.”

They could hear the storm tugging at the wood that blocked off the stairs in the entranceway. Blaine, Illarion, Kestel, and Zaryae made their way down the darkened corridor, lanterns held aloft. Once they left the glow of the firelight that radiated from the library’s doorway, the hallway seemed oppressively dark, and each step took them deeper into the shadows.

“You’re limping,” Kestel said quietly. She moved to walk on the same side as his injured leg and slipped an arm around Blaine’s waist. “Lean on me. We’ll have a look at that leg when we get back to the library.”

“I’d be happy for a stiff shot of whiskey to dull the pain, and the chance to sleep it off,” Blaine murmured. “I feel terrible.”

“I sure hope this place was a little more comfortable when the mage-scholars lived here,” Zaryae said with a shiver. “Even ascetics can freeze to death.”

As they passed the kitchen there was a loud, metallic clatter. It echoed against the stone walls of the corridor, making them jump. Kestel and Zaryae exchanged wary glances. “Sounds like the spirits in the kitchen are still at work,” Zaryae remarked.

Illarion was in the lead with a lantern. He stopped in front of a wooden door. Like the library entrance, the door was made from cherry wood, and it was carved with an equally impressive motif. But even in the lantern light, Blaine could see the symbols for Torven, Charrot, and Esthrane.

“Did you go in when you found the room?” Kestel asked, her voice just above a whisper although the four were alone in the corridor.

Zaryae shook her head. “We peered in the door, enough to get a sense of its purpose. We thought it best to explore it with a larger group. I had a strong sense that it and the library would be where we would find what we sought.”