The fourteenth was before the thirteenth and yet was also after, more so after. The last and the fourteenth are one as many times as they are not. The same, but different. The fourteenth gave the last something. I am not sure what. I can only see a part. It makes little sense and there is no logic. It is all very confusing.” Essdra shook her head. If what Insignor was seeing confused him, there was no way that she could make any better sense of it.
***
Incrin squinted at the scroll in front of him. The candle was burning low and was going to gutter soon, but for all of its threatening flickers, he paid it no heed. His attention was fastened on the document before him. An original telling of the last battles of the Millennium war. It was a parchment left stored in a cylinder of the purest stone oil when not being read. Few other than himself were able to touch the jars they were sealed in, let alone handle them for reading. Another piece of parchment was stretched out at his other hand and held down by a jar of blotting sand, an inkwell, and several cylinders of sealing wax to hold the corners. Clusters of notes and lines copied from the manuscript haphazardly scrawled in all manner of orientations and hands like one would expect if they never looked as they were writing. A couple lines ran over other entries. Most were translations from the older manuscript. It was an ancient version of the common tongue, altered in script and verbiage, but he was as much at home with it as the tongue he had spoken since birth. He hardly notice when Tarth entered the chamber.
“Have you found any clues of Stone Walker’s mace?” Tarth’s presence elicited an annoyed shooing motion from Incrin.
“Careful, this is an old document. If I knew anything worth telling you, you would be the first to know.” Few were able to take that tone with the chosen presiding over this shelter, the largest on Den’dra. The underground in The Forks held the primary collection of the original histories. Incrin tried not to think of the ways that these documents had come into the Order’s hands. Murder, intrigue and theft were the usual stories.
“Just be sure to tell me when you do find anything. Alban is an impatient man.” The unnecessary admonition was lost on Incrin as he was already deep in the words again. Tarth shook his head before leaving. Incrin got special treatment and everyone knew it. The older man had spent a large part of his life down here among the dusty scrolls. There was little that he didn’t know or couldn’t with enough time.
Tarth wasn’t the kind of person that you would expect to be in charge of a shelter, especially not the largest shelter. Usually quiet and not given to the constant internal power struggle, it came as a surprise when he had suddenly filled the vacancy left at the death of his predecessor. All the other candidates were so busy fighting amongst themselves that they only realized Tarth’s move when it was too late to do anything about it. He had never demanded the title, but had filled the place so adequately that everyone called him Lord Tarth regardless.
However quiet he was, his grip on control was like iron. All knew the price for opposing him. The intrigues had all but disappeared, hidden from his sight at least. Despite his position and title, he had misgivings about the course that the Order followed. The days of dark elf leadership were gone in his opinion. What mattered now was keeping Gifted safe from Reigns. He would have chosen an ordinary life if he had a choice. Being an empath prevented that ordinary life. Much like it had for Incrin. Alban was another issue that annoyed the man. Alban had filled a power vacuum sometime in the past and had assumed a position of authority over the entire order rather than just his shelter. Most submitted to avoid confrontation and Tarth wasn’t one to make waves when it was unnecessary. Tarth feared that a time would come when Alban’s interests drifted far enough afield that he would have to refuse the man’s demands.
Incrin had been a sewer rat in The Forks until he had been old enough to hire out to one of the boats that traveled up and down the midlands. His Gift wasn’t immediately apparent.