The Price of Knowledge

The Price of Knowledge

The capital had no single wall. Instead, concentric canals and broad stone avenues divided the city into districts devoted to different forms of knowledge. Government halls stood among libraries, record houses, translation chambers and schools of philosophy. Pale towers rose above the rooftops, their surfaces covered in lines of blue Crysalite that caught the daylight and carried it downward through the stone.

Steles and stone tablets were everywhere. Some recorded their great victories in the civil war, others declaring their superior social order philosophy.

The Myrstals recorded everything on archive paper, fastidiously to the point of annoyance to an outsider. Shopkeepers recorded transactions upon it. Guardians carried paper while patrolling the streets ready to record events. Public announcements appeared upon crisp freshly rolled pieces of it and posted the reports on panels in the squares. Even the inns displayed their menus on thin sheets that could be erased and rewritten each morning.

Fateese looked through the carriage window.

“It is impressive.”

“It is performance,” Delrona replied.

“They have recorded nearly every major work of history and philosophy produced since the Sundering.”

“They record everything because they believe the act of recording it makes them wise.”

The carriage passed beneath an arch carved with the words KNOWLEDGE PRESERVES TRUTH.

Delrona read it and smiled without amusement.

“They praise themselves for their devotion to philosophy, learning and permanent records. In reality, they are the most corrupt Crestrealm in Aethoria.”

“More corrupt than Helion?”

“Helion merchants admit that they want your gold. The Mystral Archive will explain the ethical philosophy under which taking it is beneficial to civilization.”

Fateese watched a clerk accept a coin from a cart driver before changing something on his papers.

Delrona noticed too. “Economic necessity has made them practical. Their northern ports are failing. Their farms produce less each year, and maintaining the Great Crysalite Vaults costs more than their councils will publicly admit. For the correct price, their officials will record any version of the truth you require.”

She leaned back against the seat.

“The only thing reliably preserved upon Crysalite is the amount of debt you owe them.”

“And the Sylvan Watch is different?”

“Entirely.”

“How?”

“Sylvans remain true to their word and convictions, even when doing so is inconvenient.”

Fateese considered asking whether threatening a carriage driver into crossing a flooded river qualified as conviction.

He decided that the question was unlikely to improve the journey.

Their carriage entered the central district.

Ahead stood the Great Crysalite Vaults, an immense complex of pale stone buildings gathered around a central blue dome. The vaults descended farther beneath the city than their towers rose above it. Within them, millions of papers, tablets preserved laws, histories, maps, scientific observations and records from civilizations that no longer existed and none of it had been destroyed in war.

Delrona watched the dome through the carriage window.

“Why are we here?” Fateese asked.

“We are meeting one of the vault curators.”

“What does he have?”

“A tablet he recently translated. It describes places across Aethoria where great concentrations of crystal power were once gathered and distributed.”

Fateese turned toward her.

“Like the Heartwell?”

“Possibly.”

She removed one glove and examined her fingernails.

“I have seen other tablets and books that refer to such places. Most are collections of folklore copied by people who did not understand what they were describing. Crystal rivers beneath mountains. Towers that spoke to the stars. Wells of light that could send power across oceans.”

“That sounds like folklore.”

“Most truths do after enough generations of idiots have repeated them.”

“And this new tablet?”

“This curator believes it describes an ancient network.”

Fateese waited.

Delrona finally looked at him.

“One capable of directing crystal energy across Aethoria.”

The meeting was arranged for dusk.

The curator refused to meet inside the vaults or anywhere Delrona’s presence might be officially recorded. Instead, he selected a narrow alley opening from the city’s main square. Tall record houses rose on either side, leaving only a strip of darkening sky visible above them.

Water from the previous night’s rain still ran through the gutters.

The curator arrived wearing the blue-grey robes of the Mystral Archive. He was a thin man with carefully trimmed white hair and ink stains along the sides of his fingers.

A guardian accompanied him.

The guardian was broad shouldered and wore a short ironwood club at his belt. He carried a rectangular package wrapped in oilcloth beneath one arm.

The curator stopped several steps away.

“You came alone?”

Delrona glanced at Fateese.

“Did you mistake him for a military unit?”

“I am intelligent,” the curator said, “and therefore I do not trust anyone. Especially a foreigner living in Helion whose name appears in reports that have been sealed by three different councils.”

“A wise policy.”

“Meeting you could endanger my position. We will discuss the price first.”

“You said four hundred gold pieces.”

“The risk has increased. Six hundred.”

Fateese made an involuntary choking sound.

Delrona did not look at him.

“For a single tablet?”

“For an untranslated pre-Sundering original removed from the restricted vaults.”

“You told me that you had translated it.”

“I made a private copy of the translation.”

“Then you are selling me a tablet you no longer require.”

The curator’s mouth tightened.

“I am selling you knowledge that could cost me my position and my freedom.”

“Two hundred.”

“Five hundred.”

“Two hundred and fifty.”

“Five.”

“You are moving in the wrong direction.”

“I have other buyers.”

“No,” Delrona said. “You have other people whom you hope might become buyers. If any had offered five hundred, you would not be standing in an alley arguing with me.”

The curator looked toward the square.

“Four hundred and fifty.”

“I will see the tablet.”

“After we agree upon the price.”

“I do not purchase artefacts without examining them.”

“You will not touch it.”

Delrona held out one hand.

The curator hesitated, then motioned to the guardian.

The guardian came forward and unwrapped the package.

The Crysalite tablet was larger than Fateese expected, nearly the length of his forearm and as thick as two fingers. Age had clouded its once-blue surface. Fine silver markings covered both sides, arranged around an image of eleven circles connected by radiating lines.

At the centre was a larger crystal shape surrounded by what appeared to be flowing water.

Delrona’s expression did not change.

She leaned closer.

Several of the circles had been marked with symbols Fateese recognized. A mountain. A tree. A flame. A series of waves. Above them, thin lines rose toward a pattern of stars.

Delrona straightened.

“The surface is damaged.”

“It is more than four thousand years old.”

“The translation may be inaccurate.”

“It is not.”

“Three hundred.”

“Four hundred and fifty.”

Delrona sighed.

“Fateese, show him our tablet.”

Fateese opened the satchel beneath his cloak and removed a narrow sheet of modern Crysalite.

The curator frowned.

“What is that?”

“Something you may find interesting,” Delrona said.

“I do not trade.”

“You might after you see it.”

Fateese passed her the sheet.

Delrona touched its edge. Lines of writing appeared across its surface.

The curator read the first line.

Colour drained from his face.

He continued reading. His breathing became shallow, and beads of perspiration gathered along his forehead despite the cool evening air.

“These allegations are unfounded.”

“Which ones?”

“All of them.”

“The sale of restricted navigational tablets to private collectors?”

“I authorized no such sale.”

“The missing translation from the Third Astral Collection?”

“A filing error.”

“The forty-seven gold pieces deposited into your wife’s account two days after the tablet disappeared?”

The curator looked toward the guardian.

Delrona smiled. “That may also have been a filing error.”

“These records were sealed.”

“Not very effectively.”

“If they became public, they would be dismissed.”

“Perhaps. But if copies were distributed throughout the square or delivered to the Hall of Reflection, there would surely be an inquiry.”

The curator’s hand trembled.

“There would be hearings.”

“Almost certainly.”

“I would be suspended.”

“That seems likely.”

“I have a family.”

Delrona lowered the Crysalite sheet.

“Then one hundred gold pieces appears a generous price for the ancient tablet.”

The curator stared at her.

“One hundred?”

“And you will provide your complete translation.”

“I want that sheet as well, or you can destroy it here and now.”

“No.”

“You said you had something to trade.”

Delrona smiled coldly. “I said you might be interested in it. I did not say you could keep it.”

The curator’s fear gave way to anger.

“You cannot threaten me with this and expect me to continue assisting you.”

“I expect precisely that.”

Delrona passed the sheet back to Fateese.

“I will keep it somewhere safe. I hope its continued existence encourages you to watch for other interesting artefacts with my interests in mind.”

The curator turned to the guardian.

The movement was slight, but the guardian understood.

He placed the ancient tablet beneath one arm and reached for his club.

Delrona already held a purple crystal.

The water in the gutters rose.

It streamed upward in twisting ribbons, then shattered into a cloud of droplets so fine that they appeared as silver dust in the fading light.

The guardian swung the club.

The cloud struck his face and hands.

He staggered.

The droplets passed through the gaps around his collar and sleeves. They spread across his skin and forced their way into his clothing. His arms swelled. His fingers opened involuntarily, and the club struck the cobblestones.

The guardian gasped.

Delrona moved two fingers.

Water shifted beneath his skin.

He cried out and fell to his knees. His body twisted as though invisible hands were pulling him in several directions at once.

Fateese stepped backwards.

He had seen Delrona use water to strike, lift and shield. He had watched her divide a flooded river.

This was different and it made Fateese realize that more fear in her presence might be warranted.

The guardian collapsed upon the wet stones. The water flowed from his clothing and returned to the gutter, leaving him unconscious and trembling.

Delrona closed her hand around the crystal and the alley became quiet.

The curator stared at the guardian. Then he looked at Delrona.

“One hundred gold pieces,” he whispered.

Delrona held out her hand.

The curator took the ancient tablet from beneath the guardian’s arm and gave it to her.

“And the translation,” she said.

He removed a smaller Crysalite sheet from inside his robes.

Delrona passed it to Fateese without examining it.

“Payment,” she instructed.

Fateese counted one hundred gold pieces into the curator’s shaking hands.

When they returned to the carriage, Delrona placed the ancient tablet upon the seat between them.

Fateese looked back toward the alley.

“Will the guardian live?”

“Probably.”

“You are certain?”

“Let’s focus on the good news about our new acquisition shall we.”

Fateese found it hard to focus on anything until he was safely away from the scene.

Delrona read the translated sheet silently as the carriage travelled toward the northern docks.

The tablet described eleven sites arranged across Aethoria. Each had once gathered, aligned or redirected crystal energy. Rivers, mountains, forests and ocean currents appeared to have formed part of the system. The sites were not independent. Their power had moved between them through what the translation called Crystalline Lines.

At the centre of the network stood Kefar.

Fateese leaned closer. “What does it say?” He leaned in closer and scaned a few lines.

“That the ancient peoples of Aethoria understood crystals far better than we do.”

“Can the network still be used?”

“Parts of it.”

She continued reading.

Several sections described the importance of balance between the eleven sites. No single point could safely command the entire network. Power strengthened when it flowed freely and weakened when one site attempted to retain more than its capacity.

Delrona read the passage twice. Then she smiled.

“What?”

“The tablet confirms something I have suspected for years.”

“That cooperation between the Crestrealms makes crystal power stronger?”

Delrona looked at him as though he had misunderstood a simple lesson.

“That Kefar’s authority depends upon every other Crestrealm remaining connected to it.”

Outside, the towers of the Mystral Archive moved past the carriage windows. Night lamps had been lit and they glowed across their surfaces as evening settled over the city.

“And if those connections were broken?” Fateese asked.

“Kefar would weaken.”

“So would everyone else.”

“For a time.”

Fateese looked at the purple crystal case beside her.

“And the Sylvan Watch?”

Delrona rested one hand upon it.

“The Sylvan Watch will be prepared.”

The carriage entered the harbour district. Beyond the warehouses, the masts of ships stood against the darkening sky.

Delrona continued reading.

One of the eleven ancient sites lay beneath the forests of Amazania.

Another symbol marked a location deep within lands now claimed by the Verdant Expanse.

She touched the symbol with one finger.

For an instant, pale purple light moved through the ancient tablet. Then it disappeared.

Delrona closed her hand over the mark.

“By the time the Crestrealms understand what they have lost,” she said, “the Sylvan Watch will already know who can control it.”

Fateese looked from the tablet to Delrona.

“And what will control cost them?”

Delrona watched the harbour lights appear one by one.

“Everything.”

Thy Quest: Words and Actions
Delrona claims that the Sylvan Watch remains true to its convictions, yet she uses bribery, blackmail and violence to obtain the ancient tablet. Identify two contradictions between what Delrona says and what she does. Explain what these contradictions reveal about her character and her larger ambitions.