Silverthorn (Riftware Sage Book 2)

“To what end?” asked Arutha.

 

Dominic indicated they should follow him through another door, this one unlocked. They entered a large vaulted chamber, with shelving along the walls and free-standing shelves in the center of the room. Each shelf was packed solid with books. Dominic crossed to one and took down a book. He handed it to Arutha.

 

Arutha studied the old volume. It had faded gilt lettering burned into the binding. There was a faint resistance when Arutha carefully opened it, as if it had not been handled in years. On the first page he saw alien letters of an unknown language, painstakingly written in a stiff script. He lifted the book before his face and sniffed at it. There was a faint, pungent odor on the pages.

 

As Arutha handed the book back, Dominic said, “Preservative. Every book here has been treated to prevent deterioration.” He gave the book to Laurie.

 

The widely traveled singer said, “I don’t speak this tongue, but I think it Keshian, though it is unlike any scribing of the Empire’s I know.”

 

Dominic smiled. “The book is from the south part of Great Kesh, near the border of the Keshian Confederacy. It is the diary of a slightly mad but otherwise insignificant noble from a minor dynasty, written in a language called Low Delkian. High Delkian, as best we can ascertain, was a secret language limited to priests of some obscure order. “

 

“What is this place?” asked Jimmy.

 

“We who serve Ishap at Sarth gather together books, tomes, manuals, scrolls, and parchments, even fragments. In our order there is a saying: “Those at Sarth serve the god Knowledge,” which is not far from the truth. Wherever one of our order finds a scrap of writing, it or a copy is eventually sent here. In this chamber, and in every other chamber under the abbey, are shelves like these. All are filled, even to the point of being crowded from floor to ceiling, and new vaults are constantly being dug. From the top of the hill to the lowest level there are over a thousand chambers like this one. Each houses several hundred volumes or more. Some of the larger vaults hold several thousand. At last tally we were approaching a half-million works.”

 

Arutha was stunned. His own library, inherited with the throne of Krondor, numbered less than a thousand. “How long have you been gathering these?”

 

“Over three centuries. There are many of our order who do nothing but travel and buy any scrap they can find, or who pay to have copies made. Some are ancient, others are in languages unknown, and three are from another world, having been obtained from the Tsurani in LaMut. There are arcane works, auguries and manuals of power, hidden from the eyes of all but a few of the most highly placed in our order.” He looked about the room. “And with all this, there is still so much we don’t understand.”

 

Gardan said, “How do you keep track of it all?”

 

Dominic said, “We have brothers whose sole task is to catalog these works, all working under Brother Anthony’s direction. Guides are prepared and constantly updated. In the building above us and in another room deep below are shelves of nothing but guides. Should you need a work on a subject, you can find it in the guides. It will list the work by vault number—we are standing in vault seventeen—-shelf number, and space number upon the shelf. We are attempting to cross-index each work by author, when known, and title as well as subject. The work goes slowly and will take all of another century.”

 

Arutha was again overwhelmed by the sheer size of such an undertaking. “But against what ends do you store all these works?”

 

Dominic said, “In the first, for the sake of knowledge itself. But there is a second cause, which I will leave for the Abbot to explain. Come, let us join him.”

 

Jimmy was the last through the door, and he cast a rearward glance at the books in the room. He left with the feeling that he was somehow gaining a glimpse of worlds and ideas heretofore unimagined, and he regretted he would never fully understand most of what lay beneath the abbey. He felt somehow lessened for this realization. For the first time, Jimmy felt his world a small one, with a much larger yet to be discovered.

 

 

 

 

 

Arutha and his companions waited for the Abbot in a large chamber. Several torches threw flickering illumination upon the walls. Another door opened and the Abbot entered, followed by two men. Brother Dominic was the first through, but the other was unknown to Arutha. He was an old man, large and still erect in his bearing, who despite his robes seemed to resemble a soldier more than a monk, an impression heightened by a war hammer hanging from his belt. His grey-shot black hair had been left to grow to shoulder length but, like his beard, it was neatly trimmed. The Abbot said, “It is time for plain speaking.”

 

Arutha said with a bitter edge, “That would be appreciated.”