Emeri had given Caste his own workspace. Caste might have objected more strenuously to Emeri giving him anything in a room where, by rights, he ought to be the authority, except it was done so with the benefit of both of them in mind. Emeri wanted Caste to critique her transcription work of the early animal skin parchments and Caste wanted to get his hands on the parchments to study what he had only been told about in hushed whispers.

The library of Fort Omra.

While not the oldest fort along the wall, its library was the most protected. All the other forts had suffered fires and destruction from monster attacks, precious manuscripts lost over the years but Fort Omra’s library was intact and had been so since its construct.

“It’s any wonder these were not moved to the library of Astaril.” Caste muttered.

“I do not believe they would survive the journey.” Emeri explained from her desk.

“Then there should have been clerics sent to do the work you are now attempting.” And succeeding at, Caste was pained to admit to himself. He hadn’t found an error yet though he studied the manuscripts at length, searching for one before conceding to defeat.

“I asked Cleric Severo about that in the beginning,” Emeri pushed a loose braid out of the way, “he seemed to imply there was no point.”

“No point?” Caste looked up. “There is a wealth of historical knowledge here! There is no way a cleric of the order would say such a thing. You must have misheard.” Emeri nodded but Caste suspected she was only mocking him. He leaned closer, a little thrill running through him. “You have made a mistake.”

“Really?” Emeri hopped down from her stool and hurried over. “I did not think my work could be without error.”

Caste pointed out the line. “Here it reads, ‘the mountain was dowsed with the falling star’, but the original is unclear.”

“I’ve made a notation for that,” Emeri pointed at the little red star marked at the start and stop of the questionable line, “this mark should lead the reader down to the bottom of the parchment where I’ve made the note, ‘the original line was lost due to damage and what reads in its place has been pieced together as carefully as possible but allows for the possibility of discrepancy’.”

Caste swallowed. “Oh…” He cleared his throat. “Well…then, this one appears to be correct.”

“Excellent. I’ll prepare the wax for the seal.”

In order to compare the new copy from the decrepit original, Caste had to break the wax seal on the tubes and handle the manuscripts with great care. When putting them back into the tube, Emeri heated more wax over a flame, in the middle of the room away from any of the books and brought it over in a ladle.

Even Caste couldn’t fault Emeri’s attention to detail.

“Could you sign your name on the manuscripts you approve of?”

Caste did so, knowing that the ones he’d sighted had been accurately transcribed.

He watched as Emeri put the tubes back onto the racks, patting the end of them. She turned and saw his frown.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Making sure I put them to bed properly?” She teased and Caste rolled his eyes. “Now,” she took a piece of thin paper from her pocket, “for that hilt…I’m going to need a reference volume for crests and another on ancient Terra translation…” She walked down the wall, studying the spines of the books that still had them, clucking her tongue. “Oh of course…way up there.” She sighed and fetched a ladder that rolled across the shelves on railings, the base set upon with two horizontal wheels.

“What is that?” Caste demanded.

“A way to reach the top shelves.” She announced. “Father came up with the idea.” She lined it to where she needed it to be and clambered up the ladder, her black boots showing at the hem of her skirt, a thin petticoat peeking out now and then. “Whoa…” Caste darted forward and grabbed the ladder as it wobbled. “Thank you!”

“Your father should have made it sturdier.” He groused as she poked and prodded the volumes.

“It’s not the fault of the ladder or my father, it’s the uneven state of the floor!” Caste could hardly deny that. He remained where he was as Emeri began to pull volume after book from the shelf. “Can you catch?” She called and started dropping books on him. Caste ran around, catching them as they fell.

“Could you be a little more respectful?” He demanded then his mouth firmed in an unimpressed line as she slid down the polished rails of the ladder and landed on the floor with a smile.

“If you don’t stop frowning, I’ll have my father tip you upside down and turn it into a smile.”

Caste shivered, knowing full well that the impressive height and strength of Suvau could do exactly as Emeri threatened. He followed her to a coffee table where she laid the books then spread the paper rubbing she’d made of the hilt and smoothed it out.

“This hilt has to be over five hundred years old…”

“Naturally,” Caste said with a superior thrust to his chin, “after all, it has no embossed year on its crest and all swords made after the bicentenary of the wall’s construct must be before that time.”

“Someone knows his weapons.”

“Of course I do,” Caste folded his arms, “being able to recognise and identify crests is a basic cleric qualification. How do you know about crests?”

She looked at him dryly with an eyebrow raised. “My father is a weaponsmith…”

Caste’s arms dropped at the rather obvious answer. “Oh…”

“There isn’t much I don’t know about weapons,” Emeri winked as Caste, “father even made me my own dagger,” she drew her skirt up and though it was only high enough to show a little calf, Caste turned away, mortified, “see?”

“Have you no sense of decency?”

“That’s a laugh! You deny my people the rights to education and social instruction but hold us accountable to your standards!” Emeri laid her dagger on the table, drawn from a hiding place beneath her skirts. “Father said it wasn’t much better than a toothpick but it would make an attacker think twice.”

Caste glanced at the blade then at Emeri who seemed utterly at ease about the notion of being armed. He wondered if she truly had no concept of the danger she was in from being forced by Jerom, son of Ermo Kenet. Suvau didn’t want to scare his daughter but he had made sure she was able, in a small way, to defend herself. However, should she even threaten Jerom, she’d be whipped for her insolence.

“Caste? Caste!”

“Sorry!” He blurted.

“Lost in your thoughts?” Emeri asked and he shrugged, unable to come up with an answer. “Look, see these markings?” She held the paper out and Caste squinted at it. “Sorry, the light in here is terrible.”

“You need better lamps.” He said, taking one off a hook and bringing it over.

“I inquired about that with Cleric Severo.”

“His reply?”

“He suggested open flame torches for they cast a far brighter glow…”

Caste stared at Emeri. “In a library?”

“Now you know why I squint.” Emeri explained. “There’s no way I can risk an open flame in here. Even the one I use to melt the wax for the seals is small and contained. Everything takes twice as long but at least there’s minimal danger.” She sighed. “Even so…should the mountain of Maul decide to throw a fireball at Fort Omra, the roof would do little to protect it.”

Caste looked upwards, seeing the thatch that was dry and old and would be at the mercy of the smallest spark.

“I’ll have a word with Cleric Severo about the need to protect these works…if I ever get the chance to meet with him.” He was surprised at the pleasure in Emeri’s expression.

“Thank you.” She said with a warm smile.

“I…I’m not doing it for you! I’m trying to protect these books!”

“I know.” She giggled. “Now…symbols…symbols…predating the bicentenary…”