The Spoken Books Uprising Box Set 1: The Spoken Books Uprising Box Sets, #1

By D. T. Kane

"Reading Books can get you killed."

 

The series that reviewers have called "Sanderson-esque" and "Genius!"

 

For the first time ever, get the first three parts of this new epic fantasy series in one place! In addition to three novels, the box set includes two, never-before-seen essays by the author about his inspiration for the series and also artwork depicting each of the three main characters! A free preview of Part IV is also included.

 

Part I: The Acktus Trials
In the land of Oration, magic is cast by reading aloud words of power from Spoken Books. Only a select few, the Speakers, are born with the ability to do so. But after a disaster nearly destroyed Oration, society grew to fear the Speakers' power and they were hunted and enslaved, never taught to read. Now they live in oppression, unable to use their magic unless a spell is first read aloud to them.

Each year, young men and women from Oration's ruling Libraries compete in the Acktus Trials, a journey that takes them through the wilds of Oration to the ruined city of Tome. Once Oration's capital, it is now abandoned, though the Great Library at its center still holds a wealth of Spoken Books. As Speakers are no longer taught to read, they also cannot write, so new Spoken Books have not been created in hundreds of years. The discovery of a new Book is a coveted prize for any young noble.

Baztian is a slave to one of Oration's poorer Libraries. When he is selected to accompany his master on the Actkus Trials, he thinks his life is over. The wilds are treacherous, his master incompetent, and their fellow competitors set on winning, whatever the means. But Baz also has a secret—one that could get him killed, but one that also makes him the most valuable of assets during the Trials. Baz can read, and after he saves his master from certain death, he strikes a deal—his secret kept safe in exchange for aiding his master in completing the Trials. But can Baz really help a young man who thinks of him as property? And even if he can, there is much he doesn't know, like the evil that lies in wait beneath the ruins of Tome.

 

Part II: Declaimer's Discovery

 

*Potential Spoilers Below*

Baz and his master are called upon to suppress an uprising among the slaves of Fortune, Oration's wealthiest city. But after an attack separates Baz from the rest of his group, he's unwittingly caught up in the very rebellion his master is trying to stop. And as if things couldn't get any worse, Baz discovers that the most powerful man in Erstwhile might know his secret. A secret that could get him killed. Surrounded by enemies and friends he doesn't trust, can Baz survive and help the slaves of Fortune to freedom?

 

Part III: Declaimer's Flight

 

*Potential Spoilers Below*

 

Baz and his friends are on the run, allies at a premium, as they search for the savior who will lead the slaves of Oration to freedom. When no one believes that Baz knows who that savior is, he finds his closest supporter is none other than his one-time master, a member of the ruling class against whom the rebels are fighting. 

When Baz returns to where his adventure—or is it a nightmare?—began, his path finally becomes clear. But even then, there are forces working to betray him, both external and in Baz's own head. Once more, he must face the dark terror beneath the ruined city of Tome, while simultaneously battling the trauma he suffered in the dungeons of Leamina Library. And that's all before the dragons show up. Will Baz persevere and find Oration's savior?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eremite Publishing
• Release date: Nov 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798987371107

Book preview

Bonus Preview

Keep reading past the last page for a free preview of Declaimer’s Stand, Part IV of The Spoken Books Uprising!

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The

Acktus Trials

The Spoken Books Uprising

Part I

By D. T. Kane

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To Mrs. Adams, my sixth-grade teacher,

who told me everyone has a book in them.

Part I: The Acktus Trials

By D. T. Kane

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Map of Oration

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VISIT https://dtkane.com/resources/map-of-oration for a full-size version of this map.

Bonus Artwork 1: Baztian

Baz

Prologue

THE ROOF OF THE GREAT Library’s tower was gone, destroyed by a spell that had surely sowed centuries of turmoil across all of Oration.

Pront vi Lextor, Librarian of Tome, Prefect of Saltz, Keeper of the Inks, Protector of the Sheafs, scowled at the open sky. The wind had been whipping at the pages of his Book, making writing exceedingly difficult. But he permitted himself only a moment of frustration before leaning over the volume and continuing to scribble. One volume was already complete, but he still had this second to finish, and time was running short. Far below him, in the Library’s bowels, he could hear the voices.

They were coming.

He finished the final words and tossed his quill aside. Where he was going he wouldn’t be needing it. He was, however, careful to stopper the vial of ink he’d been using. It glistened with an array of colors as light refracted off the glass.

Just as he was casting sand over the final page to dry the ink, a sound like distant church bells caused him to leap from his chair. He spun, colorful robe billowing in the wind that blew through the tower’s ruined rafters. Preparing to defend himself, he raised both hands. Each of his fingers bore a ring, the rings of each hand connected to one another by fine lengths of chain.

Pront vi Lextor calmed when he identified the sound’s source, smiling at the creature floating through the air toward him. It had a body like that of a giant serpent, twisting in the wind as it alighted onto the floorboards of his study. The beast was all white, tufts of fur running down the length of its spine and over its fore and hind legs. It had the snout of a flat-faced dog. A mustache hung below each nostril and moved about as it exhaled, and two enormous eyes considered him with intelligence rivaling that of the smartest men Pront vi Lextor had ever known.

But the creature’s hide was its most spectacular feature. Shaved of the white fur that lined its back and legs, the beast’s skin was covered in writing—Words in each of the Trinity’s languages written in colors representing each of the five elements. The creature was one of his greatest successes.

Ah, my good Book Dragon, Pront vi Lextor said, lowering his hands and permitting himself the smallest of smiles. You come at a most opportune time.

The dragon regarded him with an expression of utmost distress. My brothers and sisters have each taken away as many Books as they can carry. Can carry. It spoke in an ethereal way, words seeming to float on the air, rather than reach the ears directly. And it had a curious habit of repeating the final words of sentences. But there are still so many. So many. We could have saved more, but the Fire Breathers fled. They are lost. Are lost.

Pront vi Lextor patted the Book Dragon’s head, keeping his face calm, though the news of this betrayal disheartened him.

Do not lament, my friend. I know you have done what you can.

It is not enough. Not enough. The Book Dragon rotated in a tight circle just above the floor, anxiety plain in the movement. My oath is broken. The shelves have fallen. Have fallen.

Yes, Pront vi Lextor said, voice growing soft. He heard his age in the tremulous tone. The shelves have fallen, indeed. He stared off into the distance for a few moments before shaking his head and forcing confidence back into his words. I’ve one final task for you. This volume must find its way safely to Fortune.

Pront vi Lextor shut the Book he’d just finished. The dragon had a leather collar about its neck with a pouch large enough to hold a small library’s worth of Books. It was already full to nearly bursting, but Pront vi Lextor approached the dragon and managed to squeeze the volume in.

You are the only one I trust with it. Now go. There is little time.

The only one... The Book Dragon trailed off, massive eyes glistening. What of Leamina and Helfax?

They fell. Together. Pront vi Lextor’s voice became strained. Holding off the threat while the Scriveners escaped.

The Book Dragon’s ears drooped. What about you? Won’t you let me take you from here? From here?

Pront vi Lextor had to blink several times before answering with the confidence that the Book Dragon needed to hear. I have trapped our foes for now, my friend. But their bonds are yet weak. I must return to Under Tome and finish the job.

The Book Dragon let out a low moan.

Don’t mourn for me, Pront vi Lextor said, forcing his words to sound stronger than he felt. I may be weakened for a time, but I shall return. You must protect the Great Library as best you can in my absence, and ensure that the great work continues.

The Book Dragon looked as if it wished to protest, but eventually bobbed its massive head, eyes glistening. I will do as you say. You say.

It floated upward without further comment, though its eyes stayed locked on Pront vi Lextor until he lost view of the creature. With a deep sigh, he took up his staff from a corner and began his descent into the bowels of the tower. The voices grew louder the closer he got to the ground, until they were a terrible roar of sinister intent in his mind.

Their appearance had been an unexpected setback. He’d been so close to achieving a great victory for all mankind. Now he would have to cleanse the city in fire and imprison his enemies in shadow. He just hoped the volume he’d given the Book Dragon fell into the right hands, that the land of Oration would be led out of the darkness he had caused.

The voices grew louder still.

Part 1

The Acktus Trials, Part 1

Chapter 1

READING BOOKS CAN GET you killed.

Baz stopped midsentence, the Words turning oily and stale in his mouth, and glared up from the Book his brother had set in front of him. They were sitting cross legged across from each other on the cold, stone floor of Torchsire Library’s Speaking Room.

You say that every time, Yeltax. I get it, all right?

Tax pursed his lips. He hated being called by his full name. I repeat it because you don’t really get it, Baz. It’s not your fault. You can’t, until you’ve seen what it can actually mean. Do you remember Dad?

Baz looked away. Of course he didn’t. He’d only been three when it had happened. Perhaps he possessed a recollection or two of the tales Dad had used to tell of sailors braving the Ocean Vast, but with how often Tax had repeated those stories in the years since their father’s death, even those might be false memories.

Sorry, Tax said, running a hand over his shaved head. "I know, you were too young. But the fact remains. He couldn’t Read, and the Readers still killed him because they suspected he was beginning to grasp the basics of the Scribes’ grammar. He’d never even laid eyes on the text of a Spoken Book. You have to be careful."

Baz huffed out a sigh. You spend as much time warning me as you do teaching me. I know the Readers are cruel, but if this is really so dangerous, why are we doing this at all?

Tax’s brows dropped. Unlike most Speakers in the dreary city of Erstwhile, Tax had olive-toned skin, accentuating the brilliance of his eyes. Baz’s complexion was pale as a ghost by comparison, and whereas Tax’s eyes looked like a fortune of emeralds, Baz’s were more like pea soup in dirty porcelain bowls.

Because, Tax said, voice gaining an edge, I promised Dad I’d take care of you, and a man always keeps his promises. That’s what sets us apart from the Readers, Baz. We keep our word. Don’t forget that.

Baz nodded, shifting uncomfortably. Why did Tax always have to be so serious?

And, his brother added, someone ought to be able to stand up to them. There’s power in knowing the Words, Baz. I can’t think of a better way to fulfill my promise than giving you some of that power.

Baz sighed. Power and knowledge, power in knowledge. Tax was always talking like that. A quiet determination that his brother had possessed for as long as Baz could remember, and one that Tax was set on passing on to him.

Baz was slightly less concerned with such lofty goals, and more with setting things on fire. He was, after all, a Destroyer. Indeed, it was Speakers like Baz who were responsible for Speaking Rooms like this one being so isolated from the rest of the Library. It wasn’t common, but Speakings could go terribly wrong if a Speaker mispronounced a significant word, or a Reader was sloppy in his or her recitation to the Speaker. The Speaking Room at Presciot Library had been entirely razed by a Destruction spell gone awry about ten years ago, shortly before Baz had been born.

Now that he thought about it, perhaps he could grasp why Tax was so strict. Looking down so Tax couldn’t see his frown, Baz considered the Spoken Book propped on his lap. At one end of the room upon a raised dais was a shelf about half full of similar volumes. It was one of the smaller Libraries in Erstwhile, but still enough Books to be considered a grand fortune. The shelf was, of course, protected by locked, iron grating, the space between its cross-hatched bars so minimal it was difficult to read the titles inscribed on the Books’ spines.

The only other furnishings in the room were a lectern made of polished mahogany and a single chair behind it. Those were for the house’s Readers, of which Torchsire had ten, plus a few children in training. Speakers were never permitted to sit while they repeated the Words of the Books. Bad posture made for less powerful Speakings, or so the Readers said. Baz wasn’t convinced.

Tax had never told Baz where he’d gotten the Book they were now Reading, but it could only have come from this room. Books never left it without close scrutiny, and a Book in the hands of a Speaker was grounds enough for immediate execution, so Tax certainly hadn’t carried it into the Speaking Room from elsewhere. Baz could vaguely recall the Duke raging over a missing Book about a year ago, questioning all the Library servants on suspicion one of them had stolen it. Such things weren’t entirely unheard of. If one could find a buyer, the price of a single Spoken Book would be enough for a common Illit to retire on. But a Book in the hands of an Illit was about as illiquid an asset as they come. Might as well wear a sign saying you’re a thief.

So, sure. Baz could understand his brother’s hesitance, if only a little. Still, Baz remained eager as a panhandler in a treasury. He looked back up.

Well, I won’t be able to do much standing up to anyone if you never teach me anything.

Patience, Baz. Patience.

Gah! Come on. I was nearly able to light the candle last time. Let me Read and try again.

Tax’s jaw set to a stern line. But then his face softened. He looked down and to one side for a moment, a small smile crossing his lips. Baz hated that look.

What?

Nothing, Tax said, still smiling. It’s just... Nothing. Come, you’re right. Caution only gets us so far. I must actually teach you something.

Great! Baz said. He bent back over the Book, placing a finger at the beginning of a string of Words that would call forth flame. They were strange, curly characters, with the occasional sharp edge thrown in for good measure. He opened his mouth and—

Wait, Tax said. Did you bring your heat source? As you gain ability, you’ll be able to pull power directly from the elements in the ink, but you’re not there yet, and it’s cold as the Icy Heights in here. You’ll need some sort of starter.

Baz looked over his shoulder to hide a grimace. He ought to have thought of that. It’s just, he was so excited! Deliritous, the Duke’s son, never let him do anything interesting like create fire! Baz leapt up and hurried over to the dais, where he’d left the small brazier of coals he’d brought with him from the tiny room in the Library’s basement he shared with Tax. Careful not to burn his hands, he brought it back over to where Tax was sitting.

Good, Tax said once he’d returned. Now, what’s the most important thing for a Destroyer to remember? Tax pointed at the mark branded to Baz’s forehead.

Baz sighed. Would Tax ever let him get around to actually Speaking?

The Stop Rune, Baz said, rolling his eyes. He jabbed a finger at the symbol in the Spoken Book that he’d once more propped in his lap.

Good, Tax said. "And why is it important?"

Baz wasn’t going to fall for that trick again.

"Actually, there’s two reasons it’s important, Tax."

His brother nodded, that same smile touching his mouth as before. Go on.

First, it locks the Reading, tells the Book to only cast the spell the one time I Speak it. That way, someone can’t repeat what I say and cast it again. And second, if something goes wrong, I just have to Speak the Stop Rune, and the power will cease to flow, and I can start over.

Tax nodded again. All right. Now focus your intent. The Words are vital, but Reading and Speaking must be done with purpose. Careful with your diction, and don’t be afraid to Speak the Stop Rune a second time if you feel the Words slipping away from you. Better to start over than have to explain a singed mouth to Deliritous. Or worse. The Duke.

This time, Baz was unable to hide his grimace. That had been a near thing, a few weeks prior. He’d been so close to completing the Speaking for minor fire. But then he’d slipped over the line’s final syllable and...

Well, that wouldn’t happen again. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the text, then uttered the Stop Rune and plunged into Speaking the sentences that would light the candle Tax had produced from within the folds of his robe.

One who has never heard the Words of a Spoken Book uttered aloud might think they have a good idea of what they sound like. Just like talking, except reciting words from a page. Right?

Wrong. Each of the three languages of the Trinity are distinct from the common speech, and each is as distinct from the other as water is from flame is from earth. Baz had once heard a Conservator compare the language of Creation to a doe lapping water from a creek, and the language of Influence to the drumming of marching men’s steps, steady and inevitable. Destruction, however, wasn’t nearly so straightforward. Some of its syllables were like the menacing snort of a bull, others a falcon’s high screech, and still others like the refined, sharp edges of a lion’s roar.

As Baz spoke the Words, he could feel their power building. His mouth began to warm, the coals in the brazier steaming as if water had been poured upon them, their heat dissipating, though not into the air above the brazier, but into the syllables, then Words, then sentences that flowed from Baz’s mouth. His lungs began to burn, but he resisted the urge to breathe. Breathing in the middle of a Speaking was dangerous—unless you were absolutely certain of your timing, you’d pay a price, and Baz certainly couldn’t afford scorched lungs. Even Tax wouldn’t be able to explain that to the Duke.

Finally, he gasped out the last syllable, feeling a tang on the roof of his mouth as it didn’t leave his tongue quite right. Baz ignored it, instead focusing his will on the wick of the candle in Tax’s hand. The air between them glimmered with heat, popping beads of sweat onto both their foreheads.

The candle burst into flame!

Baz sucked in a breath of air, shuddering at the heat of it. But it was just the ordinary warmth of the air that had been heated by his spell, not the burning of a misuttered Speaking. He threw both arms into the air.

Yes! Finally!

Well done, Tax said, a broad smile illuminating his eyes. I couldn’t have done better myself.

That was a blatant lie. Tax could have Spoken the Words three times as fast and lit ten candles in the time it had taken Baz to light the one. But that didn’t matter. The praise still felt like sunshine on a cloudy day.

Let’s do another one! Baz said, flipping ahead several pages in the Book. Maybe I can try the one that heats metal to orange! I can try it on the brazier.

Whoa! Hold on, Baz. Let’s not get ahead of—

The large double doors to the Speaking Room suddenly swung open.

Yeltax, are you in here?

They both froze, eyes meeting in horror. Two Speakers alone with a Spoken Book? Father had been killed for less. Slowly, their eyes turned in unison to see who had discovered them.

Chapter 2

I SAY, YELTAX. WHERE are you?

Standing at the now open doors was a pair of legs topped by a heaping stack of Books. A wide-brimmed hat with a purple feather sticking from the top poked from around the stack’s edges. Though his face was blocked, it had to be Deliritous Torchsire, heir to the Torchsire Library. No one else would, or would be permitted to, walk about the Library carrying many fortunes’ worth of Spoken Books in such a haphazard manner. Some would say his status as heir wasn’t by choice, but necessity, as he was the Duke’s only living child.

While Baz continued to gawk, Tax moved into swift action. Muttering a few words, the candle snuffed out. There was no residual smoke, and only the most observant would have noted the slight shake in Tax’s hand. There’d be a burn there later, where he’d transferred the candle’s heat. He placed their special marker in the Spoken Book, then slid the tome and candle into a cavity in the floor and set a loose flagstone atop it.

Just as Tax was nestling the final corner of the flagstone into place, Deliritous’s face emerged from behind the stack of Books he held, yellow hair half-covering his blue eyes. He was thirteen years old, and while he’d begun to grow, he was shorter than average yet at that awkward stage where clothes didn’t fit him no matter what the tailors did. The pile of Books in his hands wobbled. Tax yanked his hand away from the stone, a small corner still poking unevenly from the rest of the floor.

"Tut, tut, Yeltax. I don’t let you keep your eyes for gawking. It’s so you can help me in times such as these. Here, take these Books. Father will be letting me do this afternoon’s Reading, and I was practicing. Those hard acks of Destruction? The ones that come from the back of your throat? Ah! Get me every time. My tonsils are still sore."

Baz had to bite his lower lip to prevent a grin. Deliritous had been Reading for years and still could barely pronounce most Words of the Trinity.

Tax hurried over to take the Books from Deliritous. There was no suggestion of rebellion in him when the heir was about. Calm subservience was the only sentiment Tax ever emoted around him. But that was just the way of things. Readers led and Speakers followed. Baz didn’t like it, but unlike his brother didn’t see a chance of it changing any time soon, even if young children like himself did learn how to Read.

Don’t worry yourself, Master Deliritous, Tax said. The dictions of Destruction are too harsh for a man of your generous constitution. I’ll understand what you mean when you speak the Words to me.

Ah, that’s better, Deliritous said, relieved of his burden. He made his way up to the dais. "Well, I suppose you’re right. It’s not as if I’m the one who needs to be perfect after all, yes? It won’t be my mouth that burns if I misutter the Words."

He smiled as if he’d made a joke. When Tax didn’t laugh and instead busied himself steadying the stack of Books he’d been handed, Deliritous cleared his throat and smoothed his velveteen tunic, though there were no wrinkles in it. Baz openly glared at Deliritous, partly over his insensitivity, partly because it was plain he still hadn’t noticed that Baz was there.

Well, never mind my diction. We must go on regardless. Come, join me on the dais and we’ll prepare before the first of the Illits arrive with their supplications. I expect Father will have left me nothing but common sniffles and broken brooms, but a Reading is a Reading, after all. Father said I didn’t even need supervision this time. And... oh, Baztian. I didn’t see you there.

Baz quickly blanked his face and gave a curt bow. Tax was afforded certain liberties because he was a Tri, meaning he had the exceedingly rare talent of being able to call forth power from all three languages of the Trinity, so he was generally permitted to speak openly in front of Deliritous. But Baz, along with most other Speakers, was expected to remain silent unless a question was directed to him, or he was actively repeating a Reader’s words from a Spoken Book. As often as not, a Reader would assume that a Speaker who opened his mouth out of turn was attempting to cast a spell. And if a Reader believed that? Well, Speakers were far less expensive to replace than a Reader.

Hmm, Deliritous said, looking around the room as if there might be some place he could hide Baz. Of course there wasn’t. The Speaking Room was completely unfurnished save for the shelves, lectern, and chair on the dais. Just a large, open space in which supplicants could wait as the Reader listened to their entreaties and granted them as he or she saw fit. Apparently coming to this realization, Deliritous gave a smile that was half a grimace. I suppose you can turn the pages. Just don’t say anything, all right? My fingers still tingle at the thought of what happened the last time I let Yeltax talk me into letting you perform a Speaking.

Baz’s face reddened, and he looked away from Deliritous, equal parts shamed and furious. The Torchsire heir winced at the reaction he’d caused.

I’m sor— But Deliritous stopped himself before he finished and coughed loudly.

Property isn’t something to which you apologize, Baz thought, still looking away to hide the anger he knew must be showing in his eyes.

Well, anyway, Deliritous said. "Rox always gets cranky when I make him turn my pages. Prefers to be free to watch the supplicants for signs of danger. Sworn to protect me and Words mean what they mean, and all that nonsense he’s always saying."

One’s nonsense is another’s Truth, a voice boomed from the hall beyond the Speaking Room’s doors.

Deliritous rolled his eyes. Oh, Rox. Always so droll. If I understand one thing in ten you say, I count it a grand day.

Rox moved into view. He made the tall oaken doors seem small. Shoulders nearly as wide as the entryway, he towered over Deliritous by a good two feet. He was dressed all in gray, save for the faded leather jerkin that strained across his massive chest. Even his skin was an ashen color that nearly matched his clothing, causing him to blend into the Library’s stone walls. Compared to the rest of his body, his head seemed disproportionately small, though that may have been an illusion caused by the leather mask he wore around his mouth and nose. Narrow slits allowed for breathing and permitted one to just make out the movement of his lips when he spoke. He was entirely bald, though his hairless pate showed several scars, badges of his vocation.

Rox was Deliritous’s Harbour. His sworn protector. Bred and raised solely for the purpose of protecting Readers, Harbours were regarded as frightening killers, and Rox was no exception, save for one thing: he was a native of Enigma, one of Oration’s three cities, and the one that specialized in the third branch of the Trinity: Influence. He couldn’t Read, of course, but it was said all Enigmans had a peculiar way of speaking. They could take any sentence and make it mean whatever they wished, and not only that, but make you believe that’s what you’d meant. The Duke had won Rox in a bet with an Enigman trader shortly after Deliritous had been born, and Rox has been his Harbour ever since, watching over him since he’d been in the cradle.

M’lord? came a voice from the hall, somewhere behind Rox. Before Baz even realized someone had spoken, Rox spun, weapon in hand.

A Harbour’s weapon is like no other. Whereas ordinary men use axes or swords, Harbours are trained in the razor. In its compact form, it is a serrated blade, slightly longer than an average man’s forearm, with a straight grip along the back allowing it to be wielded with either one or two hands. At first glance, it doesn’t look like much more than a woodsman’s saw. But in the hands of a Harbour, the weapon can wreak havoc on human flesh in close quarters. And if the Harbour’s target is farther away? A snap of the wrist engages a hinge to one side of the handle, extending the blade out and more than doubling the weapon’s reach, exposing a straight, cleaving edge opposite the serrated teeth.

Rox used this latter function as he turned, razor extended in one hand, its jagged edge coming to rest at the neck of a slightly hunched woman dressed in a worn and faded dress, though it seemed freshly pressed. She was carrying a basket of chicks, their fuzzy yellow heads poking above the basket’s rim. As she flinched away from the Harbour, one of them toppled out of the basket and scurried between Rox’s legs into the Speaking Room.

Stupid giant, Baz muttered, pouncing on the chick and scooping it up as gently as he could.

Rox! Deliritous snapped. Put that murder stick away. It’s just one of the supplicants. Though I would like to know who’s supposed to be guarding the Library’s side entrance. You are a bit early, ma’am. Deliritous turned an apologetic smile to the woman, though her wide eyes were still focused solely on Rox, who had folded up his razor and taken a step away from her.

It must be the gap in the guard at the lunch hour, Master Deliritous, Tax said.

The gap in the... Deliritous slapped a hand to his forehead. Yes, of course. Ever since we caught that fellow stealing the silver last week and cast him out. Father’s been looking for a replacement, but finances being as they are and...

Deliritous appeared to realize that the woman was listening to him, her eyes growing even wider than they had when Rox’s razor had been at her throat. Deliritous’s cheeks reddened.

Oh, don’t you worry, good woman. Things were a bit tight there for a while after Father’s injury, but the money’s been coming in again these past few years. I’m sure that—

Tax cleared his throat to stop Deliritous’s rambling. The woman’s jaw was at risk of falling from her face onto the floor.

Deliritous flushed. Well, that explains the missing guard, anyway, he muttered. Yeltax, put those Books down and draw back one of the curtains. Let’s get some light in here! I’m sorry for the trouble ma’am, and the Torchsire Library’s apologies for how cold it is in here, but no fires in the Speaking Room. Not good for the books, after all.

The woman appeared speechless for a moment, whether over being directly addressed by the heir of one of Erstwhile’s nine Libraries or still from the shock of Rox’s near assault, it was difficult to say. She shook her head, blinking her eyes several times.

It’s all right, m’lord, I’m sure. But, if I might be so bold, where is the Duke? I came for a Speaking. My chicks, you see. They’re sick. And I need them. The eggs, it’s how I make me money.

Baz might have just been imagining things, but Deliritous seemed to draw himself up a little taller.

I’ll be doing the Speaking today, good lady. And I see no reason to wait. Why don’t we begin?

Oh, said the woman, bending her head to one side, as if imagining the Duke might be hiding somewhere on the dais behind Deliritous. Are you certain, m’lord? I could come back another day if—

No, no, Deliritous cut in. It’s quite all right, wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. Come, Yeltax. Attend me on the dais for the Reading. You too, Baztian. If I recall right, the spell we’ll need for this woman’s chicks spans multiple pages. Killing’s a prolonged process, even if it is only killing an illness. Lady, if you’d just give your offering to Rox there, we’ll get started in a moment.

The woman opened her mouth as if she wanted to say more, but shut it again, then handed over a few coins to Rox. The Harbour’s hand wasn’t much smaller than the basket she carried, and the woman tossed the coins into it, rather than risk touching him. Baz gave the chick he’d corralled a final pet and handed it back to the woman, giving her a look of commiseration. She smiled and took the bird, though her eyes darted away when they landed upon the Destruction brand on his forehead. Baz turned before she could see his scowl, heading for the dais. Deliritous was rummaging in the shelf of Spoken Books, which he’d unlocked with a large gold key, a glimmering sapphire set in its handle.

Now Yeltax, which Book of Creation is that healing spell for poultry in?

Baz shot his brother a quick look, eyebrow arched. Tax just shook his head. This was what the future of Torchsire Library depended on? Tax cleared his throat and leaned close to the youth, speaking quietly. Pardon me, Master Deliritous. But if the lady’s chicks have an infection, you’ll be wanting a Book of Destruction to kill the disease. That one, I think. Tax pointed to a tome twice the size of the one Baz had been Reading prior to Deliritous’s arrival. It was bound in red leather with golden letters of Destruction etched on its spine.

Right, Deliritous said. Just testing you out, ol’ Yeltax. You passed, of course.

Baz rolled his eyes at Deliritous’s turned back. A grunt like the sneeze of a giant boar startled Baz so that he nearly stumbled off the dais. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed Rox towering over him. The Harbour couldn’t have seen the derisive expression Baz had given Deliritous. But still, he wiped all condescension from his face. No one made friends with a Harbour, but you could certainly lower your chances of a Harbour using his razor on you. Insulting the Harbour’s Reader was not such a method.

Deliritous removed the tome Tax had indicated and nearly dropped it as he made his way to the lectern. The lady twisted her hands on the basket’s handle and looked sidelong toward the door, as if calculating whether she could make it there without Deliritous noticing.

Right, Deliritous said, flipping through the Book’s pages once he’d gotten it settled on the lectern. We seem to have used this one a lot lately, old Yeltax. Ink’s starting to fade. Make note that we’ll need to send it to the Conservators soon for restoration.

Tax glanced at the Book. As you command, Master Deliritous. Though, if I might be so bold, it appears there’s enough elemental ink there for several more Readings before the Book will lose its power.

Deliritous stopped flipping pages for a moment. Baz held his breath.

Don’t let me catch you looking at a Book’s Words again, Yeltax, Deliritous said, quiet enough that the waiting woman couldn’t hear.

A twitch at the edge of Tax’s mouth was his only outward admission of error. Of course. My apologies.

Deliritous began flipping through the Book again. And kept flipping. Then began flipping back the other way.

Why, good Yeltax, Deliritous said, an edge of frustration replacing the warning that had been in his tone, are there so many Words in a book that holds so few spells? This one can’t have more than a dozen, and the longest doesn’t have more than but a few pages of Reading.

Deliritous often complained of this, and Baz knew by now that he didn’t expect an answer. A simple spell might require only a single Spoken sentence, and even the most complex rarely required more than a few pages of text. The rest of the Book provided guidance on pronunciation and enunciation, detailed history of the spells’ origins, and suggested uses. Also, unless one was using a starter, all that elemental ink was needed to provide sufficient fuel to power the spell. All things that Deliritous ought to have been committing to memory, rather than complaining over.

Here it is, Deliritous finally announced. Well, no need to dally. There’ll be other supplicants here soon. Ready, Yeltax?

Tax took a deep breath and nodded. For all that he said against the Readers in private, Baz’s brother always took his job of Speaking seriously. Even if he was a slave, his Speakings helped Illits like the poor woman.

Move just a bit closer, Yeltax. Don’t want you straining.

Tax’s lips thinned. He was only a handful of steps away from Deliritous and the Book before him, easily close enough to draw power from the elements imbued in the Book’s ink. But arguing was pointless, and he shuffled a step closer.

Very good, Deliritous said. Now, Baztian, be ready with the page turn.

Baz nodded, making the incredibly stupid mistake of repeating Tax’s earlier error by looking down toward the page Deliritous had stopped on to see the last few Words written there. A growl from a wide-eyed Tax was all that saved Baz from a whole lot of explaining. Or worse.

I say, Yeltax. Are you quite all right?

Fine, Master Deliritous, Tax said, taking his eyes from Baz. Just a new exercise to warm up my vocals is all.

Hmm, well I don’t like it, but do what you must if it helps. Let’s begin. Just hold out those chicks a little closer, my good woman, and we’ll have them cured in a jiff.

Without waiting to see if the woman complied, Deliritous stooped over the Book like a gargoyle. He opened his mouth to begin, but once again Rox, who had moved to stand behind Tax, one hand on his razor, cleared his throat like the crash of a wave.

Yes, yes, Rox, Deliritous said, exasperated. The Stop Rune, though I don’t know what Yeltax could possibly do to me with a spell designed to cure chickens of a runny nose.

He ran his finger over the page for a moment before apparently finding the Rune and uttering it aloud. There was actually a third use of the Stop Runes that Baz hadn’t given to Tax earlier—to ensure the Speaker didn’t cast the desired spell, then Speak it again, targeting the Reader. That was why Rox had moved behind Tax. Any indication that Baz’s brother intended to betray Deliritous, and Baz would have a front row seat to the damage Rox’s razor could inflict upon a human body.

Satisfied, Rox? Deliritous asked.

Keep you from harm is the oath I swore, Rox rumbled in reply. The words mean what they mean.

Deliritous shook his head like he’d heard that dozens of times before. Which, of course, he had. In fact, Baz had heard Rox say that dozens of times. Surely Deliritous had heard it thousands.

Good, then let’s start with the Words that actually matter.

Deliritous began Reading in the guttural tones of Destruction. His pronunciations were all off. Voice moving like silk over what ought to have been hard consonants, rolls of the tongue that ought to have been snaps. For a lesser Speaker, such incompetence would have been a disaster. But Tax was one of the best Speakers in all Erstwhile, and he ignored Deliritous’s floundering, repeating the words that came stammering out of Deliritous’s mouth with perfect diction. Baz followed his brother’s movements—the shape of his vowels, how he enunciated consonants—admiring his skill.

Deliritous snapped his fingers, then stopped Speaking a moment later. Too late, Baz realized that had been the signal to turn the page. He fumbled toward the Book, but only managed to give himself a paper cut. Deliritous cursed, and Tax yelped out in pain as Baz felt a rush of power leap from the altar, straight toward where the woman stood with her chicks. Several sickening pops were quickly followed by a scream. Baz looked up in time to see the lady trip over backward and fall to the Speaking Room’s stone floor, some of the splattered remains of her chicks staining her dress, face, and, Baz noted with particular chagrin, her hair.

Baztian you... Deliritous half raised a hand to strike him, then appeared to reconsider and instead just shook his head in disgust. Rox, get over there and help her. I’m sorry, good woman. But these things do happen. I’ll see you receive recompense from the treasury for this mishap.

The woman looked horrified at the prospect of Deliritous giving her further help. She got up before Rox reached her and ran from the Speaking Room without a backward glance. She left the ruined basket behind on the floor.

On the floor. Right next to a displaced flagstone she must have tripped over during her fall. Rox bent over the exposed hole.

What’s this? he boomed, leaning over and coming up with the Book Tax had placed there. The Book from which Baz had been Reading right before Deliritous had entered.

Why, that’s the missing Book of Destruction. Burning take me! Father had three servants executed because he suspected they’d taken it. And it’s been here the whole time?

Hmmm, Rox rumbled. That’s not all. The foreboding tone of the Harbour’s voice sent waves through Baz’s already roiling stomach. He looked to his brother, but Tax was standing rail straight and staring straight ahead.

There’s this. Rox plucked the Bookmark from the volume and handed it to Deliritous. It was a thin strip of leather, perhaps two fingers wide and about as long as a book was tall. The symbols of each of the three branches of the Trinity were burned into it with dark brands: the trees of the Creator, Leamina Fortune; the dragons of the Destroyer, Helfax Erstwhile; and the scales of the Enigma, Pront vi Lextor. The same three symbols were branded on Tax’s forehead, marking him a Tri.

Why, Deliritous said, turning the Bookmark over in his hands, this is... His eyes widened as they darted over to Tax. He took a step back. This is your father’s marker, Yeltax. I remember my own father gave it to you after your father’s, er, retirement. It was you who took the Book?

Baz opened his mouth to cry a defense of his brother, but the sudden blaze in Tax’s eyes snapped Baz’s mouth shut. Deliritous looked away from Tax, continuing to turn the Bookmark over and over in his hands, as if it would give him some answer.

You’ve been Reading, haven’t you? Father warned me you might be too smart for your own good, but I told him you’d never do such a thing. Shows how much I know.

Master Deliritous, Tax said, voice unbelievably calm, I’m not sure how that Book got there, but I assure you—

He wasn’t going to hurt anyone! Baz blurted, certain that saying something would be helpful.

Tax’s mouth hung open midword for several seconds, then slowly closed. Deliritous’s stayed open for much longer. The sad smile Tax gave Baz would be imprinted in Baz’s mind for the rest of his life.

Silence stretched for some time. Baz yearned for his brother to say something smart that would cancel this whole thing out. Show it for some great misunderstanding. It had been Baz who’d suggested using Father’s marker in the Book. Let’s put it to its intended purpose, he’d told Tax. Tax hadn’t wanted to initially, but finally he’d agreed after seeing how happy it made Baz. Now look where that stupid sentiment had gotten them.

Well, Deliritous finally said, voice a whisper, hard and sad all at once. There’s only one thing we can do to a Cuss, Rox. Kill him.

No! Baz cried, turning on Deliritous. No! I won’t let you!

Baz, stop, Tax said. Don’t make this even harder than it’s already going to be.

Come, Rox, Deliritous said with urgency in his tone, as if this were somehow hurting him. Get on with it.

Baz’s eyes darted to Rox, as if the massive man could hold any hope for him. But the giant actually seemed to hesitate.

A threat to you he is not, Rox said.

Not a threat? Deliritous’s voice came out a shrill whine. "A Cuss could lay waste to this Library, Rox. And if the other Libraries hear we let one go unpunished? Torchsire would be no more! Every Library in the Triumvirate would send assassins in a matter of days. How safe do you think I’d be then?"

Rox turned his head to one side as if considering, then exhaled in what might have been a sigh. I hear Truth. The words mean what they mean. He began to walk toward Tax.

Keep breathing, Baz, Tax said, standing tall in the Harbour’s shadow. Keep surviving.

Baz never forgot the sound of his brother’s screams.

Part 2

The Acktus Trials, Part 2

Chapter 3

TEN YEARS LATER.

Baz was out on yet another errand for Deliritous, walking down a street in lower Erstwhile. It was cloudy, as it almost always was there in the shadow of the Daggers, the mountains to the east. The perpetual lack of sunshine did nothing for one’s spirits, and the wind sliced right through Baz’s dark, closely cropped hair. And Scribes forbid if a Speaker were caught wearing a hat that covered the brand on his forehead. His ears were cold, and it was giving him a headache. What he’d give for a cloak with a hood.

Lower Erstwhile was really just any part of Erstwhile outside its nine Libraries, which were positioned on small rises scattered throughout the city. Xavier Library, the city’s largest, sat at the center, with the others arrayed about it. It was the city’s prime, really only, landmark—a single tower of dark stone punctuating the city skyline, lightning rods at the top emphasizing its height.

A door suddenly flew into the street, nearly flattening Baz as he jumped from its path. It had literally flown, right off the hinges, lying flat on the spot Baz had occupied just a moment before. A ruddy-faced man peered out from the now exposed entryway of the house to which the door belonged.

Torn pages, man! Baz shouted. There’s people who’d prefer to keep breathing out here.

No need to curse, young sir. Just trying to fix my door, is all.

Baz eyed the door. It had landed in a puddle, and he suspected water wasn’t the only thing in it. This wasn’t a particularly well-off part of the city, not that any part of lower Erstwhile was particularly well off.

Well, I’d say your efforts are headed in the wrong direction.

The ruddy man’s face darkened. He opened his mouth to utter what Baz hoped would be a colorful curse—he’d had little excitement that day, or month, or really, the past decade. But then the man’s eyes found Baz’s forehead, then progressed over his robes. Torchsire couldn’t afford the fine woolens some other Libraries put on their Speakers. Baz wore ordinary black cloth, the same rune as on his forehead stitched over one breast, and the crest of Torchsire Library—a pair of crossed, smoking torches with a Book between them—on the other, stitched in gold on a burgundy background. The man made the warding gesture of the Trinity, cupping his hands together and opening them like a book, then raising three fingers to his lips.

Apologies. Didn’t realize you were a Speaker. I’ll be more careful. If you wouldn’t, er, mention this to your Duke, I’d appreciate it.

Uh, certainly.

The man knuckled his forehead and gave a short bow to Baz. A bow! Didn’t he realize Baz was a slave, with less freedom than the man himself had? And he was worried about Baz mentioning this incident to the Duke? As if Baz ever talked to Deliritous’s father.

Can I give you a hand with your door before I get moving on? Baz asked. Not that he particularly wished to help the man after he’d nearly flattened him, but Baz would do just about anything to stay outside the dreary walls of Torchsire Library a few minutes longer.

The ruddy man wrung his hands, looking up and down the street, suddenly appearing as if he wished to be elsewhere. Help? he asked, edging away from Baz. Not sure I, er, need your talents, young sir.

Baz flinched, then immediately told himself to calm down. The man wasn’t accusing him of anything. Most Illits were naturally jumpy around Speakers, knowing the value Readers placed upon them. It was like that anxious feeling one gets in a shop full of breakable things he could never afford.

Do you have a hammer? Baz asked. Looks like you just need to drive the bolts back into the hinges.

A hammer?

Sure, Baz said. You know, the tool that’s flat on one end, has a claw on the other, and a longish handle?

Oh, the man said. I don’t really have tools. Usually, there’s a Reader from Xavier that comes through once a week with his Speakers. I’ll ask him to fix whatever needs it around the house. But lately, well, his prices have gotten a little too much for me.

That was a subtle insult, though Baz doubted the man knew it. His house was closer to Torchsire Library than it was Xavier. The Duke would squat and lay bricks if he knew Xaviers were coming this far into Torchsire territory and collecting Speaking fees.

Not that Baz really cared about that. Whether Torchsire was rich or poor, his life wasn’t going to change. What really made Baz shake his head was the man’s utter lack of self-sufficiency. Though, he could hardly blame the ruddy-faced Illit for that. The Libraries liked it that way, the Illits depending solely on them for even the simplest of tasks.

Come on, Baz sighed, walking up to the man. Show me the bolts to the door. I’ll give you a hand.

The man hesitated a moment longer, but finally relented and stepped aside to let Baz enter his house. The interior was small and cramped, with hardly any furnishings. A table and two chairs were shoved into one corner, a small cot opposite them. A third chair with a broken leg lay beside the fireplace on the opposite wall. A couple of exposed shelves held a few sacks of flour and a couple loose potatoes, but were otherwise bare. It was little better than the alcove Baz had in the basement of Torchsire Library, though the man did appear to have a feather mattress.

Here, he said, handing Baz a box. I put the bolts in here, though I can’t remember which ones are which, now.

Baz lifted the box’s lid and grimaced. It was full of fasteners—screws, nails, rods. He prodded at a few items before looking up to the man.

Couldn’t you label them or something?

The man narrowed his eyes. What’s this, a test? Asking me to admit to a crime?

A crime? Baz asked.

Don’t play dumb with me, young sir. Accusing me of being able to label things. Might as well call me a Cuss. I’m a law-abiding citizen. Never even looked at the page of a Book.

Baz winced, seeing his error. Speakers like himself were permitted to learn some rudimentary markings. How would he pick up packages for Deliritous if he couldn’t count out bits and silvs for the shopkeepers? But Illits weren’t even permitted that. Anything that carried even a whiff of literacy was enough to send one to the Conservators’ torture chambers. Baz really needed to be more careful.

I’ll kindly ask you to leave my home, young sir.

Baz didn’t bother arguing. He set the box down and left without a word, continuing to his intended destination, which only took him a few minutes to reach.

The Conservator’s chapel, or Conservatory, sat in the shadow of Xavier Tower, though it was probably the second tallest building in the city. It was a round structure, capped by a dome of faded-blue slate. There were four arched entryways around its exterior, each topped by a triangular gable. Farther up were windows—a square one topped by a taller rectangle—repeated around the circumference. In between the windows were pairs of columns that supported a balcony along the domed roofline.

Baz paused at one of the entrances and sighed. The Conservators were a stuffy lot, which didn’t mix well with his habit of speaking his mind, often at the exact wrong time. Still, they had supplies Deliritous needed for his impending journey, and the Torchsire heir would only send Baz right back here if he didn’t return with them. So in Baz went.

He squinted at the glare, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Nearly everything was made of white stone. The interior was shaped like a cross, with short halls leading from each entrance to intersect in a central atrium. The walls were lined with two-story bookshelves, bisected with balconies. The shelves were mostly empty, the occasional grouping of Books here and there. None of them belonged to the Conservators. Their work lay not in casting spells, but restoring the Books owned by the City’s Libraries.

The center of the atrium was occupied by a large statue. Made of white, polished porcelain, it had a round, winding body like a wyrm, though it had limbs. One end terminated in a massive head with gaping jaws and eyes large as the moon. The body was covered in writing inlaid with gold. It was gibberish, though legend told that Words of the Trinity had been tattooed upon the hides of the actual creatures. Book Dragons, the great assistants of the Scribes. None had been seen since the Burning, some three hundred years prior.

Beneath the statue was a group of men in white robes conducting a ritual. Baz looked around but saw no one else, so headed for the statue, steps echoing across the marble floors. Red swirls in the white stone reminded Baz of blood stains.

Scribes watch over us, one of the men was intoning as Baz approached. He was reciting from a book propped up on a pedestal. Baz took great care to keep his eyes off it. The Conservators were the only other people in Oration able to read, as their work demanded they understand both the common tongue to study the Scrivnic scriptures, as well as the languages of the Trinity so that they could restore Spoken Books.

Protect us from the Dark Ones, the other men chanted in reply.

Scribes maintain the barrier, the leader said.

The barrier between this world and the Elsewhere beyond.

So it is written.

So it shall be.

The men fell silent, heads bowed. Baz waited for the ceremony to conclude, but the men just stood there. The Conservatory sigil—a quill and inkwell—was stitched over each of their breasts in gold thread that glistened in the atrium’s brightness.

Uh, pardon me?

Baz’s voice seemed to reverberate around the domed ceiling. In unison, all the men looked up and favored him with equally annoyed glares.

Speaker, said the leader, tone sharp as his starched white robe. The man’s head was bald save for dark wisps strewn with gray about his ears. You dare interrupt the daily worship?

Baz shrugged. Sorry, but I’m on Library business. Reader Deliritous Torchsire told me you had supplies that he needs for the upcoming Acktus Trials.

You’ll need to wait, the Conservator said through gritted teeth.

I will? Baz asked.

The Conservator’s upper lip twisted. How dare—

Baztian!

A woman’s voice drowned out whatever name the Conservator had been about to call Baz.

Oh, Baztian! What are you doing here? They told me you were supposed to be down at the markets.

It was Librarian Leanna, her voice like a mistuned bell sounding on Restday.

Ugh.

That wasn’t fair. As far as people went, she was a step above almost everyone else Baz spent time with. Though, considering most of his time was spent solely in the presence of either Deliritous, Rox, or, more likely than not, both of them together, that wasn’t saying too terribly much of her.

The Conservatory assigned a representative to each of the city’s Libraries and Leanna was Torchsire’s. From her workshop in the Library’s sub-basement, she performed simple restorations that didn’t require the skill of the Journiers and Luminaries here at the Conservatory. And since Torchsire had fewer Spoken Books than many of the other Libraries, the Duke also assigned her other tasks, like caring for his retired Speakers—ones who had outlived their usefulness for one reason or another, save for producing children who might become new Speakers. That meant Baz saw a fair bit of her since he spent as much time with the retired Speakers as he could manage.

She was tall. Taller than him, which Baz pretended didn’t bother him, even though it most certainly did. And she had deep chestnut hair that fell in a pleasant way down to her shoulders, and deep amethyst eyes. And a nice smile. And... well, all right. So there wasn’t much to dislike about her. Except that she was just, well, so burning nice to him. It drove Baz nuts. She wore a habit—with a hood, Baz noted with minor jealousy—in the colors of Torchsire, burgundy and gold, marking her as assigned to that Library. Only the large symbol of inkwell and pen stitched upon the garment’s back marked her as a Conservator, not an actual member of the Torchsire family.

I’ll take care of him, Master Restorer Brennaton, Leanna said to the Conservator who was still leering at Baz. She put an arm around Baz’s shoulder and steered him toward the nearest exit.

But Deliritous’s supplies, Baz said.

Later, Leanna murmured through the smile plastered on her face. If you say another word, the Master Restorer is likely to give you a penance. Would you like that?

Baz considered a few retorts, like calling Leanna by her true title: Librarian. She hated that. Leanna was always going on about her aspirations for advancement, her yearning to be raised to a Journier who worked on far more complex tasks in the Conservatory itself. But instead, Baz shut his mouth, permitting her to lead him back outside. He’d never admit it aloud, but Leanna was right. Baz had annoyed the wrong Conservator more than once, and each time had gotten him an entire day of standing with his face to a blank wall, repeating the same prayers to the Scribes over and over.

You’d think they’d be a little more understanding, Baz muttered once they were back outside. Deliritous leaves for the Trials in just a couple days. Even the Conservators take a keen interest in the Trials.

Leanna shrugged. Respect to the Scribes above all else, Baztian. You should know that. You’re right, though. It is all the Conservators are talking about right now. What new Spoken Books will the competitors bring back this year?

Don’t get your hopes up, Baz said. You know there are only three competitors this year, and at least one of them’s bound to end up dead. Hopefully it’ll be Deliritous, so I won’t have to deal with him anymore.

Baztian!

What? It’s just statistics. I might not be allowed to Read, but I can do simple math.

Leanna pursed her lips. It’s too bad you aren’t going with him.

I don’t... Hey!

She grinned. I didn’t really mean it that way, but that was good, wasn’t it? But really, it is a shame. I think he’s afraid to really use you, you know?

Baz frowned. No. What do you mean?

She shrugged. Just because, well, of your brother, I mean. Even the Stop Rune doesn’t prevent a Destroyer from turning the initial Reading of a spell on his Reader.

Ha! And get a shave from Rox’s razor for my troubles? I might dream of Deliritous jumping off Xavier Tower, but I value my breath far too much to turn a spell on him.

Leanna huffed. Well, I still think it’s a shame he doesn’t value your talents. Yeltax said—

Let’s not talk about my brother, all right? What did you come running all the way down here to tell me, anyway?

Oh, right. They need you over at Xavier Tower right away.

At the tower? He’d been there a few times, dragged along as part of the Duke’s entourage for a meeting of the Table of Ennea, the city’s governing body, but it wasn’t a common destination for him.

Yeah, Leanna replied. It’s really exciting. They’ve caught a Citiless!

A Citiless? Not much excited Baz, and it’d be a stretch to say even this excited him. But a Citiless? At a minimum it was the most interesting thing he’d heard today. Likely that month.

Quite interesting.

Chapter 4

WHERE DID THEY CATCH him? Baz asked.

Although the Conservators’ chapel was practically beneath Xavier Tower, the roads in this part of Erstwhile twisted and wound about, so it was still a bit of a walk to get there. The tower had once been the manor of Helfax Erstwhile, the city’s founder and one of the three great Scribes. By all accounts he’d been a miserable