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Music.

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The name echoed in the stone library, a name Rafe had associated with a kind,

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elderly thief, now impossibly linked to ancient magic and world-altering power.

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Pietro. Of course, Rafe had expected as much. He had said a similar thing to

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Raylan based on his own studies.

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But to actually hear it, and within the context of Ness's history,

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was something else. The weight of the revelation left Rafe breathless.

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He looked around at the countless volumes, a history he thought was lost,

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now sitting within his grasp.

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His mind, however, was fixed on the immediate aftermath of the battle.

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What happened to them? The magicians? After they fled?

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Cray walked back to his map table, his heavy boots making no sound on the stone floor.

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He shrugged, a gesture that seemed too small for his stout frame.

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They were driven across the teeth, and Pietro brought the mountain down behind them.

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Our knowledge of them ends there. They never returned.

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He ran a gnarled finger along a faded line on one of the maps.

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Perhaps they fled Pietro.

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Perhaps they retreated to where they could wield their power without his meddling.

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Kray slid back into his chair. I do not know the answer.

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His finger paused somewhere on the map. It was a great tragedy.

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All of Barros' work, a continent balanced in trade and peace,

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undone by the greed of a few men in your city.

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He looked up, his icy eyes holding a deep sadness.

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And while Pietro's spell saved Ness, the price was its memory.

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A punishment so complete, it left your people blind to their own history.

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Cray shook his head. I cannot say I approve, and I said as much to Pietro. What was his reply?

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Rafe was totally wrapped in the history and knowledge of the lawmaster.

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He had no memory of what I was asking him.

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He spouted the same false history of a great migration and guild founders and a civil war.

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Wait, none of those are true?

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Alas, young human, those were the desperate constructions of a city that lost

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its memory but desperately needed one.

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Rafe's thoughts swirled. Nothing he had learned was true.

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In its place was a hidden history, a secret guild of magicians,

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and Pietro at the center of it all.

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Do you know more of Pietro? How did he live for so long?

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The lawmaster shook his head. We know little.

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After the great forgetting, the dwarves retreated to our role as protectors.

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Pietro walked his own path. He visited us only once after that day,

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but his memory was long gone by then. Gray sighed.

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Yet another tragedy of Pietro's actions.

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Imagine you cast a spell to extend your life centuries so you can achieve this great deed.

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And then imagine that you can't remember what that great deed was.

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Rafe didn't know where to start on plumbing the history of Ness.

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So he went with a simple question to the lawmaster and his own mission.

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And the dwarves? Where is your home?

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Our halls are carved into the heart of the dragon's teeth, many days' journey to the south.

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Dragon's Watch is our most distant outpost. We have not seen a dragon in this

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region since Pietro defeated the great beast that laid waste to your fields. He paused.

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Still, we keep watch.

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Kray must have seen the uncertainty in Wraith's face. I am the master of arms,

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after all. Do you think there are still dragons?

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Kray looked north, as if peering through the very stone of the mountain.

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Aye, they came from the north.

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Pietro perhaps frightened them. They will come again.

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The sheer scale of the history laid before him was overwhelming.

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The conflicts in Ness, the squabbles between guildmasters, even his own desperate

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mission to Goutland, it all seemed so small now, so insignificant.

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He looked at the dwarf who held all this knowledge. He was finally ready to

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once again focus on history.

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And it began with the dwarf in front of him. And you? You?

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You are clearly more than a Master of Arms. You are called the Lawmaster.

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What is your role in all this?

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Cray gestured to the room, his arms sweeping across the library of scrolls and books.

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I am the Lawmaster.

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I protect the history of this land, from the eastern forest of Drac to the glittering

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coastal city of Callisto.

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Your people have set up an important library, at a military outpost.

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Cray laughed, which was a gentle rumble that reached from his belly to his throat.

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No, my dear boy, this is my passion.

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My official position is Master of Arms of the Order of the Dragon.

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All of this, Cray waved his arms, encompassing the books surrounding him,

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is simply my continuing a long line of masters who gathered the knowledge of

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travelers like you and saving the history from those that feared it would be lost.

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The old dwarf stood and wandered over to a distant shelf. Rafe followed.

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You're interested in Barrows, aye?

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These books were gifts from him, or so I was told. He turned back to his desk. They are very old.

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At that, all thoughts of Ness, of Raelynn, of the petty politics and the raging

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civil war, evaporated from Rafe's mind.

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Before him stood the keeper of the entire world's true history,

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a history he had only ever seen in tantalizing glimpses.

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His mission to find Pietro's books in Goutland was the quest of a child chasing shadows.

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Here was the source. Here was the truth.

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So you protect us from dragons. And our own ignorance.

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Cray scratched his chin as he walked back to his desk. There is a wisdom about you, young human.

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Rafe was completely captivated, seeing in Cray not just a historian,

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but the mentor he had unknowingly missed his entire life.

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Can I? Rafe began, his voice filled with an awe he couldn't contain.

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Can I study them, your documents?

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I must know more. Kray looked at the young human, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips.

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He saw the hunger in Rafe's eyes, the desperate need to understand,

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a need that had driven him from his forgotten city.

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You seek knowledge, boy, Kray rumbled, his voice echoing in the ancient library.

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But tell me, are you prepared for the burdens that come with it?

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Music.

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A podcast alchemy production.

