The Saints of the Sword by John Marco Read Free Book Online Page B

bookcases, and desks, all polished to a pristine luster and stretching out endlessly in corridors and alcoves. There was a bright glow from oil lamps and reading sconces, and the warm smell of oak and leather wafted over the threshold. Little men with hunched backs and beady eyes poured over texts, silently studying, and workers pushed carts of manuscripts through the halls, carefully categorizing them on the countless shelves. Alazrian stepped into the library, suddenly conscious of his own breathing. It was as if sound couldn’t penetrate the thick walls; even the drone of the city’s incinerators fell away behind him. His shoes scuffed soundlessly along the carpeted floor, and his head swivelled to survey his surroundings. The Library of the Black Renaissance was astonishing, just like the Tower of Truth and the Black Palace and the harlots in the streets.
    “Young man?” came a voice. “May I help you?”
    Turning, Alazrian discovered a woman behind him, studying him curiously. She wore a simple green gown belted with a scarlet sash, just like the workers pushing around the carts. She looked serene and peaceful and Alazrian liked her instantly.
    “Hello,” he offered, unsure what to say. “Uhm, my name is Alazrian Leth. I’m from Talistan. Well, Aramoor now.”
    “Yes?”
    “I’m visiting the city,” Alazrian explained. “I’m a guest of Minister Dakel.”
    The word “guest” made the woman frown. No one was really a guest of the minister’s, despite his hospitality.
    “I’m one of the librarians here,” she said. “What can I help you with, Alazrian Leth? Are you looking for something?”
    “I don’t really know what I’m looking for,” Alazrian said. “I was wondering about Lucel-Lor, and thought you might have some manuscripts I could look at. Aramoor is very near Lucel-Lor, and I don’t know much about it.”
    Again the librarian frowned. “No one really knows much about Lucel-Lor, I’m afraid. There aren’t very many texts on it. Just some from the war.”
    “Yes, the war,” chimed Alazrian. He knew the war texts might make mention of the magician Tharn, and that would be a start. “Where are these books, please?”
    The woman had Alazrian follow her through a narrow corridor, past a collection of reading desks, and up a small flight of stairs to a landing overlooking the main chamber. Along the wall was a long bookcase crammed full of manuscripts and scrolls, some faded to yellow by years of decay. The librarian fingered through them, whispering to herself as she searched for the proper section. Finally she fished out a text bound in brown leather and embossed with the impressive title
Lucel-Lor—Historical Facts and Notes
. Alazrian’s eyes widened when he saw it.
    “What’s that?” he asked eagerly. He reached out and took the book from the librarian, handling it as carefully as if it were an infant.
    “There are some others but this is really the best,” said the woman. “It was written about a year ago by an historian that lives here in the capital. Emperor Biagio himself had the book commissioned so that there would be some record of the events of the war. It’s a very fine work.
    Conhorth, the historian, took care with it. He interviewed survivors of the war from Talistan and Ackle-Nye. I think it should help you.”
    Alazrian ran his hand over the tome. It was far too long to read in one night and he doubted he would be able to take it with him. He would have to get reading quickly.
    “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you very much. You’ve been a great help.”
    The librarian smiled and told Alazrian that she was at his service if he needed anything else, but he hardly heard her. He was already lost in the pages of the remarkable book, flipping through the leafs and studying the hand-drawn illustrations that jumped off the parchment. Whoever this Conhorth was, he had done an impressive job at the emperor’s behest.
    Excited, Alazrian went back down the stairs with