Eleven Empty Places

Eleven Empty Places

The order called them the advance expedition.

At the northern landing, Rahkhan learned that another detachment had gone ahead three days earlier.

“Site preparations,” the officer told him. “We are carrying the equipment.”

Beyond the warehouse doors, men were fastening the large reserve crystals into their travelling frames. Each frame required its own team. The scholars waited beside the dismantled ring, counting sections against a list, while the Guardians examined the straps that would hold the loads upon the mountain path. There were many in his party and over 40 gulathers seconded to carry the loads into the mountains.

Rahkhan asked who commanded the first detachment.

“Drell's officers.”

“Has word come back? Any blackbirds?”

“We have been informed that the monastery has been secured.”

The officer handed him a coil of rope.

“You can check the rear loads.”

* * *

The accident happened below Fool's Gap.

They had passed the rough hut at Knob Hill that morning. By afternoon, water from the thaw had frozen across a shaded bend, leaving a smooth dark strip that looked no different from the wet stone beside it.

The Guardian carrying the rear brace stepped onto it.

His boot went sideways. The brace struck the path, and he fell beyond the edge before the rope around his waist caught him.

Rahkhan threw himself against the line with two others. For a moment the travelling frame dragged towards them, its feet grinding across the stone. Someone jammed a packing wedge beneath it.

The man below cried out.

They hauled him onto the path. His lower leg lay at an angle that made everyone stop speaking.

“Don't move it,” Rahkhan said.

The injured Guardian looked from one face to another.

“I can't feel my foot.”

The officer knelt, examined the leg, then looked towards the pass.

“The monastery is nearer once we cross.”

“Once we cross,” Rahkhan repeated. “We would have to carry him over the Gap.”

Wind drove loose snow along the exposed path ahead. The injured man tried to raise himself and made a sound through his closed teeth.

“The Mountain Top Inn has shelter,” Rahkhan said. “They can find a healer there.”

“We have a schedule.”

“He has a broken leg and your schedule is damned.”

The officer looked at him. Rahkhan recognised the pause: a man deciding how much difficulty a reply might create.

At last he stood and gave orders. “Six remain. You and those men will carry him back. The rest of us go on.”

Rahkhan helped splint the leg with two sections of packing timber, he had watched many healers at their work and though he didn’t claim their knowledge was able enough to shore up the guardian's leg before moving. They made a litter from the brace, cloaks and rope. When they lifted it, the man gripped Rahkhan's wrist so hard that his fingers shook.

“Tell us if we cause you any more pain before it gets too much. This is no battle and there is no shame here.” Rahkhan said.

The man nodded without releasing him.

They carried him down in relays. Each turn required the rear bearers to wait while those in front found room for their feet. Darkness reached the path long before they reached the inn which was lit only by the glow of their power crystals.

The innkeeper saw the lights approaching in the dark and opened the door and he could see the litter slowly processing its way towards his inn.

“By the fire,” he said. “Move that table.”

A healer was brought from a room upstairs. She cut the boot away, checked the foot, and asked for hot water and more light. Rahkhan held the leg while she worked. Sweat ran beneath his collar despite the cold still lodged in his clothes.

Outside, snow began tapping against the shutters.

The healer used a crystal to provide force to hold the interior bones in place and support the treatment, then wrapped the leg and placed her hand over the injured man's clenched fingers.

“You will keep the foot,” she told him. “You will also keep still.”

The six Guardians remained until she was satisfied he could be left in her care. They set out again after the weather cleared, with her account of the injury folded into their equipment papers.

At the door, the injured Guardian called Rahkhan back.

“I thought you would leave me.”

Rahkhan tightened the strap of his pack.

“Well fortunately for you we had somewhere to bring you.”

He would remember those words later.

* * *

The monastery's golden dome caught the last light above the valley.

Rahkhan stopped below the entrance and looked past the stone balcony towards Monolith Peak. Its immense granite face rose out of the shadows, pale at the summit, dark below. Higher on the left and on the other side of a vast valley stood Alfadin Tower, beneath the observatory.

He had heard of pilgrims arriving here in summer. Of scholars who remained through winters to compare the old measurements. Of eleven monks, each nominated by a Crestrealm to serve until death.

The wooden temple doors were shut.

A Guardian at the side entrance checked their papers beneath a lamp. He wore a new blue cloak with no visible Crestrealm badge.

“The others in your party arrived yesterday.”

“We were carrying an injured man to the inn,” Rahkhan said.

“It's recorded. You are in the auxiliary building on the other side of the square.”

The Guardian opened the weathered wooden door with its brass fittings. Warm air reached them, carrying the smell of soup.

Inside, two members of their equipment party sat against the wall. One had removed his boots. The other was holding a bowl between both hands without eating.

“Where do we report?” Rahkhan asked.

The man with the bowl nodded towards the inner passage.

Neither asked about their journey.

Rahkhan entered the meal hall.

Eleven places had been laid along the monks' table.

At each stood a bowl, a cup and a folded cloth. One chair had a cushion worn almost through at the front. Another had been drawn back farther than the rest, leaving room for someone whose knees no longer bent easily. Behind another cushion leaned a walking stick still resting against the dining hall chair.

No monk sat at any of the prepared places.

The expedition's Guardians ate at the other tables. Their spoons touched the bowls softly. A man looked up at Rahkhan, then lowered his eyes before Rahkhan could greet him.

“Are they at prayer?” he asked.

Nobody answered immediately.

An officer near the serving hatch put down his spoon.

“The residents have been....... transferred.” A few of the guardians grunted a laugh.

“All eleven?” Rahkhan was in disbelief. Afraid to question his own fears about them.

“The Monastery and the region is now under our control.”

Rahkhan looked towards the empty table.

“Who laid their places?”

The officer stood.

“Your meal has been served, join your corps and check into the assigned bunk. The command room is through there for your report.”

The man holding the bowl by the door had not moved.

* * *

The official account occupied less than half a page.

Following obstruction of the Council commission, the resident custodians had been transferred from the active site. The former garrison had been relieved. Necessary force had been employed to secure dangerous materials.

Rahkhan read it on the command-room notice board.

“Where were they transferred?” he asked the clerk.

“I wasn't given the destination sir.”

“Which unit relieved the garrison?”

The clerk pointed at the men outside the door towards Drell and his finest Guardians.

“Drell’s corps?”

“Where did the former Guardians go?”

“You would need the departure record to know that sir.”

“May I see it?”

The clerk stopped arranging his papers.

“You will have to ask the commander for said paperwork. The junior porter paused and spoke in a quieter but forceful voice. “Now look. You are asking a lot of questions and you are going to get us all in trouble so hows about you shut up and do your job like the rest of us.”

The commander was inspecting the crystal frames. He had heard Rahkhan's questions while a porter held an inventory open beside him.

“There was resistance,” he said. “You arrived after it was settled.”

“The notice says ‘transferred’.”

“Then you have read the notice.”

He turned back to the porter.

Rahkhan remained for a moment, then went to find the quarters assigned to him.

The passage to the west side of the square took him past some of the monks' rooms.

One door stood open. A pair of slippers waited beneath a low bed. On the desk, a book lay beside a small lamp, its wick trimmed for use. A folded robe hung from a peg, purple and pink silk catching the light from the passage.

Rahkhan had grown up seeing those colours at ceremonies in Sylvan Watch.

He looked at the slippers again.

* * *

The archive room had been opened for the scholars.

Rahkhan entered carrying the equipment receipt he had been instructed to lodge there. A young clerk showed him where to sign, then left to answer a call from the courtyard.

Two ledgers remained open on the desk.

The first listed the resident garrison: twenty Guardians, with their home Crestrealms and periods of service. Every realm appeared. Some names had several winters recorded beside them. A different hand had added responsibility for the kitchens, the infirmary stores and the maintenance of the pilgrim steps.

The second was a record of the first detachment's arrival.

The last completed entry named the monk who had received the advance party.

Trishsern.

Below it, the handwriting became smaller and in a shorthand form.

Rahkhan read the entry. “Gu requests that notice be sent to each nominating authority before any change in custody. The temple ground is held for all eleven realms. No one realm may assume possession regardless of Crestrealm internal politics and not through the appointment of an adviser to Kefar.”

Another passage recorded the scholars' proposed redirection of power from the Alfadin tower towards the new tower.

The custodians require the return measurements to be taken before the western channel is closed. They dispute the interpretation that the Heartwell's regulating function constitutes the need for sole command of the region. Examination of the lower installation is offered in the company of the appointed custodians.

Rahkhan read the final line.

Copies of these objections are to be dispatched to the eleven....

The pen had stopped there.

A dark streak crossed the edge of the page. The next leaf had been torn out, leaving a narrow fringe beside the stitching.

The clerk returned.

Rahkhan moved his receipt towards him.

“Where are the monks' outgoing dispatches?”

“They were collected.”

“Before they went?”

The clerk looked at the unfinished line.

“I wasn't here.”

He closed the ledger carefully.

* * *

Rahkhan found the man from the hall sitting in the small chamber beside the kitchens.

His bowl stood on the floor. He wore the pale robes and blue cloak of an Astryx Guardian beneath his travelling coat. At the cuff, a strip of cloth had been wound around a raw patch on his wrist.

Rahkhan sat on the opposite bench.

“I am Rahkhan, Guardian from Sylvan Watch,” he said in common tongue.”

The man looked at his purple sash.

“I see that.”

“Were you here when the first detachment arrived?”

The man rubbed the uninjured wrist with his thumb.

“I came with them.”

From the hall came the scrape of chairs being moved.

“My name is Vareth,” he said. “I was assigned to the scholars. Carrying their cases. Keeping people clear of the instruments.”

Rahkhan waited.

“The monks let us in. Trishsern knew one of the scholars by name. Gu asked whether we'd eaten.”

Vareth looked towards the kitchen door.

“They brought soup.”

He swallowed.

“They read the commission. They said it permitted an investigation, not the taking of their entire Monastery. They would open the records, but they would not hand over the temple or the grounds and they declared the region belonged to all Aethoria. The garrison commander said the same. He had twenty Guardians here. Men and women from all the realms. They kept the paths safe. Looked after pilgrims and patrolled and protected the grounds and surrounding sites.”

“What happened?” Rahkhan asked.

Vareth pressed his hands together.

“They were told to gather for the transfer of duties. Leave their weapons at the racks. Present their crystals for a replacement.”

He stopped.

Rahkhan could hear someone washing bowls on the other side of the wall.

“Some had already handed them over when our men closed the doors,” Vareth said. “The commander asked what they were doing. He was still asking when they struck him.”

“Who gave the order?”

Vareth named the officer commanding the first detachment.

Rahkhan repeated the name, making certain he had heard it correctly.

“He said it was to secure the site before the ambassador arrived. There must be no rival authority when the work began.”

“Did you hear the ambassador order it?”

“No.”

Vareth looked at him sharply.

“But they were her men.”

“I need to know what you heard.”

“That is what I heard.”

His voice began to shake.

“A Guardian near the door tried to raise a shield. His crystal was already in the inventory box. He put up his arm anyway. After that, some fought. Some tried to get to the racks. Others were bound. I was ordered to hold the scholars in this room.”

“And the monks?”

Vareth closed his eyes.

“They made them stand along the balcony wall. Gu said that the ground belonged to all of us. The Sylvan monk stood beside him. He said he would write to the Senate himself.”

Rahkhan looked down at his own hands.

“They had no crystals,” Vareth said. “No weapons. Trishsern asked them to stop. That was all he kept saying.”

The washing in the kitchen stopped.

“They used power at that distance.” Vareth held his hands a short space apart, then let them fall. “Afterwards they took the uniforms off the garrison. Badges. Belts. Everything that named them. They carried them to the wall too.”

“How many?”

“All twenty. All eleven monks.”

Vareth turned towards the cold hearth.

“They said the monks were being returned according to their own custom.”

Rahkhan could not find a reply.

Vareth sat with his shoulders bent, staring into the ashes. Rahkhan remained opposite him. The kitchen door opened once; someone saw them and closed it again.

Neither man spoke for a long time.

* * *

At dawn, Rahkhan went onto the balcony.

Someone had washed the stone. Water remained in the joints, frozen in thin, dark lines. Along the inner face of the wall, fresh chips showed pale against the old granite. One blackened patch had been scrubbed until its edges blurred.

Below lay the shadowed rocks where the monastery returned its dead to the mountain.

At first he saw only a piece of silk moving in the wind.

Then a hand.

He stepped back from the wall, breathing through his mouth.

There was a maintenance path down the side of the building. A rope hung beside its gate. He took it and descended slowly, stopping whenever the broken stone narrowed beneath his boots.

The bodies had fallen across several ledges.

They had not been laid out. One rested against another as though the second had tried to hold him. Farther down, a monk's robe had caught on an outcrop, arresting the fall with the body still inside it.

Rahkhan recognised the purple and pink silk.

He knelt beside the nearest Guardian.

The man wore an under-tunic. His belt and outer garments were gone. Across his chest, a power burn had darkened the fabric and the skin beneath. One arm remained raised close to his face. It could have been the fall. Rahkhan could not tell.

The next body had both hands tied behind its back.

Rahkhan sat down hard upon the stone.

The binding was still there. A short loop of cord, three turns, a knot drawn tight enough to cut into the wrists. Beside it, an arc-shaped injury crossed the shoulder: the kind of mark a charged shield could leave when driven against someone instead of held between them and danger.

He had been taught to recognise that wound so he could explain an accident.

He looked back towards the balcony.

There was no position down here from which anyone could have threatened the men above.

He continued when he could make his legs move.

Some bodies bore concentrated burns with little damage around them. Others had the injuries of the fall. Several of the Guardians remained bound. He could not reconstruct each death, but the bindings could not be explained by a battle in which all had fought freely.

The dead monks still wore their robes. Gu's cup lay broken near a ledge, its glazed pieces caught in a shallow pocket of stone. A brass clasp remained at Trishsern's throat. Rahkhan knew the name only when he found the small tablet inside the robe, bearing it beside a list of lamp oil, grain and winter bedding.

He left the clasp where it was.

From beside a bound Guardian, he recovered a service token caught beneath the cord at her wrist. Its name and realm matched an entry he had read in the garrison ledger.

He recorded where he found it before wrapping it in cloth.

It could establish who she was. It could not tell him who had given the order.

Above him, a bell rang for the morning meal.

Rahkhan stayed on his knees until it stopped.

* * *

He found disagreement wherever he asked.

One officer told him the monks had endangered an active installation.

“Which installation was active when the detachment entered?” Rahkhan asked.

“I was not responsible for the instruments.”

A Guardian said the old garrison had attempted to seize the expedition's crystals.

“They were being inventoried,” another man said before he could stop himself.

The first turned towards him.

“That is how they gained access.”

The second man said nothing more.

A porter admitted carrying stripped uniforms to the stores room. He had been told they were contaminated by a discharge and would be burned.

“Did you see contamination?” Rahkhan asked.

“I saw clothes.”

The stores clerk at first had refused to hand over materials list among which Rahkhan was sure would be evidence of what had really happened. He was well aware that each request told another man what he was investigating.

Rahkhan explained that he had requested copies as part of his equipment reconciliation. He had been ordered to account for the expedition's supplies; the clerk gave him the pages, relieved that someone was willing to sign for them.

The crystal return listed twenty sets of power crystals.

The transport book listed no departing party carrying eleven monks and twenty relieved Guardians. At the foot of the relevant page, the duty porter had written that the lower path remained unused besides the arrival of laden animals the equipment party Rahkhan had left at the pass.

Rahkhan copied those entries too.

In the command room which was previously the reception hall, he saw the instruction under which the first detachment had operated. It required the site to be placed under exclusive expedition control before Delrona's arrival. Resident objections and outgoing communications were to be referred to her office. The operational annex bore the signature of Drell's officer; the covering authority bore Fateese's countersignature for the ambassador.

Rahkhan recorded its number and requested a copy.

The commander refused.

“You have already taken a considerable interest in stores.”

“I am responsible for part of the equipment.”

“Then attend to it.”

That afternoon, Vareth asked whether Rahkhan intended to report him as well.

“I will report what you told me,” Rahkhan said. “And that you were there.”

Vareth nodded. He did not ask to withdraw his account.

* * *

Delrona arrived two days later.

Fateese came through the side entrance ahead of her, brushing mountain grit from his coat. He looked into the hall while the commander presented the Council commission.

The eleven places had been cleared.

The monks' table now held maps.

Delrona read the commander's account standing beside it.

“The custodians?” she asked.

“Their interference has been resolved.”

“And the records?”

“Available to the scholars.”

She handed the account to Fateese.

“Then we have lost enough time.”

Rahkhan stood near the door.

“The eleven realms will ask for their representatives,” he said.

Delrona turned.

“They will receive the appropriate notice.”

“What will it say?”

Fateese's fingers tightened upon the page.

“The commander is preparing it,” Delrona said. “Your work is to ensure the scholars can proceed safely.”

“I have seen the bodies.”

She looked at him for a moment without answering then looked towards Fateese to whom she raised one eyebrow.

Then she drew a chair towards the table.

“So have others. We shall not improve matters by obstructing the work for which this commission was issued.”

Fateese placed the account in his folder.

Rahkhan watched it disappear.

* * *

The scholars had traced the connection to the lower tower.

From the monastery balcony, its position could not be seen. It stood upon the great platform above the place where the river vanished beneath the mountain, hidden by the granite ridge until a traveller reached the correct angle.

A local guide took them down into the valley and up the narrow switchbacks. The apparatus had been brought ahead in sections. Guards now stood outside the immense doors that Kaelen's party had once found open.

Within, the inner chamber extended beyond the tower's walls into the mountain itself.

Rahkhan heard the river before he saw the pedestal.

It sounded beneath the floor, deep and continuous. Above the crystal-and-metal mounting hung a clear crystal suspended by a metal rope. The expedition's ring had been assembled around the working space, its joints corrected to the measurements copied from Delrona's tablet.

The scholar who had calculated the Heartwell demand stood beside a set of gauges.

“The reserve is coupled,” he said. “The upper tower's flow is still on its existing course.”

Delrona examined the channel diagram.

“Redirect it.”

He hesitated.

“We have measured the local return. We have not measured the other receiving points.”

“We are establishing a connection, not sending men through.”

He looked at the drawing again.

Then he signalled to the operator beside the wall.

A mechanism turned beneath the floor. The river's sound deepened. Blue light entered the pedestal from below while a second line descended from the upper conduit, meeting it in a bright, unstable seam.

The ring began to shine.

Rahkhan felt the vibration through his soles. One scholar pressed a hand against the gauge stand to stop it moving.

“Hold the reserve,” Delrona said.

Tiny blue-white particles gathered above the pedestal.

They joined into a face, broke apart, and returned as a young man with a short beard and fine clothes. His body hung too high above the floor. Through his shoulder, Rahkhan could still see the stone behind him.

“Signal reacquired,” the figure said.

Fateese stepped back.

Delrona leaned forward.

“Who are you?”

The figure's eyes moved across a place none of them could see.

“I am Kahleen. Receiving biological observers.”

“Kahleen,” Delrona repeated. “Can you identify this installation?”

The light around his face trembled.

“Visual spectrum unavailable.”

One of the scholars looked sharply towards the other. Rahkhan saw recognition in his face.

“That name appears in the academy party's account,” the man whispered.

Delrona raised her voice.

“We have restored power. I require the receiving alignment.”

Kahleen did not turn towards her.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

“He cannot hear us,” Fateese said.

“He asked a question.”

“It may be a recorded question,” the scholar replied. “We have incoming sound and image. I cannot establish a return signal.”

Delrona stepped closer to the ring.

“Then establish one.”

The scholar adjusted the receiving interval. Kahleen's face stretched into several overlapping expressions before settling again.

“Return the central balance,” he said. “Do not isolate the lower....”

The words vanished in a crackle.

“There,” Delrona said. “He is describing the arrangement. Hold that interval.”

The clear crystal brightened. A line of light ran beyond the receiving channel into a branch Delrona's drawing showed closed.

“It is returning through the western line,” the scholar said.

Delrona touched her wrist crystal. Water rose through a narrow inspection opening beside the pedestal and divided beneath her fingers. She forced one stream back towards the channel shown on her plan.

The ring gave a sharp metallic cry.

Kahleen's image flickered.

“Stop that adjustment,” the scholar said.

Delrona held it for another heartbeat, then released the water.

It struck the stone hard enough to scatter across Rahkhan's boots.

“The receiving assembly keeps reopening the branch,” she said. Her eyes remained on the luminous figure. “If that is what prevents control, we may have to destroy this thing.”

Kahleen became still.

His head turned towards something beyond the chamber.

“Wait. We are receiving audio.”

Nobody moved.

“A water operator,” he said. “She is attempting to isolate the regulating path.”

Delrona stepped nearer.

“I am attempting to restore it. Listen to me.”

Kahleen looked past her.

“She will destroy the remaining connection to obtain control.”

“That is not what I said.”

The scholar's hands hovered above the controls.

For an instant the image was clear enough for Rahkhan to see fear upon the young man's face.

“Kaelen,” Kahleen said. “Stop the Water Mage. Unity is a source of power.”

Delrona went silent.

The ring flared white. Kahleen broke into particles and vanished.

The scholar disconnected the reserve. Beneath them, the river continued moving, while the gauge needles descended slowly towards their earlier readings.

Water dripped from the pedestal.

Fateese looked at Delrona.

“That sounded rather more current than a record.”

“It named someone who is not here,” she replied.

Her voice was level again.

“Preserve the measurements. Nobody alters a setting until the cause is established.”

She gathered her drawings and left the chamber.

Rahkhan remained until the scholar had checked the disconnected reserve twice.

* * *

His first attempt to send a report went no farther than the command room.

The dispatch clerk held out his hand.

“Correspondence for the official relay.”

“For Senator Unon. Under my appointment.”

“All outgoing material is examined for installation details.”

“This is sealed.”

“The commander has authority to inspect it.”

Rahkhan kept the packet.

Behind the clerk, the monastery's old pigeonholes had been covered with a board. A new notice directed every letter, message and requisition through the expedition office.

Several of the men had meant to write home. Their letters had been collected before being sent out.

“I will prepare an equipment account separately,” Rahkhan said.

He went back to his cold room but not before destroying his official report. He had asked many questions and tried to send out a message. He had even admitted to seeing the bodies of the monks and their protectors to the one he suspected arranged for their demise. Rahkhan could feel things coming to a boiling point.

* * *

The supply carrier came up the next morning with lamp oil, grain and the healer's bill from the Mountain Top Inn.

Rahkhan recognised him. He had helped move the injured Guardian's litter through the inn door.

The bill carried a brief note: the leg was settling, the fever had passed, and the patient had become sufficiently comfortable to complain about supper.

Rahkhan read it twice.

“Does the inn receive other messages?” he asked.

The carrier watched him fold the bill.

“Most inns do.”

“Messages that don't go into the expedition's traffic.”

The man glanced towards the stores clerk.

“Come and check the empty oil cases.”

They went outside, where the wind would carry their voices away from the door.

“There are riders who still carry messages that aren’t routed through Kefar, they are part of the Drue network,” the carrier said. “He asked people along the routes to pass warnings, arrests, anything that would close a road. Some already carried things Kefar preferred not to record.”

“The Emberwild rider?”

The man nodded.

“Can word reach him?”

“Through more than one pair of hands. Though I cannot promise when.”

“In the tower there was a vision of a person made of light, someone who appeared through the installation . He mentioned someone called Kaelen. Do you know this name?”

“Drue's people send message towards him. He is the young mage that first came by these parts when the tower was flashing and he was here with his companions. People say he's helping lead the resistance to what's happening in Kefar. I know there are letters going towards Ironroot. I don't know where he is now.”

Rahkhan looked back at the monastery.

“I need a note carried to this Drue, and a separate message to Unon in Sylvan Watch.”

“If you put them in the same bag and it is searched, both are lost.”

“Separate routes, then.”

The carrier considered him.

“I can ask at the inn. There is no official receipt.”

“I understand.”

* * *

That night, Rahkhan laid what he remembered from his report into smaller copied records beside his notebook.

He recorded the delay at the pass and the days he had spent away from the expedition. He stated that he had arrived after the deaths. He named Vareth as a witness and set his account apart from Rahkhan's own observations.

Eleven monks. Twenty Guardians. All eleven Crestrealms represented among the dead.

He described the bodies below the balcony, the bindings, the power burns and the missing uniforms. He listed the service token and its matching entry in the garrison ledger. He attached the crystal return and the transport entries that contradicted the account of a departing garrison.

Then he recorded the instruction for exclusive control, its number, its signatures, and the commander's refusal to provide a copy.

I have evidence that the first detachment removed the resident authority by lethal force, he wrote. The operation was conducted to secure the installation before the ambassador's arrival. I have not seen an instruction from her ordering these deaths. I witnessed her accept the commander's account and proceed after I told her I had seen the bodies.

He asked Unon to find a way to preserve the relevant correspondence in the ambassador's office and Drell's command records before they could be replaced. He asked that the eleven nominating authorities be informed and the dead identified.

The second report was for Drue, the Emberwild Rider.

It contained the same facts in a shorter account, followed by the location of the lower tower, the redirected power and the words Rahkhan had heard from Kahleen.

Please get this to Kaelen, he wrote. The figure named him. I do not understand how it heard the ambassador when it did not answer her questions. I know that it warned against what she was doing.

He left the service token with the packet for Unon. Vareth had agreed to be named, but Rahkhan kept the man's present quarters out of both reports.

Before folding the last sheet, he added one request.

Arrange a way to secure a witness from Alfadin if the expedition begins questioning its own men, I think Vareth can be trusted, he wrote.

He sealed the packets separately.

* * *

Before dawn, Rahkhan met the carrier beside the empty oil cases.

The man took only the packet for Drue. The second would go down with another trusted hand after the first had cleared the inn.

“Once I take this,” he said, “you cannot recall it.”

Rahkhan looked at the sealed paper.

“Take it.”

The carrier slipped it beneath the lining of a case and fastened the lid.

Inside the monastery, the morning bell began.

Rahkhan returned through the brass-trimmed door. In the hall, a scholar had taken the chair with the worn cushion. Delrona's maps covered the place where Gu had once offered a young traveller reassurance over a bowl of soup.

There were eleven names in Rahkhan's notebook where the places had been.

He touched the book through his coat, then went to his assigned post.

Down the mountain, the first report was already moving.

Thy Quest: Preserving an Account

When you do think Rahkhan knew what had really happened at the Monastery before he arrived.