The paper of Muralin’s journal was brittle and dry with age, but the information was anything but dry reading. There was page after page of what he had asked the Saghred to help him do. None of Muralin’s antics were anything I’d ever repeat—and I would never do what he did to get that power. Before he did anything significant with the Saghred, Rudra Muralin would sacrifice captives to the stone, feeding its power with all the consideration one would give to throwing logs on a fire.

Sacrifices fed the stone, but it wasn’t what Muralin had used to awaken the Saghred, direct its power, and then put it to sleep afterward.

Rudra Muralin had been a spellsinger. A young, talented, really powerful spellsinger.

Like Piaras.

There was a knock at the door. I almost jumped out of my skin.

Vegard looked at me and I nodded once. I closed Muralin’s journal and put my hand over it. Vegard partially opened the door and looked out.

He stepped back and Nelek slipped through and closed the door quickly behind him.

From the look on his face, he wasn’t the bearer of good news. “Ma’am, Chief Librarian Kalta has requested that I collect the books. He said to tell you that three hours is ample time for your study.”

Vegard said the exact word I was thinking.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Not your fault, Nelek.”

The librarian pulled a slender leather-bound book out of his robes and handed it to me.

“I thought this might be of interest to you,” he said. “It was written in the last century by a goblin historian named Okon Nusair. It’s an obscure work about the legends surrounding the Saghred. Since Nusair didn’t document the sources of much of his information, it’s considered fiction by serious scholars. It’s rarely checked out. Paladin Eiliesor may not have been aware of its existence.” Nelek looked nervously at the closed door. “The chief librarian is in a meeting and I could tell him I was unavoidably delayed in fulfilling his request.”

I gave him as much of a smile as I could. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

The librarian smiled shyly and shrugged. “At the very least, it’s a good companion volume to Rudra Muralin’s work.”

The book felt smooth and almost pliant under my hands. Creepy.

I opened it and flipped through the still-crisp pages. I shouldn’t have any problem reading it since it was written in modern-day Goblin.

In Rudra Muralin’s handwriting.

Oh hell.

I opened Muralin’s journal on the table. The handwriting was identical—and written nearly a thousand years earlier.

I carefully closed both books, and told myself I was not going to scream.

My father had been nearly nine hundred years old before the Saghred had taken him last year. History said Rudra Muralin died about a thousand years ago as the result of a dare.

On a challenge from the goblin king, Rudra Muralin used the Saghred to create the Great Rift in northern Rheskilia. The Great Rift was a mile-wide, nearly fifty-mile-long tear in the mountains of the Northern Reach. In one of the aftershocks that followed, Rudra Muralin fell off the highest edge into his newly created gorge, bringing an abrupt end to a notorious shamanic career. A couple of his more devoted disciples followed him like lemmings.

So said history. History’s been wrong before.

And if history was wrong, the greatest and craziest shaman to ever wield the Saghred was alive and well and could be anywhere—including here.

“I’d like to check both of these out,” I told Nelek, my voice surprisingly calm.

The librarian looked at me like I’d just asked him to run naked through the stacks. I didn’t want to get him in trouble, but one way or another I was leaving here with both of Rudra Muralin’s books. They were small enough to fit under my jerkin if necessary. I remembered the kid tacked to the ceiling. I smiled, and Nelek swallowed nervously. I’d like to see Lucan Kalta try tacking me anywhere.

“But the books are from the restricted section,” he said as if that explained everything. It didn’t.

“Restricted books can’t be checked out?”

“Only those with the highest scholarly qualifications can—”

Time for a change of tactic. “How are Paladin Eiliesor’s scholarly qualifications?”

“Impeccable, but—”

“The paladin needs to see these.” I gave him my most earnest look. “Nelek, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Nelek, you heard what happened yesterday in the square?”

“I wasn’t there, but I talked to some who were.” He paled. “Terrible business.”

“Yes, it was. And as you can understand, the paladin is working hard to find who was responsible. He would have come here himself, but he simply couldn’t spare the time. Information in these books could really help him.”

He looked incredulous. “Those books?”

“These books. But it needs to be kept secret. Get these books for the paladin and keep it quiet, and you’ll have the gratitude of the paladin and the archmagus.”

Nelek’s eyes widened. “The archmagus?”

“The archmagus.”

Nelek glanced nervously at Vegard.

“Their undying gratitude,” Vegard told him.

That man was unbelievably handy to have around.

The librarian hesitated a moment longer, then drew himself up. “I’d be proud to help. I have a good friend at the checkout desk. Let me see what I can do.”

Chapter 8

“Quick thinking, ma’am,” Vegard told me, after Nelek had gone.

“I do what I have to. I’m sorry I had to lie to your friend.”

The Guardian shrugged. “You did what you had to. Are those two little books that important?”

“They are. I need to read them, and seeing how Lucan Kalta feels about me, if I let them out of my sight, I’ll probably never see them again. Just how much pull does Nelek really have around here?”

“Usually enough.”

“You’ve checked out books on the sly before?”

“All the time in my student days. A lot of stuff I wanted to know was in books I couldn’t get my hands on.” There was a gleam in Vegard’s sky blue eyes. “Make friends in high places, or distribute coin in the right places.”

“So how does Lucan Kalta know if someone walks out with his books?”

“My student days were before Lucan Kalta.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah,” Vegard agreed.

“Kalta just seems to know,” Riston said. “We’re still not sure how.”

I picked up both books and considered the available space in my jerkin. There wasn’t as much room as I would have liked. “I’d like to see him try tacking me to the ceiling,” I muttered.

Vegard’s chuckle was downright evil. “I want to see him try.”

Nelek came back in record time, but he wasn’t alone. The two assistants who had brought the books stood behind him.

“We’re here for the books, ma’am,” he said, brisk and professional. Then he gave me a quick wink. “Marten and Cecil, if you would take the history volumes, I’ll take care of the other two.”

After the assistants collected the two goblin histories, Nelek held out his hand. I hesitated and then gave him the journals, never taking my eyes from his. He got the message loud and clear. If he tried to go anywhere with those books other than the front desk, I was going to tackle him.

“The chief librarian requested that I escort you to the front desk,” Nelek said, watching the two librarians walk around the corner and into the stacks. His mouth curled in a tiny, conspiratorial smile. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll take care of your request.”

Vegard and I traded a look. You gotta love friends in high places.

A tall figure stepped out of the stacks, blocking our way.

His hair was the color of winter frost, eyes the pale blue of arctic ice, an alabaster complexion, a cold, sharp beauty. Pure-blooded high elf. His black and silver robes were understated and elegant, and clearly cost a small fortune.