It was a breezy morning, and Zerath had to prop up the collar of his robe to fight the chill. He was sitting on a shady balcony, overlooking the wide bay of Amareth as it slowly woke up. The water was still calm and glistened in the morning sun, the marble cliffs radiating their white glow. Aching olive and pine trees were bracing themselves against the cold winds, and colorful fields of beige and green lay barren on the rolling hills atop the cliffs, their harvest slowly filling the wooden bins that dotted the landscape. In the hazy distance across the bay, he could make out the silhouette of the costal village Avera, treasured by the wealthy upper class of Cylion as a sea-side retreat.

The occasional seagull disturbed the silence, but apart from that, Zerath was alone with his thoughts.

It had been an eventful two days in the Great Library. News of the stolen tome had spread like wildfire and was the dominating topic of most discussions in the many halls and corridors. The students were twisting and turning the facts, making them all the more exciting from one chat to the next. Naturally, Zerath himself refrained from spreading information or even commenting on the matter when asked. Besides, there was little to report, with Kaelen and Elara still missing. But even so, he was certain their absence had been noticed.

He took a sip from his coffee, but the dark brown brew did little for his sleep deprivation. In the far distance, a fisher boat was returning with their early morning haul, a swarm of seagulls in their wake. Zerath could hear their screams echo through the bay, and he imagined the strong fishy odor that attracted them.

His thoughts were reeled in again when the balcony door opened and closed behind him. Zerath didn't bother to turn around, but instead waited for his visitor to take a seat in the empty chair next to him.

"I never understood how you can drink that stuff," Elder Thornec grumbled while sitting down, pointing at the mug of coffee on the table.

Zerath cracked a tired smile and held the mug up for inspection.

"Selected beans from the island of Luba. Roasted slowly, over open fire. Processed in small batches."

"They can kiss every bean good night for all I care," Thornec grumbled.

"It's an acquired taste," Zerath said, and lowered his mug. "You get used to it."

"Why bother getting used to it in the first place?"

Zerath finally turned to face the leader of the Fateweavers.

"If you never try anything new, you never change. If you never change, you never improve."

Thornec studied Zerath with his amber eyes. The deep wrinkles on his forehead were proof of a long life of skepticism.

"Evolution always has a price. Usually, it's others who pay it," Thornec muttered, then fell silent.

They both let their gazes drift, watching the slow awakening of the bay area.

"I take it your prodigies still have not reported back?" Thornec asked after a long while, not even trying to hide his discontent.

"They have not, no," Zerath said calmly.

It had not been easy to convince Thornec that sending Kaelen and Elara was their best option. Zerath knew the old man still questioned this strategy. The Elder was a wise man, a strong man, and an exceptional Fateweaver — but he was also willful, stubborn even, and didn't usually base actions on trust alone. Only their long-standing friendship and Zerath's unofficial role as advisor in all important matters had allowed him to make the Elder see reason, at least temporarily.

"I still fail to understand what you see in them," the Elder growled. "The girl is smart, sure, but the boy?" Thornec scoffed. "He better not think his family name alone will make him climb the ranks of our order."

Zerath smiled politely. "I can assure you that Kaelen is far from being entitled. What he has, he earned, and what he wants, he will work for."

Thornec sighed.

"You better be right. The last thing I want is for more arrogant Dor family members to blind the foolish in our order with their wealth and influence."

"As you've expressed many times in the past," Zerath jabbed gently. "One could almost think it's … personal."

Thornec muttered a quiet curse and fell silent.

Zerath studied him for a moment. The Elder's long gray hair was curling on his burgundy robe, and an opulent gold necklace was resting on his chest. His skin was darker than Zerath's, with scars and blemishes as testament to an eventful life. He was no scholar, which was surprising for someone in his position, but regardless, he had been a great leader to their order for almost thirty years now. Zerath gave himself and his counsel at least some credit for that feat.

A fresh breeze engulfed the two men, and Zerath instinctively tightened the collar of his robe. The sun had not yet climbed above the smooth rooftops of the Great Library, but even if it had, it would offer little warmth on this brisk fall morning.

"Something is brewing, Zerath, I feel it in my bones," Thornec rasped conspiratorially, after they had watched the increasing number of boats in the bay for a minute or two.

"I can feel it, too," Zerath said and nodded slowly. "Strands of fate are being pulled by hands that are not ours. The theft of a fate tome is unprecedented, and likely just the first stage of a grander scheme."

"When did they get so bold?" Thornec mused without expecting an answer.

Zerath gave one anyway.

"When we stopped looking."

The Elder grumbled in agreement.

"We have to tread carefully. We can't allow for more mistakes, lest we want to repeat the past."

"I couldn't agree more," Zerath said and looked at Thornec.

"Which is why I wanted Kaelen and Elara to retrieve the tome, and not some army. We've got to know what we're up against, first. They will act as reconnaissance."

Thornec raised an eyebrow.

"Reconnaissance? Or bait?" he retorted.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"I would never put them in harm's way if I didn't believe they could handle it," Zerath said firmly. "I trust them fully. They won't disappoint us."

"Don't forget you are their teacher, not their parent," Thornec said grimly. "If it came down to it, we would put the order first — that is our duty. I hope you don't forget that."

Zerath didn't respond right away. His fingers traced the seam of his robe, then circled a button near one of his pockets.

"They will come through," he said slowly. Thornec grunted. "They better, for all our sakes. But I wonder: what did you tell them about our enemy?"

"As much as I had to, but not nearly as much as I should've," Zerath responded dryly. "If they are to succeed with this mission, they will need to know the full story."

"They don't need to know everything."

A faint smile tugged at Zerath's lips. He was almost certain Elara had already dug up more information than the Elder would ever allow to leave the circles of the Masters.

"Anyway," Thornec continued, "I sent word of the Fateless' exploits to King Montis in Cylion. He will be most interested to hear that our old enemy is making moves again."

"I would advise caution," Zerath interjected.

"You usually do," Thornec sneered. "King Montis is our ally, he deserves to know."

"An ally, yes, but with his own agenda."

"We all have our own agenda, Zerath. As long as Montis supports ours with his men, I don't care what other objectives he has."

"Last time we asked Cylion for military aid," Zerath said slowly, "we got a bloodbath. Surely, you don't mean to repeat that stain in our history."

"That was a long time ago. We can't dwell on the past forever."

"But we can still learn from it."

They fell silent again, and Zerath finished the last of his now cold coffee. The wind carried voices from the courtyard below up to them, indicating that the Great Library was slowly coming to life.

"Did you also tell King Montis that we still don't know who the tome belongs to? That it could be his, for all we know?"

"It must have slipped my memory when I wrote that letter," Thornec murmured, a smirk playing on his lips.

After a moment, his features got serious again. "Do you think it could actually be Montis' tome?"

Zerath considered the question for a moment.

"King Montis is a very influential person, and knowledge about his plans and secrets would surely be a valuable asset in the wrong hands. But then again, Montis is usually acting fairly predictable — anyone with at least some common sense could figure out his next moves months in advance by simply listening and observing. I doubt his tome would be worth the effort."

Thornec grunted and nodded.

"I asked Master Oryn to do a full inventory of all tomes in that wretched archive. That should give us certainty."

Zerath knew it was the only thing they could do for now, but it would take time. He leaned back in his chair, the creak of the wood soft against the faint backdrop of crashing waves below the cliffs. The wind carried the scent of salt and wildflowers over the balcony, and a fresh breeze was ruffling the edges of his robe.

"Do you know the story of Master Averyn?" Zerath asked after a while.

Thornec shrugged. "I know the name, but I didn't know it came with a story."

"It's not some grand story we tell our students, nor was Averyn a memorable Fateweaver in the conventional sense," Zerath began, "but he did have wit, more than most of his contemporaries. Where others would simply learn the truth from fate tomes, he would deduce it using intellect and cunning."

"Sounds like we could use his skills right about now," Thornec scoffed, and Zerath offered a courteous smile.

"Master Averyn was an avid admirer of the more mundane aspects of life, and so he spent most of his time roaming the vivid markets of Cylion. He grew quite familiar with people there, and they started respecting him. Keep in mind, back then, Fateweavers were elusive and entitled, and rarely mingled with commoners. They almost exclusively shared the company of mighty rulers and influential members of society — except for Averyn."

"Sounds like a smart man."

"He was," Zerath said pensively, and rotated the empty mug in his fingers.

"There was one particular encounter I remember reading about. Master Averyn was called to reconcile a quarrel between a merchant and a fisherman in the market square. Among heaps of fruit and spices, and engulfed in the smell of freshly baked goods, they had gotten into a heated argument about the purchase of a load of fish. The merchant accused the fisherman of selling him rotten fish the day prior, barely fit for bait. The fisherman argued that the haul had been fresh enough for a king's feast and that the merchant had been careless, leaving the fish to bake in the sun. They were both adamant, ready to get their knuckles bloody over it, when Averyn arrived at the scene. His presence commanded respect, and the two squabblers could be convinced to adjourn their fighting until Averyn had time to investigate. He talked to both of them individually, letting them explain their stories in length, before he set off with purposeful determination."

"That sounds like a rather petty reason for a fight," Thornec mumbled.

"The mechanisms of conflict are the same no matter the scale — only the stakes differ," Zerath pointed out.

Thornec sighed. "All right, all right, go on."

"The very next day, Master Averyn had the merchant and the fisherman summoned again in the market square. It was about noon, so the place was buzzing with life, and spectators were gathering in droves. With him, Averyn had brought two envelopes, which he held up for everyone to see. He declared that he had talked to the harbormaster, who had laid eyes on the fisherman's haul right before he brought it into the city to sell, and had been willing to give written testimony of what he saw — that testimony Averyn had brought in the first envelope. In the second envelope, however, was the testimony of a market worker, who had tended to the merchant's stand the day of the purchase, taking notice of all his wares and their state. Averyn explained to the two baffled squabblers and the eager audience that, if the two men agreed, they could open the envelopes right there and then to see who spoke the truth. The liar among them would be handed over to the waiting city guards."

Thornec chuckled. "Looks like your guy had a soft spot for drama."

"He knew how to make things interesting for the public."

"So who was guilty?" the Elder asked curiously.

Zerath smiled gently.

"Both men were suddenly rather shy. Instead of making Averyn open the envelopes, they started talking among themselves, and after a short discussion, they decided to just split the losses the spoiled fish had caused and let bygones be bygones."

Thornec raised an eyebrow. "So they were both guilty?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Zerath said and shrugged. "Both envelopes were empty. Averyn had never done any investigating. The only thing he did was buy two envelopes."

The elder frowned. "You are telling me, this man you look up to was a scam artist? Actions like these should be beneath a Fateweaver. They endanger our reputation."

"I did not say that I look up to Master Averyn," Zerath corrected. "Besides, the conflict was resolved, and there wasn't even any fighting. In the eyes of the market folk of Cylion, Master Averyn represented the Fateweavers exceptionally well that day. It's all a matter of perspective."

"We should not rely on fair tricks," Thornec grouched, "and we don't bet on outcomes. If either one of them had insisted on opening the envelopes, Averyn would've looked like a fool."

"Maybe," Zerath said and shrugged. "If he were here today, I'm sure he'd tell you it was a calculated risk. And history is proving him right — his methods worked more often than not. The point I'm trying to make is that we should not be naive. Our adversaries are not going to play by the rules, and we must adapt if we want to endure. We need cunning to stay on top of things, not just muscles."

Thornec snarled. "I'd rather beat all Fateless into pulp before I let our order turn into a bunch of thimble riggers."

They fell silent again, letting their thoughts get swallowed by the faint sound of rolling waves way below them. A bird chirped in a nearby pine tree, enjoying the last days before the turn of the seasons, and a savory scent told them that breakfast was being served now. The distinct smell of bacon and freshly baked rolls filled the air, carrying with it a sense of cozy comfort.

"When all this is over," Thornec said, his voice sounding tired, "I will need a vacation. You can take me to that island of yours, where they make that fancy coffee."

"Luba?" Zerath asked, cracking a faint smile.

"That one, yes. Maybe I will even try some of that vile brew."

Zerath chuckled and crossed his hands in his sleeves.

"I would like to see that."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.