The Elven (56 page)

Empty Halls

N
uramon entered the hall in which the gnome Builax, by Nuramon’s sense of time, had received him more than fifty years earlier. But because of his lack of knowledge, they had jumped at least a hundred years when they entered the library, probably more, so their first encounter with the gnome lay even farther back. Still, the hall seemed unaltered. The shelves and the books were still there, and the barinstones still emanated their soft light. Only Builax was missing, nowhere to be seen. In the nook between the walls of shelves, where the gnome had once kept Nuramon’s sword, the elf found books, writing utensils, and even a small knife. But the layer of dust showed him that no one had been there for a very long time.

An inkwell, tipped over, caught Nuramon’s eye. The ink had spread across the table and had long since dried. Everything about the scene gave the impression that Builax had only taken what was most necessary with him and had left the rest where it stood or lay. Maybe the gnome had had to flee?

Nuramon went to the twenty-third bookshelf and climbed the ladder there. When he reached the shelf he was looking for, the feeling that had come over him the first time he was there returned. He was walking in the footsteps of Yulivee as if she were his confidante, as Noroelle had been a confidante for Obilee.

He slipped out her book and made his way down again. As he descended from rung to rung, he thought about the latest developments. The attack on the Albenstar made him uneasy. Was it conceivable that the Tjured priests might penetrate the library? So far, clearly, they had not, but their attacks on the Albenstars caused damage here in the Shattered World as well.

One more time, Nuramon swept his gaze across the hall. It filled him with regret that neither Builax nor Reilif was here. Who was there who could show those hungry for knowledge where to look? Perhaps Reilif was off somewhere else in the library. If there was no one left to advise on the books and what they contained, then this enormous library would be all but useless to visitors.

Nuramon left the hall and considered where best to start the search for information about the Albenstones. Farodin had praised his intuition and asked him to search on his own for whatever records he could find. While Nuramon did that, Farodin would talk with the keepers of knowledge.

Nuramon entered one of the rooms and set Yulivee’s book down on a table. Scrolls were stacked in the diamond-shaped compartments of the shelves against the walls. He chose one at random and opened it. He had read barely the first lines when he sighed aloud. It was a genealogical listing of the centaurs.

He moved to a different shelf and selected another scroll. This one was the account of a human and his heroic efforts to defend a gate to Albenmark. Details of the gate in question were not given, but Nuramon thought he was on the right track. Every culture had its myths and its concepts of the beginning of the worlds. These were the stories in which he might detect a hidden sign.

He searched for hours but found only a single clue. In one of the chronicles, it said that Emerelle had used her Albenstone to create an important gate between the human world and Dailos in Albenmark. The text read, “Oh, if only the ancient ones had not departed, we would have been able to create gates of our own.” Everything he read seemed to indicate that the queen possessed the only Albenstone in existence.

“You’ll never find it like that,” said a familiar voice. “Time is too short.”

Nuramon spun around. In the doorway stood a figure wearing a black robe, the hood half covering his forehead. “Master Reilif,” Nuramon cried.

“Yes, it’s me. And I am disappointed to find you searching for knowledge in the elven way.”

Nuramon returned the scroll he’d been reading to its shelf. “Is it so surprising to find an elf behaving in this way? But you are right. I should think of my human companion and try to shorten the search.”

“That is not what I meant. But you should know that the end of this place is not far off.”

Nuramon stared in disbelief at the keeper of knowledge. Until now, he had not thought that the danger was so great. “Will the humans destroy the gates without knowing what it means to do so?”

“It is not up to me to say what the humans know, nor what intentions lie behind their actions. But what I can say is this. There is not much more they need to find out before this library is lost. And what sense would it make in any case, protecting knowledge if you are locked in with it and no one else can ever come here?”

“None at all,” said Nuramon softly.

“To give you at least a little benefit from all the wisdom stored in this place, I will help you.” Reilif smiled sympathetically.

“Have you already spoken with Farodin?”

“No. Gengalos and the other keepers are with him. I would like to speak to you alone.” Reilif glanced at the table. “I see that you have found Yulivee’s book again.”

“I wanted to read it once more,” said Nuramon, and his words sounded like an apology.

“That’s a good thing. And you may keep the book.”

“What? I thought . . .”

“The knowledge of this library will fade away, even though the others may not see that as clearly as I do. But when this place dies, at least a little of the knowledge these halls contain deserves to be saved. Besides, the books themselves are worthless to me and the other keepers. I have read them, and now they are a part of me.”

“Why don’t you abandon the library and establish another somewhere else?” Nuramon asked. He was thinking of Albenmark, where the keepers of knowledge would surely be met with open arms.

“We have sworn never to leave these halls before we have taken in all the knowledge gathered here. Until now, we always thought that would never happen and that this place would always be a wellspring of wisdom. But the well has been sealed, because nothing new is reaching us. And because that is the case, the day may come when we carry all the treasures stored here inside us. Then we can leave. Unfortunately, we keepers are very slow readers. Only one here, one we were forced by necessity to bring in, can read faster than us. If we have acquired the knowledge of this library before the end comes, we will abandon this place and return to Albenmark.”

“How long will that take?”

“Another hundred years, certainly. By the Alben. A hundred years. That’s a period we both would have laughed at before. What is a hundred years? But I fear the humans could get in here before that and spoil everything.”

Nuramon could understand the keeper well. If they were bound by an oath, then they had to take the chance that every connection to the human world might be broken and that they would have to go on living here, sealed off. But perhaps it would be smarter to break their covenant and at least rescue part of the priceless knowledge stored here. Emerelle would certainly not condemn them if they retreated to her court.

“Let us walk awhile,” said Reilif, and he stepped out into the corridor.

Nuramon picked up Yulivee’s book from the table and followed the keeper of knowledge. “Can you help me find something about Albenstones?”

Reilif laughed gently. “You’ve built quite a large assumption into your question, Nuramon . . . namely, that there could be more Albenstones than only Emerelle’s.”

“Are there?”

Reilif nodded inside his hood. “But no one knows where they are . . . and I know just as little about how to find one.”

Nuramon was disappointed. He had expected more of Reilif. Could it really be that in all the books he had read, there was not a word about how to find one?

“Now then, keep your chin up. I certainly cannot tell you where to find a stone, but I can tell you what an Albenstone can be used for. So listen well. If you possess such a stone, then it will allow you to move from one end of a world to another. You can create Albenpaths for yourself where previously there were none. You can open and close gates. You can even create and destroy Albenstars. An Albenstone that finds its way into the wrong hands is a great evil.”

“Can they be used to break through magical barriers?”

“But of course.”

That was the answer Nuramon had been hoping for. He wanted to use such a stone for no more than to free the woman he loved.

They left the corridor and climbed a set of stairs. The keeper of knowledge went on. “Anyone who wants to use an Albenstone must be capable of wielding magic. And the more he wants to achieve with it, the harder it will be to control the power of the stone.”

“But it has to be possible to detect such a formidable stone. Its power must outshine anything,” Nuramon objected. He thought of the queen’s palace. He had never sensed any trace of the Albenstone there. Perhaps Emerelle had surrounded it with some kind of magic that hid the aura of its power.

“There you’re mistaken. The power of the stone is barely perceptible. You would definitely sense it if I held it in my hands here at your side, but despite its size, you would think of it as little more than a trifle.”

“What does it look like?”

Reilif said nothing, but led him into a small room that opened off a landing. Inside, the barinstones gave off a cool green gleam. Sturdy cupboards as high as the ceiling stood along the walls. The keeper of knowledge opened one of the cupboards, took out a large and heavy folio, and heaved it onto the lectern in the center of the room. The covers were closed with two buckles, which he now opened. “In this book is the image of an Albenstone. It is not Emerelle’s stone, and the one who possessed it went the way of the Alben long ago.” Reilif’s hood slipped over his eyes, and with a quick hand movement, he threw it back completely. Nuramon was astounded to see elven ears protruding from beneath gray-white hair. For Nuramon, the old elf revealing his head like this came suddenly and unexpectedly. Reilif seemed not to notice his surprise and instead turned unerringly to the page he was looking for.

The image of the stone filled the entire page. It was dark gray and looked smooth. Five white furrows ran down it. The illustration was rather plain and not the work of a master, but it was enough to give a clear impression.

Nuramon pointed to the grooves in the picture. “What are these lines?” he asked.

Reilif ran his finger down the furrow on the left. “This is the world of the humans. Next to that lies the world that is now shattered, the one we are in. Then comes Albenmark—the borderlands of the Alben—followed by their home.” He tapped on the line on the far right. “And this last is what we elves call the moonlight.”

“It’s hard to believe,” said Nuramon in wonder.

“What is?”

“That the worlds I know simply exist right beside the home of the Alben and the moonlight.”

“Don’t let this illustration deceive you, Nuramon. Every Albenstone is said to be unique. Each one is supposed to represent a different understanding of the world. It is also said that on Emerelle’s stone, the furrows cross.”

“Whose stone was this?”

“It belonged to a dragon named Cheliach. We know little about him other than that he was late in following the Alben, and when he did, the dragons ceased to be of any real significance.”

Nuramon was satisfied. This was the starting point he had been hoping to find. “Thank you for showing me this picture.”

Reilif closed the large book. “You will find this volume here if you want to show it to your companions. I will leave it on the table. But before you do that, you should pay a visit to someone else . . . someone who knows you and who no doubt would like to see you again.”

“Who is it?” asked Nuramon, surprised.

Master Reilif smiled. “If I betrayed the name, I would be breaking a promise.” He pointed to the stairway. “Follow the stairs all the way to the top. You will find him in one of the empty halls.” The old elf’s gray eyes sparkled in the gleam of the barinstones.

With some reluctance, Nuramon left the room. On the stairs, he took a deep breath. It felt as if the keeper of knowledge had cast a spell over him; his eyes had been so hypnotic. What was the elf’s story? What lay behind him? He did not dare ask him. And besides, just then, he had a different task. Who could be waiting for him up there?

When Nuramon reached the top of the stairs, he followed a wide corridor off which a number of small halls opened. They were all empty, with neither books nor bookshelves. It seemed the knowledge of the library had not yet extended this far. And from what Reilif had just been telling him, it probably never would, so it surprised Nuramon all the more when he saw books in a side corridor, stacked along the walls on left and right.

A soft voice echoed down the corridor. Nuramon followed the sound of the voice and spied through the gap where a door had been left ajar. He could scarcely believe what he saw inside: in a bare circular hall sat the djinn atop a throne of books. He plucked a volume from a neatly stacked pile on his left, glanced at it, then tossed it carelessly onto a pile on his right. The djinn had white hair and wore white robes, making him look far more venerable than he had in Valemas.

The moment Nuramon entered the hall, the djinn raised his head and looked at him. “Oh, it’s you, Nuramon,” he said, as if they had seen each other just moments earlier. He quickly assembled a small stack of books from those lying around, then pointed to his creation. “Have a seat!”

As soon as Nuramon sat down, the djinn asked him, “Did my advice back then get you any farther?”

“Yes. And I would like to say thank you for that. It was invaluable.” Nuramon told the djinn that he had found himself following Yulivee’s trail in the library. He told him about the dwarves and Dareen.

“Looks to me like you’ve taken a shine to Yulivee.” The djinn pointed to the book that rested on Nuramon’s knee.

“Reilif gave it to me. Maybe I should take it to the Free of Valemas. Their hatred of Emerelle would no doubt be placated a little by what is written in here.”

The djinn made a glum face. “There’s no point taking any books to Valemas. The oasis has been destroyed.”

“What?” Nuramon cried. “How could that happen?”

“The white knights from the north who ride in the name of Tjured . . . they wiped out the Free.”