Music.
The name echoed in the stone library, a name Rafe had associated with a kind,
elderly thief, now impossibly linked to ancient magic and world-altering power.
Pietro. Of course, Rafe had expected as much. He had said a similar thing to
Raylan based on his own studies.
But to actually hear it, and within the context of Ness's history,
was something else. The weight of the revelation left Rafe breathless.
He looked around at the countless volumes, a history he thought was lost,
now sitting within his grasp.
His mind, however, was fixed on the immediate aftermath of the battle.
What happened to them? The magicians? After they fled?
Cray walked back to his map table, his heavy boots making no sound on the stone floor.
He shrugged, a gesture that seemed too small for his stout frame.
They were driven across the teeth, and Pietro brought the mountain down behind them.
Our knowledge of them ends there. They never returned.
He ran a gnarled finger along a faded line on one of the maps.
Perhaps they fled Pietro.
Perhaps they retreated to where they could wield their power without his meddling.
Kray slid back into his chair. I do not know the answer.
His finger paused somewhere on the map. It was a great tragedy.
All of Barros' work, a continent balanced in trade and peace,
undone by the greed of a few men in your city.
He looked up, his icy eyes holding a deep sadness.
And while Pietro's spell saved Ness, the price was its memory.
A punishment so complete, it left your people blind to their own history.
Cray shook his head. I cannot say I approve, and I said as much to Pietro. What was his reply?
Rafe was totally wrapped in the history and knowledge of the lawmaster.
He had no memory of what I was asking him.
He spouted the same false history of a great migration and guild founders and a civil war.
Wait, none of those are true?
Alas, young human, those were the desperate constructions of a city that lost
its memory but desperately needed one.
Rafe's thoughts swirled. Nothing he had learned was true.
In its place was a hidden history, a secret guild of magicians,
and Pietro at the center of it all.
Do you know more of Pietro? How did he live for so long?
The lawmaster shook his head. We know little.
After the great forgetting, the dwarves retreated to our role as protectors.
Pietro walked his own path. He visited us only once after that day,
but his memory was long gone by then. Gray sighed.
Yet another tragedy of Pietro's actions.
Imagine you cast a spell to extend your life centuries so you can achieve this great deed.
And then imagine that you can't remember what that great deed was.
Rafe didn't know where to start on plumbing the history of Ness.
So he went with a simple question to the lawmaster and his own mission.
And the dwarves? Where is your home?
Our halls are carved into the heart of the dragon's teeth, many days' journey to the south.
Dragon's Watch is our most distant outpost. We have not seen a dragon in this
region since Pietro defeated the great beast that laid waste to your fields. He paused.
Still, we keep watch.
Kray must have seen the uncertainty in Wraith's face. I am the master of arms,
after all. Do you think there are still dragons?
Kray looked north, as if peering through the very stone of the mountain.
Aye, they came from the north.
Pietro perhaps frightened them. They will come again.
The sheer scale of the history laid before him was overwhelming.
The conflicts in Ness, the squabbles between guildmasters, even his own desperate
mission to Goutland, it all seemed so small now, so insignificant.
He looked at the dwarf who held all this knowledge. He was finally ready to
once again focus on history.
And it began with the dwarf in front of him. And you? You?
You are clearly more than a Master of Arms. You are called the Lawmaster.
What is your role in all this?
Cray gestured to the room, his arms sweeping across the library of scrolls and books.
I am the Lawmaster.
I protect the history of this land, from the eastern forest of Drac to the glittering
coastal city of Callisto.
Your people have set up an important library, at a military outpost.
Cray laughed, which was a gentle rumble that reached from his belly to his throat.
No, my dear boy, this is my passion.
My official position is Master of Arms of the Order of the Dragon.
All of this, Cray waved his arms, encompassing the books surrounding him,
is simply my continuing a long line of masters who gathered the knowledge of
travelers like you and saving the history from those that feared it would be lost.
The old dwarf stood and wandered over to a distant shelf. Rafe followed.
You're interested in Barrows, aye?
These books were gifts from him, or so I was told. He turned back to his desk. They are very old.
At that, all thoughts of Ness, of Raelynn, of the petty politics and the raging
civil war, evaporated from Rafe's mind.
Before him stood the keeper of the entire world's true history,
a history he had only ever seen in tantalizing glimpses.
His mission to find Pietro's books in Goutland was the quest of a child chasing shadows.
Here was the source. Here was the truth.
So you protect us from dragons. And our own ignorance.
Cray scratched his chin as he walked back to his desk. There is a wisdom about you, young human.
Rafe was completely captivated, seeing in Cray not just a historian,
but the mentor he had unknowingly missed his entire life.
Can I? Rafe began, his voice filled with an awe he couldn't contain.
Can I study them, your documents?
I must know more. Kray looked at the young human, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips.
He saw the hunger in Rafe's eyes, the desperate need to understand,
a need that had driven him from his forgotten city.
You seek knowledge, boy, Kray rumbled, his voice echoing in the ancient library.
But tell me, are you prepared for the burdens that come with it?
Music.
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