Still, he wasn't quite willing to walk up to a stranger and announce, "I seek a manual that will instruct me in the art of procreation." There was the chance that, if Androkom learned of his presence, so would Shandrazel. While Graxen was deeply in Shandrazel's debt, he couldn't afford the distraction of checking in with his employer and risking a new assignment. So, trusting to luck, he ventured down a nearby hall. He chose his path it because it was the most poorly lit of all the halls leading from the main room, and he guessed that forbidden knowledge would be entrusted to the parts of the library most enshrouded by shadows.
Using this guiding logic, when the hall he traveled forked, he chose the darker of the two paths, and then repeated this again at his next choice. Now, however, the futility of this search method became clear. Randomly lifting a book off the shelf, he found the lighting too poor to discern the title. Perhaps he would need to find a guide after all. The biologians who knew these stacks could no doubt maneuver through them in total darkness. It was said that the former high bioligian, Metron, was able to navigate through the maze of books with his eyes closed and unerringly lay his claws upon any tome he desired.
"Ah, Metron," Graxen sighed. "I wish you were here now."
"Truly?"
Graxen spun around, searching for the source of the voice. It seemed to have come from a narrow gap between two shelves. It was difficult to tell, though, if there was a chamber beyond, or if the shadow merely gave the illusion of such. He crept forward.
"Who's there?" he said, keeping his voice low.
"Metron. The one you seek," the voice said. Graxen found that the gap between the shelves was filled with a tall stack of books. The chamber stank of dust and aged paper.
"You don't fool me, stranger," Graxen said, listening for any further noise. There was a scrape on stone. Behind the shelf? Or on the same row he was on, in the darkness at the end? The long tall rows of books baffled sound, and confused his senses. "Metron was banished. Who are you truly?"
"I am Metron," the voice said. "And, I am banished, a tatterwing cast out into the wilds."
"These aren't the wilds," said Graxen.
"True," the voice said. "Fate has led me back to my long time home. No one knows the hidden chambers of this library better than myself. I could elude detection for the remainder of my days. Yet, this is not why I've returned. I've come seeking an individual dragon."
"Who?" asked Graxen. Then the answer seemed obvious. "Androkom?"
"No. Androkom and I didn't part on good terms. The dragon I seek, as difficult as this may be to believe, is you, Graxen the Gray. I've returned to the palace to speak with you, since I've learned you now reside here in service to Shandrazel. I entered through a passage that only I know of. I didn't expect to find you in the library, however."
"This does give me reason to be skeptical of your claims," Graxen said, straining his neck to try to see over the top of the stack of books. Only dim shadows lay beyond.
"Some biologians argue that there are no coincidences. They see in chance encounters the guiding claws of an architect of fate. Some days, I wonder if my life is not a testament to this fundamental truth."
"Why would you seek me out?" Graxen asked, still not convinced that the voice belonged to Metron, but willing to accept it until more information emerged. "I know of your betrayal of Shandrazel and your alliance with Blasphet. You'll find no favor from me."
"What leads you into this dark corridor, my son?" asked Metron. "Is there something you seek? Why not ask one of the attendant biologians?"
"What I'm looking for is none of your business," said Graxen.
"Everything in this library is my business," said Metron. "I've had over half a century to organize this collection. It will take Androkom decades to unravel my system. If there is anything you wish to find, there's no one better equipped to lead you to it than myself."
Graxen looked down the long hall of books, back toward the distant light of the main hall. How many books were here? Ten million? More? He could spend years looking at them one by one.
Haste was of the essence. Shandrazel was no doubt wondering why he hadn't reported back from his pursuit of the valkyries. He also knew he should inform the king of the unprovoked attack by the gleaners he'd encountered near Dragon Forge. Yet, he could do neither of these things until he found the information he needed for Nadala.
"You've taken a long time to consider your answer, my son," said Metron.
"Don't call me your son," said Graxen. "I know you mean it in a metaphorical sense, due to your greater age, but I find the word distasteful."
"That's most unfortunate," said Metron. "Because I don't intend the word in a metaphorical sense. I've come here, Graxen, to confess my greatest secret to the one most harmed by it. I've carried this terrible burden for many years. I've watched you grow, witnessed the cruelties you've endured, and I stood in silent cowardice. I've betrayed you, Graxen, by never admitting to the world that I am your father."
"What is the purpose of these lies?" Graxen said, his voice loud enough that, should any attendants be near, they would almost certainly hear him. "Metron was famed for his celibacy."
"You speak of my public refusal of the invitation to the Nest. I did feel that way, in my early years as high biologian. However, the matriarch and I were the two highest authorities among the sky-dragons. We often had contact on a purely professional basis. There are ceremonies at the Nest that the High Biologian attends. The matriarch and I would sometimes retreat to private chambers to discuss the burdens of our shared duties. Neither of us was young. Both of us were past the sanctioned age of breeding; even if we weren't, breeding between us was contraindicated by our genetic threads. Yet, despite this knowledge-or perhaps, perversely, because of it-we soon found our attraction overwhelming, and succumbed to mutual passions. We carried out our secret trysts for years-until the matriarch reported she was pregnant. There are poisons that can terminate a pregnancy, but they can be fatal for an older female. When you were born, it was her intention to have you killed. I pleaded with her to spare your life. As you were my only offspring, I couldn't bear the thought of your death. My rank prevented me from claiming you as my own, but through the years I've watched your progress with great interest."
Graxen wanted to dismiss these words as lies, but found he couldn't. The greatest mystery of his life was why the matriarch had allowed his survival beyond infancy. Of all the sky-dragons, only the high biologian would have had sufficient sway to ensure his survival. Instinctively, he knew Metron was telling the truth. Still, not everything made sense.
"Why did my survival matter? I was a freak, fated to never breed. If the sole value of a child lies in passing along the parent's genetic material, I was of no value to you."
"This is not an easy thing to explain, Graxen." Metron sighed. There was soft scraping sound on the row behind the niche. Was he moving something? "If my sole desire in this life had been to pass along my genes, I had that opportunity many times over. The threadlines dictated a half-dozen valkyries I could have productively mated with. I refused; my brother Pachythan was selected in my place."
"Why did you refuse?"
"Intellectual arrogance, I suppose. I've witnessed the mating behavior of lower animals. The hardwired desire to rut seems to be the driving force of life; only in the sky-dragon has the intellect advanced sufficiently for reason to take command of those baser instincts. At least, so I thought. In reality, the first moment I felt the matriarch's cheek against my own, all reason left me, and I surrendered to the same animal lust that drives all other creatures."