Centuries, the clear, feminine voice chided him. I feel the pages stirring. You have guests.
Some more welcome than others, Mith Barak agreed. The girl needs aid. Will you show yourself to her?
The seneschal made no immediate reply. Mith Barak waited in respectful silence. He knew what he asked of her.
I have offered my services to none but you for a thousand years, Old Master, she replied. Is this truly important to you?
It is, Mith Barak said. Many things are come to an end, Lady. Our time together, I fear, is short. Will you grant me this one last favor?
For you, Old Master, I will, the seneschal said. Mith Barak felt her affection and love through the mind-link. His sorrow returned, for a moment threatening to overwhelm him. Clenching trembling hands into fists, he mastered himself and finished tying the laces of his tunic. He needed to meet with the regents and the master armswoman, and to speak to Garn about some specific defenses for the city gates.
His thoughts lingered on Icelin and the seneschal. Mith Barak allowed himself a wry chuckle. To see the look on her face when she realized all the library had to offer … he would have given much to observe that moment.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ILTKAZAR, THE UNDERDARK
23 UKTAR
Standing just inside the library door, Icelin half-hoped the drow had vanished overnight.
After her conversation with Ruen in the plaza, she’d spoken to Mith Barak and accepted his challenge to find the sphere, but Icelin found she didn’t have the strength to begin that search just yet. She’d gone back to the Blackhorn house and rested, helped Sull in the kitchen where she could, stalling, until Ruen left to help Garn and Obrin on a scouting mission. Once Ruen was gone, she knew she couldn’t put off the inevitable.
Her heart sank when she saw the drow sitting in a wingback chair by the fire. One leg propped on the hearth, a book open across his lap, he was the picture of relaxed self-assurance. He looked up when she entered and flashed a lazy smile.
Like a wolf grinning at a lamb, Icelin thought. The image made her indignant. Let him have his fun. His presence wouldn’t intimidate her.
Squaring her shoulders, Icelin crossed the room and stood before the fire, warming her hands against the chill. “Good morning,” she said without looking at the drow.
The drow closed his book and rose smoothly to his feet. Instinctively, Icelin pivoted so her back would not be facing the drow.
His smile grew wider. “We haven’t been properly introduced.” He extended a hand to Icelin. “I am Zollgarza.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Icelin saw the guards stationed at the door tense. She assumed they hadn’t taken their eyes off the drow since she’d entered the room. She offered them a small nod, hopefully communicating that she wasn’t afraid.
“My name is Icelin,” she said, ignoring the drow’s outstretched hand. “It is … interesting to meet you. What are you reading?”
Zollgarza picked up the book and held the spine out to her. “A personal journal of a cleric of Shanatar,” he said.
“Shanatar?” Icelin raised an eyebrow. “Are you a student of dwarf history?”
“Iltkazar is all that remains of the ancient dwarven realm,” Zollgarza explained. “It is … refreshing to see how the mighty are diminished over the centuries. No empire lasts forever.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Icelin said, ignoring the jab at the dwarves, “but I find most historical accounts to be dry, mind-numbing reading.”
“Oh?” Zollgarza said in amusement. “What books do you prefer?”
“Adventure tales,” Icelin said. “Full of hard-won battles against impossible odds … that sort of thing. Add a splash of romance and intrigue and you’ve won my attention forever.”
“If I find any such tales, I’ll be sure to lay them aside for you,” the drow said, bowing before returning to his seat. He spoke amiably enough, but Icelin had the distinct impression he mocked her with every word. “At any rate, I was under the impression you’re here for a purpose other than reading. You’re here to hunt for the sphere, yes?”
Oh, he was definitely mocking her. Anger made Icelin flush. Ruen had been right. What did she hope to gain by talking to the drow? She should just ignore him and focus on finding the Arcane Script Sphere.
At the thought of the artifact, longing rose in Icelin again. What would it be like to hold a bit of Mystra’s essence near her heart, to be so close to the goddess she had never known? Even if the sphere’s Silver Fire didn’t cure her spellscar, the memory of the goddess would be enough.
But when she looked at Zollgarza, those hopes shattered.
Hadn’t she sworn never to work magic she couldn’t control, to knowingly put others at risk, unless there was no other choice? She’d done it to defend Ruen and the dwarves when she attacked the drow wizard, but had one of them been standing too close to her, he might be dead now. What of the guards stationed in the room to protect her? Did they know the danger of using the Silver Fire? The doubts tore apart her resolve.
Needing a distraction, Icelin turned to the bookshelves. Ladders fastened to a track on the highest shelves rested on wheels on the floor, allowing access to all the shelves, even the books she could barely see. No doubt they were covered with an inch of dust and served as a home for countless numbers of tiny eight-legged horrors. Icelin ran her hands absently over the spines. Many of the titles were in Dwarvish or languages she couldn’t even identify, but she found others in Common. Was the Arcane Script Sphere hidden somewhere amongst them? Did Mith Barak expect her to tear apart the room in a mad search for an ancient artifact that likely had all sorts of magical means to conceal itself?
Yet the king said that if she were worthy, the sphere would find her. Did that mean she was supposed to stay here and wait while the sphere silently considered its decision? Bemused, Icelin imagined the great artifact watching her every move, looking for faults and failures in her character.
Icelin groaned and thought, I’m doomed.
Pacing the room wouldn’t help. She selected one of the books written in Common-a history of the dwarves, similar to what Zollgarza was reading-and took it to the long table in the center of the room. Maybe if she explored the library and cleared her head, inspiration on how to find the sphere would strike.
It was warmer near the fire, but she wasn’t eager to share Zollgarza’s company like that. Reading together in front of a fire had a certain unavoidable intimacy that she wasn’t ready to experience.
She opened the book, inhaled the scent of parchment and age, and began to read.
Zollgarza sat motionless by the fire, pretending to read his book while he watched the girl. Once she got over her initial nervousness and started reading a tome, she seemed to forget he was in the room. She leaned over the book with her elbows propped on the table and pulled one of the candelabra closer. Every now and then she squinted at the text and mouthed the words aloud as she ran her fingers along the page. When she wasn’t doing that, often she hummed to herself softly as she read. She had a steady, melodious voice, but that was the only compliment Zollgarza willingly gave her.
His assessment of her physical features was that she was a small, sickly thing. Whether magic or some other malady had taken its toll on her, he couldn’t say, but if Mith Barak had wanted to threaten him, he’d chosen a poor creature as his ambassador.
He had to give the old dwarf credit, though. Mith Barak knew how to scheme and deceive with the best of the drow. Zollgarza couldn’t believe the king had allowed him access to the library, and the introduction of this newest obscure element in the form of the girl was even more frustrating. What was the wily dwarf up to? Was the Arcane Script Sphere truly so hidden from him that he needed this sickly girl and a drow to locate it for him? This would have amused Zollgarza no end had he not been so suspicious of the girl.