Read Online In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) by Steve M. Shoemake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steve M. Shoemake
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were dirty in Gaust, especially the closer one got to the docks. Here, near the city center, however, the streets were unusually clean. Almost pristine. There were no merchant hovels, no peddlers, no beggars. The air smelled briny this close to the sea, but it was a salty scent, not a fishy one.
Magi saw several townspeople dressed in wealthy garments, complete with ruffles and fine tunics made of bright colors that fell below the waist, belted neatly. Some people even dared to wear white. And unlike most knights that relied on mismatched, dented armor, Magi saw more than one with their plate polished to a high gleam. Some were even wealthy enough to ride openly on horses.
“Lord Corovant lives there,” commented Lionel, who looked like a half-dead goat and smelled worse. The good news was that he smelled better than Sindar, who stayed in their room at the inn, nursing the after effects of their late night. “Bring back yer ruddy scroll and let’s be done with this bloody port,” he had said after retching for the umpteenth time.
So the three of them had left the big warrior and headed out to the city center, and were now focused on steps of the Great Library. “Come, let us find—what’s his name, Magi?” asked Lionel.
“Wyzle ,” Magi reminded him. He had a small headache himself, but it couldn’t have been nearly as bad as what the two men were feeling.
“Wyzle. Yes, something like that. Come.” Up the steps he led them.
As they entered the massive alcove, a scribe in white robes belted with simple rope stopped to greet them. His robes were so bright they hurt Magi’s eyes. Poverty hasn’t come to the Great Library. He had a clean-shaven head and face, and his expression was neither friendly nor suspicious. “Greetings. May I help you?” The scribe wrinkled his nose.
Lionel held out his hand. “Good day. I am Lione l. I’m looking for a man named, Keeper of the Books. Can you direct us to him?”
“Perhaps.” He clasped Lionel’s hand and returned his gaze. “What business do you have with our Keeper? He is terribly busy.”
Lionel considered. “Our business is with your Keeper. I would prefer to discuss it directly with him.”
The scribe let the words hang in the air uncomfortably. “Very well. I should warn you that he is quite busy. I should be surprised if he will even see you today, and you should be grateful if your audience with him lasts more than five minutes. But I shall inquire on your behalf with Master Wyzle, our Esteemed Keeper of the Books.” He turned and headed through a series of rooms, each with three or four scribes bent over books or parchment, carefully writing in silence.
They came to a large, wooden door that was bolted shut and covered in strange markings. Lionel looked at his two young mages as if to ask, “ magic? ” Magi returned Lionel’s silent question with a simple shrug; he had never seen runes such as these.
The scribe in white slid the bolt back and pushed the heavy door open wide enough for all of them to pass. It squeaked as they entered the dimly-lit room. Row upon row of shelves jutted out from the wall, joining with more shelves against the wall to create a dozen paths with books on three sides. The center of the room was bare of any clutter, but the white marble floor had the same insignia in it that Magi observed on the soldiers’ breastplates from the night before: a scale balancing a trident and a war hammer. There were only two torches, one on each wall, whose flickering flames created shifting shadows everywhere. The other light in the room came from a small oil lamp sitting on a desk at the far end of the room. It smelled musty in here, as if fresh air avoided the place like the plague. A bit of incense might do this room some good. There were no windows, and as far as Magi could tell, this was the only door in or out of the room.
Behind the
Magi saw several townspeople dressed in wealthy garments, complete with ruffles and fine tunics made of bright colors that fell below the waist, belted neatly. Some people even dared to wear white. And unlike most knights that relied on mismatched, dented armor, Magi saw more than one with their plate polished to a high gleam. Some were even wealthy enough to ride openly on horses.
“Lord Corovant lives there,” commented Lionel, who looked like a half-dead goat and smelled worse. The good news was that he smelled better than Sindar, who stayed in their room at the inn, nursing the after effects of their late night. “Bring back yer ruddy scroll and let’s be done with this bloody port,” he had said after retching for the umpteenth time.
So the three of them had left the big warrior and headed out to the city center, and were now focused on steps of the Great Library. “Come, let us find—what’s his name, Magi?” asked Lionel.
“Wyzle ,” Magi reminded him. He had a small headache himself, but it couldn’t have been nearly as bad as what the two men were feeling.
“Wyzle. Yes, something like that. Come.” Up the steps he led them.
As they entered the massive alcove, a scribe in white robes belted with simple rope stopped to greet them. His robes were so bright they hurt Magi’s eyes. Poverty hasn’t come to the Great Library. He had a clean-shaven head and face, and his expression was neither friendly nor suspicious. “Greetings. May I help you?” The scribe wrinkled his nose.
Lionel held out his hand. “Good day. I am Lione l. I’m looking for a man named, Keeper of the Books. Can you direct us to him?”
“Perhaps.” He clasped Lionel’s hand and returned his gaze. “What business do you have with our Keeper? He is terribly busy.”
Lionel considered. “Our business is with your Keeper. I would prefer to discuss it directly with him.”
The scribe let the words hang in the air uncomfortably. “Very well. I should warn you that he is quite busy. I should be surprised if he will even see you today, and you should be grateful if your audience with him lasts more than five minutes. But I shall inquire on your behalf with Master Wyzle, our Esteemed Keeper of the Books.” He turned and headed through a series of rooms, each with three or four scribes bent over books or parchment, carefully writing in silence.
They came to a large, wooden door that was bolted shut and covered in strange markings. Lionel looked at his two young mages as if to ask, “ magic? ” Magi returned Lionel’s silent question with a simple shrug; he had never seen runes such as these.
The scribe in white slid the bolt back and pushed the heavy door open wide enough for all of them to pass. It squeaked as they entered the dimly-lit room. Row upon row of shelves jutted out from the wall, joining with more shelves against the wall to create a dozen paths with books on three sides. The center of the room was bare of any clutter, but the white marble floor had the same insignia in it that Magi observed on the soldiers’ breastplates from the night before: a scale balancing a trident and a war hammer. There were only two torches, one on each wall, whose flickering flames created shifting shadows everywhere. The other light in the room came from a small oil lamp sitting on a desk at the far end of the room. It smelled musty in here, as if fresh air avoided the place like the plague. A bit of incense might do this room some good. There were no windows, and as far as Magi could tell, this was the only door in or out of the room.
Behind the
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