“Don’t start,” Rhapsody warned, casting an eye over toward Jo, who was chatting with Ashe.
“No,” Achmed agreed. “I just thought I’d give you a little send-off.” He handed her a scroll of tightly bound parchment. “Be careful. It’s very old and very valuable.”
“If it’s another version of The Rampage of the Wyrm, I’m going to stow it forcibly in the place I suggested to you earlier this morning.”
“Have a look.”
Carefully Rhapsody unbound the ancient thread of silk that tied the scroll closed. Achmed had made a substantial study of the writings from Gwylliam’s library and reliquary vault, but the collection was so vast that it would take him hundreds of years to examine even half of it. The fragile parchment crumbled a bit as she unrolled it. It was a careful rendering of an architectural design.
After a few minutes of staring intently at the plans, she looked back to find the Firbolg king watching her with equal interest. “What is this?” she asked. “I don’t recognize it. Is this someplace in Ylorc?”
Achmed looked over at Ashe, then back to her, moving slightly nearer. “Yes, if it exists. It was Gwylliam’s masterpiece, the crown jewel of his vision for the mountain. I don’t know if he got to build it or not. He called it the Loritorium.”
Rhapsody’s palms grew moist. “Loritorium?”
“Yes, the corresponding documentation describes it as an annex, a deliberately hidden city, a place where ancient lore was housed and the purest forms of elemental power in the Cymrians’ possession would one day be stored, along with a vast conservatory in which to study them. I believe the sword you carry might have been one of those exhibits, based on the dimensions of the display cases and some of the notes.”
She turned the scroll over. “I don’t see any words. How do you know this?”
Achmed nodded slightly toward Ashe and lowered his voice even more. “I’m not an idiot; I left the text safely in the vault. I’ve told you repeatedly that I do not trust him. Besides, I didn’t know if the dew might damage the scrolls.
“From what I have been able to glean, this place was never opened to the Cymrian inhabitants of Canrif. It may never have been started, or if it was, it may never have been finished. But of course, it may have been both, and just known to Gwylliam and a few of his closest advisors. Who knows?
“What is most fascinating is the way the complex is laid out, at least according to these maps. The cases and displays must have been intended to contain something with great care, judging by the detail with which those elements were rendered. Gwylliam devoted a good deal of effort to designing the defenses, both from the outside and the inside. I’m not sure whether he was more intent on protecting his displays, or protecting the Cymrians from them.”
Rhapsody shuddered. “Any idea what it might have been, besides Daystar Clarion?”
“No, but I plan to find out. While you’re gone, Grunthor and I will be checking into some of the Cymrian ruins, the parts of Canrif that were built last and destroyed first when the Bolg overran the mountain. We’ve already seen some signs that point the way to what might have been the Loritorium. It promises to be a fascinating exploration if we find it. Interested?”
“Of course I’m interested,” Rhapsody whispered fiercely, annoyed by the smirk on his face. “What Namer wouldn’t be interested in a place like that?”
“Then stay,” Achmed suggested with mock innocence. “It certainly would be better if you were along. Grunthor and I, clumsy oafs that we are, might inadvertently make a mess or destroy something of historical significance, who knows, perhaps even a one-of-a-kind piece of ancient lore.” He laughed as her cheeks reddened with smoldering anger. “All right, we’ll wait for you. We’ll locate the place, and give you a reasonable period to return. If you’re not back by the time we had discussed, we’ll start without you. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” she said. “But you don’t need to give me incentive to hurry back, Achmed. Believe it or not, I have plenty of that.”
The Firbolg king nodded. “Do you still have your dagger from your days on the streets of Serendair?”
Rhapsody looked at him oddly. “Yes; why?”
Achmed’s face lost the last vestige of a smile. “If you find yourself in a compromising situation with Ashe, use your dagger to cut his balls off, not your sword. Daystar Clarion’s fire will cauterize the wound, as you’ve seen before. If that need arises, you want him to bleed to death rapidly.”
“Thank you,” Rhapsody said sincerely. She knew the grisly comment was an expression of genuine concern, and she opened her arms. Achmed returned her embrace quickly and uncomfortably, then looked down at her.
“What’s that in your eyes?” he demanded. “You’re not crying, are you? You know the law.”
Rhapsody wiped her hand across them quickly. “Shut up,” she said. “You can stuff the law right in the same cavity behind The Rampage of the Wyrm; there’s certainly enough room in your case. By your own definition, you should be Lord of the Cymrians.” Achmed smirked as she turned and went over to where Jo and Ashe were standing.
“Are you ready?” Ashe asked, picking up his smoothly carved walking staff.
“Yes,” Rhapsody said, hugging Jo one last time. “Take care of yourself, sis, and our two big brothers.” The teenager rolled her eyes. Rhapsody turned back to Ashe. “Now let’s be off before I say something else to Achmed. I want the last thing I said to him to be something as obnoxious as what he said to me.
Ashe chuckled. “That’s a contest you don’t want to get into,” he said as he checked the bindings on his gear. “I believe you will lose every time.”
As she and Ashe reached the summit of the last of the crag before the foothills, Rhapsody turned and stared east into the rising sun, which had just begun to crest the horizon. She shaded her eyes, wondering if the long shadows were really the silhouettes of the three people she loved most dearly in the world, or only the hollow reflections of rock and chasm, reaching ominously skyward. She decided after a moment she had seen one of them wave; whether or not she was right didn’t matter, anyway.
“Look,” said Ashe, his pleasant baritone shattering her reverie. Rhapsody turned and let her gaze follow his outstretched finger in the direction of another line of shadows, miles off, at the edge of the steppes where the lowlands and the rockier plains met.
“What is that?” she asked. A sudden gust of wind swirled around her, raising a cloud of dust and whipping her hair into her eyes. She pulled her cloak tighter about shoulders.
“Looks like a convocation of some sort, humans, undoubtedly,” he said after a moment.
Rhapsody nodded. “Ambassadors,” she said softly. “They’re coming to pay court to Achmed.”
Ashe shuddered; the tremor was visible, even beneath his cloak of mist. “I don’t envy them,” he said humorously. “That ought to shake up their notions of protocol. Shall we?” He looked off to the west, over the thawing valley and the wide plain past the foothills below them
Rhapsody looked back for a moment longer, then turned her eyes toward the west as well. A slice of the sun had risen behind them, casting a shaft of golden light into the gray mist of the world that stretched out below them. By contrast, the distant line of black figures moved through a jagged shadow.
“Yes,” she said, shifting her pack. “I’m ready.” Without looking back she followed him down the western side of the last crag, beginning the long journey to the dragon’s lair.
In the distance, a figure of a man touched by a darker, unseen shadow stopped for a moment, gazed up into the hills, then continued on its way to the realm of the Firbolg.
1
<The dawn> found them at the crest of the foothills, laying their course for the lands north of the Avonderre-Navarne border. Ashe said the lair of Elynsynos lay within the ancient forest, northwest of Llauron’s domain and the vast Lirin forest of Tyrian, so they would be following the sun, then the Tara’fel River northward.