Page 23

Elindir

T he Archives slept. Only the soft hissing of oil lamps broke the silence as I moved through the labyrinthine shelves, my footsteps muffled by worn carpets laid over ancient stone. The smell of parchment and ink hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of dust that clung to documents untouched for decades.

After my brief meeting with Ruith, Klaus had ushered me back through the secret passage to the Archives, where Niro waited.

"You shouldn't have gone," Niro said again, his voice barely above a whisper as we huddled in our secluded alcove between towering shelves of historical records. "If you'd been discovered—"

"I had to," I replied, no apology in my tone. The taste of Ruith’s lips lingered on mine, a gift and a curse. I didn’t want that to be the last time I got to see him. "Would you have been able to stay away if it were Katyr?"

Niro's expression shifted, something vulnerable flashing across his usually stoic features before he mastered it. "A low blow, Lord Consort."

"But a fair one," I countered, holding his gaze.

After a moment, he nodded once, conceding the point. "No. I wouldn't have stayed away either. That doesn't make it any less dangerous."

I sighed, acknowledging the truth in his words. "You're right. But what's done is done. Now, we need to focus on saving him." I spread the document I'd been studying across our small desk. "What matters now is whether our tally still holds."

Niro nodded, tapping the parchment where we'd mapped the Assembly's political landscape. "Stoneriver remains our strongest ally, as they've been since the beginning. Craiggybottom stands firm with us as well. Wolfheart is still hesitant, though Klaus shows signs of wavering."

"Three," I murmured, running my finger over the list of twelve clan houses. "We need four more to secure Ruith's freedom."

"Freedom may be ambitious," Niro cautioned. "Exile is more likely. What matters is that he leaves the chamber alive."

My jaw tightened. "Exile is unacceptable. Calibarra needs him. Those boys need him."

Niro's expression hardened, his tactical assessment taking precedence over sentiment. "Adjust your expectations, Lord Consort. The odds are stacked against us. Even if we secure his life, a complete victory is unlikely at this stage."

My fingers traced the Assembly's formal seal, feeling the raised wax beneath my fingertips. "I need him alive," I said finally, my voice rougher than intended. "Everything else we can fight for later."

Niro accepted this with a soldier's pragmatism. He reached into his robe and withdrew a folded map of the Assembly Hall. "Then we continue as planned. The Redrock representative must be approached tonight. She's quartered in the eastern wing of the diplomatic residence."

"And Northfire?"

"Northfire will support us," Niro replied with certainty. "But we must be careful. Tarathiel has eyes everywhere. If he suspects our movement..."

A sound from the main corridor silenced us both. Footsteps. Too heavy for the night archivist. The distinctive rhythm of military boots against stone.

Guards.

Niro extinguished our lamp with a swift movement, plunging our alcove into darkness. We pressed ourselves into the shadows between towering shelves as torchlight spilled into the Archives' main hall.

"Check every section," came a harsh command. "The Primarch wants them found before tomorrow's session."

My heart thundered in my chest. They were looking for us. The presence of an unknown clerk and his assistant must have triggered suspicion, or perhaps someone had recognized Niro despite his disguise.

Niro's hand found my arm in the darkness, his grip conveying what words could not: absolute stillness, no matter what happened.

Guards moved methodically through the Archives, boots heavy against stone, torchlight penetrating deeper into the labyrinth of records. They would find us eventually. There were too many of them, and the Archives offered limited hiding places.

Beside me, Niro's breathing remained steady, controlled. The soldier preparing for battle rather than running from it. We had discussed this contingency, had prepared for the possibility of discovery. But facing it now, with Ruith's life hanging in tomorrow's balance, made my blood run cold.

Just as the torchlight neared our alcove, a commanding voice cut through the tense silence.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" The night archivist's indignation echoed off the stone walls. "The Archives are sacred ground. Guards are not permitted without explicit authorization from the Assembly itself."

"Primarch's orders," came the curt reply. "We search for spies who may have infiltrated the records division."

"The Primarch is not the Assembly," the archivist countered, his voice sharp with disapproval. "This institution has maintained independence from individual rulers for over three thousand years. The Archives answer only to the full Assembly, not to any single authority—even the Primarch's."

"You risk much, old one," the guard captain warned. "The Primarch doesn't take kindly to interference."

"And the Assembly doesn't take kindly to violations of its ancient protocols," the archivist replied firmly. "Now, unless you have written authorization bearing the seal of at least three clan representatives, I suggest you leave before I file a formal complaint that will be read before the full Assembly tomorrow."

The threat of bureaucratic embarrassment apparently carried weight. After a tense moment, the captain relented. "We'll return with proper authorization."

"I look forward to reviewing it," the archivist replied, his tone making it clear that no such authorization would be deemed acceptable.

The guards withdrew, their footsteps fading down the corridor. When silence had finally returned, the archivist's voice came again, softer now but clearly directed toward our hiding place.

"You may come out now. They've gone."

Niro tensed beside me, hand moving to his concealed dagger. We exchanged a quick glance, weighing the risk of revealing ourselves against the possibility of a trap.

"I assure you," the archivist continued when we didn't immediately respond, "if I wished to betray you to the Primarch's men, I would not have sent them away first."

Slowly, Niro moved from our hiding spot, positioning himself between me and the potential danger as I followed. The night archivist stood alone among the shelves, his ancient face impassive as he studied us. His hair was silver with age, his formal robes bearing the midnight blue of the Archives guild.

"An unusual hour for research," he observed dryly.

"We appreciate your discretion," Niro said carefully.

The old archivist's expression remained unchanged, but something flickered in his eyes. "The Archives have witnessed every succession dispute, every power struggle, every rebellion in our history. We record them all without judgment." He paused, then added pointedly, "Though some of us do form opinions about which causes merit preservation."

He moved to a nearby shelf, selecting a heavy tome without hesitation despite the dim light. "The Primarch forgets that institutional memory is long. Some of us remember what he was before power changed him." He placed the book on a small table. "This contains detailed maps of the service corridors beneath the Assembly Hall, including maintenance tunnels rarely used since the Third Dynasty."

My surprise must have shown on my face, for the archivist's mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. "Not all rebellion requires a sword, Lord Consort. Some of us fight with knowledge instead." He gestured to the book. "Take it. Return it if you survive what comes."

"Why help us?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

The archivist's gaze became distant. "I served two kings and Queen Siriyama briefly before the Primarch. Recorded their decrees, archived their declarations, documented their legacies." His eyes refocused, sharp with centuries of observation. "Ruith Starfall is the first potential ruler in three generations who ever bothered to read down here as a boy. I remember him coming here often years ago." He inclined his head slightly. "The Archives follow no faction, but we recognize a single truth. Those who do not study history are doomed never to learn from it."

"Thank you," I said, genuine gratitude in my voice.

"I was never here," the archivist replied, already turning away. "And neither were you."

"Regardless, we can't remain here," I said, gathering our documents. "They'll return, and next time they won't be deterred by procedural objections."

Niro nodded. "We need a secure location to continue our work. Somewhere they wouldn't think to look for us."

I stared at the Assembly map spread before us, at the intricate layout of D'thallanar's political heart. "What about the Duskfel clan residence? With the house decimated from within, it likely stands empty. They'd never think to search an abandoned building."

"Potentially," Niro considered, studying the map. "But access would be difficult. After the tragedy, Tarathiel ordered the residence sealed."

"What about House Craiggybottom, then?" I suggested, indicating their location on the map. "They've been openly supporting Ruith from the beginning. If anyone would welcome us, it would be them."

"An excellent choice," Niro agreed, his expression lightening slightly. "They're looked down upon by the traditional houses, but their very position as outsiders makes them perfect allies for us now."

"Will they risk housing us? Tarathiel must know of their support for Ruith."

Niro considered for a moment. "Captain Seagrave already took a significant risk helping us reach Ruith. But the Craiggybottoms have always been pragmatic. They understand that standing with Ruith means standing against Tarathiel."

"We have little choice," I said, gathering our materials. "If we're discovered here, everything ends."

We collected our documents, tucking the archivist's borrowed tome securely inside Niro's robes. Moving through the Archives' maze-like corridors required careful navigation. Twice we froze at the distant sound of voices, pressing ourselves into alcoves until the danger passed.

The archivist had indicated a servants' exit that would lead us to the lower levels of the Assembly complex. Unlike the grand entryways guarded day and night, this modest door was designed for the endless flow of clerks, messengers, and maintenance staff that kept D'thallanar's bureaucracy functioning.

The chill of winter pricked at my skin as we stepped outside. The Hall of Wisdom, which housed the Assembly, rose like an island fortress behind us. Unlike other structures in the city, the Hall stood on its own circular island, surrounded by a deep moat that could accommodate large shipping vessels. Massive bridges connected it to the mainland, engineering marvels that could be raised to allow ships passage or lowered for processions of dignitaries.

The Craiggybottom clan house was near the merchant quarter. We'd need to cross through several other clan territories to reach it. Our journey took us first through the Deepfrost district, closest to the Assembly Hall. Tarathiel's personal territory gleamed with wealth and power, silver-blue banners bearing evergreen symbols hanging from every building. Guards in ceremonial armor patrolled the immaculate streets, their expressions stern in the lantern light.

Beyond lay the Runecleaver district, eerily quiet since Vinolia's death. Their blood oak symbol, once proudly displayed throughout their territory, now seemed to loom ominously over empty streets. Many windows remained dark, their occupants having either fled to the countryside or been purged in Katyr's consolidation of power.

The farther we moved from the center, the more evidence we saw of the brutal hierarchy that governed elven society. By the time we reached the outer rings, we passed increasing numbers of human slaves. They moved with downcast eyes, mindful of the guards, who watched for any sign of disobedience.

I kept my head down, acutely aware that my disguise might not withstand scrutiny. The collar scars on my neck, carefully hidden beneath my high collar, seemed to burn as if newly made. Had Ruith not claimed me, I might have been among those shuffling figures, another piece of property in this ancient city built on subjugation.

"The Craiggybottom district lies just before the merchant quarter," Niro explained as we approached the outer ring. "Being established as a guild rather than a blood clan, they were granted territorial rights only after significant contribution to elven commerce."

The transition to Craiggybottom territory was striking. Where other districts maintained careful aesthetic uniformity dictated by clan leadership, this area exploded with diverse architectural influences. Buildings of various styles clustered together, showing inspiration from across the known world. The streets, while less pristine than those of the inner rings, bustled with more genuine energy despite the late hour.

"There," Niro said, nodding toward a sprawling compound near the district's edge where it bordered the merchant quarter. "The Craiggybottom guild house."

The guild compound stood in stark contrast to the ancestral seats of blood clans. Where traditional houses displayed their power through imposing uniformity, Craiggybottom embraced a vibrant diversity that reflected its unique status. The complex resembled a small village unto itself. Buildings of various styles clustered around communal spaces, reflecting the patchwork nature of a community built on membership rather than birth. Lanterns in a rainbow of colors illuminated the streets, creating a festive atmosphere despite the late hour.

The central building bore nautical influences with its curved roofs, facades decorated with stylized sea creatures carved by artisans from diverse backgrounds. Blue banners displaying the clan's sail-and-star emblem hung alongside flags representing member families and allied trading partners from distant shores.

Guards watched our approach, their posture alert but lacking the rigid formality of traditional house sentries. Their uniforms showed practical variation rather than strict uniformity, though all bore the distinctive indigo sash marking them as Craiggybottom defenders. Unlike the matched ceremonial weapons of blood clan guards, these carried practical tools of diverse origins—evidence of a house that valued function over form.

"State your business," the senior guard called as we reached the gate. Her bright red hair marked her as partly Yeutish.

Niro stepped forward, bowing. "We bring urgent communication for Representative Seagrave from an ally within the Assembly."

The guard's expression remained skeptical. "The representative receives no visitors at this hour."

"The matter concerns tomorrow's proceedings," Niro replied evenly. "And the prisoner whose fate will be decided."

Something shifted in the guard's expression. She gestured to a junior officer, who disappeared through a side entrance. We waited in tense silence, the night chill settling deeper into my bones with each passing minute.

When the door reopened, a middle-aged elven woman appeared, her silver-streaked hair bound in a simple braid, her clothing practical despite its obvious quality. "I am Maelis, steward to Representative Seagrave," she announced, studying us closely. “Who seeks an audience at this hour?”

Niro straightened and lowered his hood slightly, allowing his distinctive features to become more visible. "I am General Niro of the Broken Blades, in service to King Ruith Starfall. This is Lord Elindir, the King's Consort. We seek shelter and assistance with tomorrow's Assembly proceedings."

Recognition flashed across Maelis' face, followed by a deep bow directed primarily toward me. "Lord Consort! General! Forgive me for not recognizing you immediately. We are honored by your presence. Please, follow me at once before you're noticed by unfriendly eyes."

She gestured for the guards to secure the gate, then led us quickly through the main courtyard, where even at this hour, guild members gathered around fire pits, sharing meals and conversation. Unlike the formal silence of blood clan compounds, laughter and music flowed freely here. Elves, half-elves, and even a few freed slaves who had found rare sanctuary within Craiggybottom's walls sat together in easy camaraderie, a living demonstration of the future Ruith envisioned.

I paused for a moment, struck by the scene before us. After navigating D'thallanar's rigid hierarchies and ancient prejudices, the contrast was breathtaking. Here, beneath simple paper lanterns of many colors, different peoples shared food and stories without fear or formality. A half-elven woman played a stringed instrument while an elderly elf sang verses in a language I didn't recognize. Nearby, merchant elves smoked and laughed, exchanging stories over a shared meal. Humans even moved among the Craiggybottoms, free of slave collars, and spoke to the elves directly.

This was what we were fighting for. Not just Ruith's life, though that remained my most immediate concern, but the vision he had dared to imagine: a world where such gatherings might exist everywhere, not just within the walls of a single progressive guild house.

"It gives you hope, doesn't it?" Maelis asked, noting my expression. "Most find it shocking when they first visit. The blood clans call us disorganized, undisciplined, lacking proper tradition." She smiled, pride evident in her bearing. "We prefer to think we're simply creating new traditions. Better ones."

"How long has Craiggybottom existed this way?" I asked as we resumed walking.

"Since our founding," she replied. "We began as a cooperative of traders who found strength in unity regardless of bloodline. The traditional houses tolerated us because they needed our ships and trade connections, but they never expected us to thrive." Her eyes swept the courtyard, taking in the vibrant community. "Yet here we are, generations later, still defying their expectations."

As we followed her through winding corridors toward Representative Seagrave's chambers, I felt a renewed sense of purpose burning through my exhaustion. Tomorrow would bring diplomatic battles, calculated words, and delicate negotiations—all to save one life that meant everything to me. But seeing Craiggybottom's diverse community reminded me that we were fighting for something far larger than personal happiness. We were fighting for a future where the boundaries between peoples might dissolve, where ancient hatreds could be set aside for shared prosperity.

A future worth any risk to secure.

The courtyard's joyful sounds faded behind us as we approached the Representative's chambers, but the promise remained. Tomorrow would test every skill I possessed, every lesson in politics and persuasion I'd learned at court. I would need to be a diplomat, strategist, and perhaps even manipulator to save Ruith from his father's calculated vengeance.

But tonight, I had been given a precious gift: a glimpse of the world we were trying to build, thriving despite all odds in the most unlikely corner of D'thallanar. If House Craiggybottom could create this haven of equality within the very heart of elven tradition, perhaps our larger vision wasn't as impossible as our enemies claimed.

With that thought burning like a torch against the coming darkness, I straightened my shoulders and prepared to meet our host. We had plans to make, alliances to forge, and a king to save.