Free King of Assassins: The Elven Ways: Book Three by Jenna Rhodes Page B

Each to its own private chamber or drawer or whatever you can manage. Handle them as meticulously as you would a victim of plague.”
    “That goes without saying; however, there are a few hundred of them . . .”
    “And each is as valuable as the next, as far as we know. Separate them or have each contaminate the other until none is left.”
    Azel scratched at his chin. “Nothing fancy as the sanctum now, but . . . yes, there are possibilities. I will have to set wards.”
    “One of your many Talents, as I recall, Master Librarian.”
    That garnered a small smile. “Yes. Not widely known but true. It will take me some time, however. And I will have to set a guard upon myself because one day those wards will have to be taken down and only I will know the undoing of them.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Such is power. It both makes and imprisons a man.”
    Bistane tilted his head to one side. “And a third thing, nearly forgotten.”
    “What?”
    “Have I time to nap a bit and sharpen my sword before I go after that skulker?”
    “I think you might. These deeds always seem best done after the sundown.”
    Bistane could see signs aplenty that the scholars were wary and some downright frightened. Doors had heavy bolts newly added to them. The main entry door now had a massive board that could be lowered across it, and as Bistane examined it, he could feel the tingle of a ward on it as well. They’d done everything they knew how to do but have a cleric come bless the place with sacred flame and cleansing water, but as the students were, for the most part, Vaelinars, they didn’t believe in the Gods of Kerith.
    He made the rounds outside, twice, knowing that night might draw it out, and not just the curtain of nightfall, but the depths of it when most souls were hidden deep in dreams. As it came to pass, the skulker was never found or dispatched. It, perhaps, with an uncanny intelligence, found out it was being hunted and fled. Or perhaps it was never quite what Azel and his students and timber men had made it out to be. There were some small signs of a presence. A scratched lock. A shutter hinge bent and easily loosened on a back window. Beds of twigs and leaves and grass in the woods that stank of something that made the dogs paw at their noses and growl. But nothing Bistane could face and skewer on the point of his sword. He left after a few days with two parcels in his saddlebags and Azel distracted with his current feat of re-housing his important library collection and coming up with the energy and will to ward each book separately. He looked even grayer when Bistane rode out.

    Verdayne took a deep breath as though just realizing he’d been holding it. He sat back and rolled his empty glass between his palms as his brother finished.
    “And so that brought me here.”
    “Did you run across sign of that thing, whatever it was?”
    “I’m not sure. In the wilderness, you can find subtle signs of death wherever you look. Animals prey upon each other and not always neatly. Whatever it was, it appeared to flee south. I didn’t follow. I’d been gone too long from home, and I had this—” He withdrew a small parcel, wrapped solidly in oilcloth, tied and sealed with wax. He dropped his heels from the desk so that he could lean forward and place the bundle on the top between himself and Dayne. “For you.” He topped off both glasses before settling back.
    “Me? Do I look like a Tolby Farbranch to you?”
    “No, but you look like the only one I can trust to deliver it to him.”
    Silence followed. Bistane put his glass down next to the book. “Father hired and trained a good many men to help him with his holdings, but he only had two sons. The lands will prosper for a time without us when there are things only one of us can do.”
    “You want me to go to Calcort.”
    “Now, more than ever. Not just to take the book to Farbranch but now also to see to Nutmeg.”
    “I’m not a swordsman! I won’t