Rise of the Seventh Moon: Heirs of Ash, Book 3 by Rich Wulf Read Free Book Online Page A

thug.”
    “We won’t even need to bring Master Larrian into this,” Norra said. “I can take care of myself. I’ll figure out a way.”
    “Is there no one who can help you?” Petra asked. “Friends? Family? Any of your old friends in Zil’argo?”
    Norra paused, her lips on the mouth of the bottle. She hadn’t even considered paying off the debt legitimately. It seemed so unlikely. “I have a friend in House Cannith,” she said. “Well, not exactly a friend, but an ally. I don’t know if he would help me. If he did, it would only be exchanging one form of debt for another. At least Dalan is more merciful than Radcul.”
    “I don’t want to see you hurt, Norra,” Petra said, hand shaking as he sipped from his cup. “If there is anything I can do to help …”
    “If you’re talking about money, forget it. I know how much Larrian pays the junior staff,” Norra said. “But you can help me with some research.”
    “Research?” Petra said, perking up like a pet offered a treat.
    “Do you remember a man named Ashrem d’Cannith?” Norra asked.
    “Of course I remember old Ash,” Petra said, smiling. “I was proud to assist him during his brief stay at Dalannan. You were the one who referred him to us, as I recall, during the brief period you were writing for the Chronicle.”
    “Yes,” Norra replied.
    “Ah, yes,” Petra said. “I remember now.”
    “He was looking for information on the Draconic Prophecy,”Norra said. “I knew Morgrave had a large archive. Could you show me some of the books he researched while he was here?”
    Petra looked at her archly. His usual scatterbrained nervousness was gone. He sat straight and composed, his eyes showing the slightest hint of insult. “My records are entirely complete, Norra,” he said. “I can show you every book Ashrem read.”
    “Every one?” Norra asked, impressed. “After all these years?”
    Petra nodded. He finished his cup of wine and stooped down in his chair, pulling a stocky filing cabinet out from under his desk. He thumbed through the contents for several moments before drawing out a thick book labeled with the year in question. Every page was covered with small, cramped handwriting.
    “That can’t possibly be a record of every volume withdrawn from the library,” Norra said.
    Petra looked at her frankly. “Well, that would be useless, wouldn’t it?” he asked. “Most of our volumes are extremely valuable references. They can’t be withdrawn from the library. This is a record of every book read, by every attendant, for any length of time, for the last fifteen years—the duration of my service here.”
    “How can that be?” she asked.
    “You ask me for my help, and then declare my help impossible?” Petra asked, hurt. “Suffice it to say, while not as talented as yourself, I do have some skill with wards and artifice. Magic can do more than make a tower fly or hurl a bolt of lightning, you know.”
    Norra laughed. “How is it possible you’re still a junior librarian?” she asked.
    “I spend too much time trifling over records and not enough time playing university politics,” he said. He looked back at his book. “Now, do you remember roughly what month and day Ashrem arrived in Sharn?”

F IVE
     
    A s the cell’s stone ceiling slowly came into focus, Zed Arthen concluded that he had acted rashly.
    He sat up on his wooden pallet, rubbing the back of his skull and looking around the cell with bleary eyes. What had gone wrong? He was a good judge of character, typically. He had carefully observed those three knights the other day. When he saw them coming to introduce themselves to Eraina, he quietly withdrew and watched from a safe distance. He had no quarrels with the Knights of Thrane. He just knew from experience that it was better to avoid them. If they saw his sword, they would ask questions. He preferred not to relive that part of his past for the sake of nosy strangers. It would be even worse if they