The closed library and Ruk’s wild goose chase annoyed me, but I felt like I’d found the trail to something. After eating a late dinner alone, I met Fabulosa and Charitybelle, lounging in the Cross Keys parlor. They drank tea and ate cookies. Tea in Miros never won me over. Most teacups felt too small, and I needed refilling after every drink. Everything about tea seemed so delicate, formal, and overdone.

  Fabulosa greeted me with raised porcelain as I entered. “Howdy, stranger. You made it back in one piece.”

  Charitybelle smiled at me. “Did you find anything out about your journal?”

  “The gnolls translated it, but I gotta double-check some details.” I tactfully avoided mentioning how they had pushed me around and gave me fake coordinates.

  Fabulosa sipped her tea. “How are you going to do that?”

  “I discovered the Grayton University library.” I braced myself for the eye rolls. To them, I remained the same old Apache, the bookworm-warrior. “I’m looking at language books. I wanted to cross-reference their translation with another source.”

  Fabulosa yawned and stretched. “Did you get a story from the notes? What’s the deal with the dungeon?”

  “It seems the gnolls and kobolds wanted the same thing. The warlock discovered another set of coordinates, but it couldn’t get past the kobold blockade. The kobolds couldn’t get past the demons, ending in a stalemate.”

  Fabulosa poured herself another cup of tea. “Stalemate? Hah! It looked more to me like mutual elimination.”

  Charitybelle ignored her. “So you have the coordinates? Are they nearby?”

  “Ugh, that’s what I want to check at the library.”

  “Be careful on the college campus. There might be other players walking around. Someone got knocked out of the contest today.”

  “I missed that. But I’ll need to use Grayton University library. I’ll be as discreet and quick as possible.”

  My assurances didn’t mollify Charitybelle, but she said nothing.

  I checked the contest interface and confirmed 35 remaining players. The realization that other players likely lived in Grayton University hadn’t occurred to me. I’d been wandering around by myself all day, focusing on errands. “Yeah, you’re right. We ought to be more careful.”

  Fabulosa picked through a tray of pastries and cookies. “Yeah, no kidding. C-Belle and I are sticking to the same itinerary. We’ll be together mostly. Stay in carriages if you’re on the street. From what I can tell, it’s the only way to hide your nameplate.”

  “I’m only going to the library.”

  Charitybelle frowned. “It’s probably going to be closed tomorrow. It’s Homeday, you know.”

  Living in the wilderness made me forget the days of the week. Homeday equated to Sunday in Miros. Some called it Idolday—a pun for the words idol and idle, meaning it served as a day of worship and rest. While the library might be open, there would be no classes. I wondered if it increased or decreased the chance of meeting other players.

  Charitybelle shrugged. “We have riding lessons tomorrow anyway. You won’t have time for research. You should pick up equestrian skills because we’re leaving in three days.”

  I stiffened. “I can learn about horses anytime. This trip is our only chance to find out what the gnoll papers were about.”

  “Isn’t the whole point of Applied Knowledge to learn new skills? Riding is something you’re going to need.”

  Fabulosa dogpiled into the argument. “What good will that do you if Jasper throws you during combat on your way to Hawkhurst? You need to pick up horse sense.”

  I grunted. “I spent a power point on Animal Communion for that very purpose. I’m good.”

  Charitybelle pressed her argument. “You should wait a day. It’s a given that Phaosday will be better for research anyway. The whole campus will be open, and they’ll have more resources. Maybe you can ask a linguist or specialist. We’re shopping for supplies, and Fab’s going to a couple of meetings with guild people. You’ll have the whole day to yourself.”

  Fabulosa didn’t look enthusiastic about their schedule. But if she could put up with guild meetings, equestrian lessons wouldn’t be so bad.

  The next day, we took riding classes while the rest of Grayton worshipped and rested. Our all-day exercises involved more than practice and learning than I imagined.

  We learned how to sit in the saddle. The instructors called the mounted postures “seats.” Effective seat described the form for relaxed riding, and it afforded better communication between rider and mount. Good seat involved stability and served as the primary stance for combat fighting. The first posture felt like riding a bike or motorcycle, while the second required me to almost stand in the stirrups.

  Mounted combat required knowing variants of good seat—each optimized for different weapons. For instance, I could use a spear as a lance for charging attacks, a spear for harrying enemies, or a two-handed weapon against opponents on foot or horseback. Every situation needed different control and balance.

  I picked up a new skill called equestrian and ended my all-day training session at rank 3. I learned enough to know I shouldn’t be fighting on horseback anytime soon. Swinging weapons in the saddle required gripping the horse with my legs, but my weak legs proved insufficient. If Jasper moved, I risked falling out of the saddle. Animal Communion helped ease his confusion, but my ineptitude and lack of strength made me an ineffective fighter.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Charitybelle and Fabulosa arranged for more classes the following day and reserved a spot for me in case I finished my research early. We ended our day bow-legged and sore.

  The stiffness and pain worsened the following morning. Getting out of bed required Herculean effort. I had such a hard time walking, sitting, and going downstairs that the library felt like a hundred miles away.

  Fabulosa and Charitybelle looked just as bad. They walked with their arms out for balance, leaning on nearby railings, tables, and chairs for support. Walking around the Cross Keys with such awkward gaits embarrassed us enough that people avoided us. Neither the staff nor the guests risked being drawn into our weirdness.

  The inn’s manager arranged for carriages. She seemed eager to be rid of us. For my trip to the library, I limped from the inn’s front porch into the carriage’s passenger seat. My driver made no comment on my odd behavior—whether out of tactfulness or disinterest, I couldn’t say.

  Once on campus, the stroll to the library seemed interminable. By the time I reached my destination, I’d mastered the art of slow walking, minimizing the use of my leg muscles. It involved a balancing act, and if anyone picked a fight with me, I’d be helpless as a kitten.

  At the library’s front desk, I declined the invitation for a tour. The prospect of taking unnecessary steps held no attraction. Instead, I asked for reference books for gnoll writing. Although my research rank likely rated higher than anyone in the building, I wanted assistance to expedite my investigation. If Grayton kept its catalog as bad as Belden’s, a librarian might reduce the amount of wandering.

  No staff member specialized in gnoll script, but an archivist ushered me to the language section. I followed at a pace much slower than they preferred.

  Left alone, I combed the shelves and found books about kobold, deep elf, dwarf, orc, and goblin languages.

  When the librarian returned to check on my progress, he expressed amazement that I’d already found several books. His brows wrinkled in confusion. “Have you been here before? I don’t recognize you.”

  “No. This is my first time.” I feigned ignorance over what could have possibly impressed him—as if finding books required little effort. When he walked away befuddled, I muttered under my breath. “That’s right. Behold Apache—researcher extraordinaire.”

  Left alone, I skimmed over the contents. One tome covered military chants that goblins used to pass orders down their ranks. I paged through it. They used a consonant-heavy vocabulary designed to be heard over the clamor of battle. Kobolds used whistles, and orcs used drums.

  I familiarized myself with the history and structure of gnoll glyphs. The gnolls used a base-12 system, which meant I had to convert them to a decimal equivalent. We learned how to convert binary numbers to decimals in school, but base-12 systems involved simpler calculations, like converting hours and days into military time.

  My character sheet showed an improved research skill of 31, and my Applied Knowledge buff remained active. That was a good thing. It would cancel only when another skill reached rank 30.

  I opened up my character sheet to see my next highest skill rank.

  I found two books devoted to translating monster tongues. It dedicated one section to gnolls, and I matched the numerals for the coordinates.

  Spreading out parchment pages, I matched and translated the coordinate glyphs. The marks in the margin described the dates, and the warlock’s entries were around a month old.

  I found the glyphs to which Ruk had pointed, converted them to decimal, and confirmed he’d misled me. The old dog hadn’t lied about the coordinate’s first number, only the second. According to my math, the correct coordinates were (-65, -23).

  When I compared the new coordinates to my interface map, I saw that the position fell close to the lizardfolk dungeon, perhaps one mountain to the west. Ruk’s coordinates lay many miles south, deeper into kobold territory.

  I also looked into the glyph that Ruk couldn’t translate. Knowing it might explain what the warlock’s boss wanted. Ruk didn’t seem to be bluffing about it. He’d spent much time looking at it when he translated the text. It wasn’t hard to believe he wasn’t the most literate of gnolls. The book’s vocabulary lists didn’t include a glyph that matched.

  In gnoll writing, related words looked similar. For instance, marks that meant “day” and “night” mirrored each other. Glyphs for colors varied around the same shape. If I couldn’t find the right word, finding its category might be helpful.

  After a day of research, I second-guessed my process. If Ruk didn’t recognize the glyph, it might mean it wasn’t an everyday term. I flipped to the end of the section, where I expected to see obscure and infrequent words.

  During the last hours of daylight, I found a section describing buildings and locations and discovered the term “jail” shared similarities with the mysterious glyph. It resembled an entire category of glyphs associated with words like “storage” and “incarceration.” The noun “shackles” looked similar but wasn’t an exact match.

  If the gnolls wanted something important, I didn’t see how manacles made sense. Could there be a pair of magic shackles somewhere? Had the timid kobolds ransomed a captured prisoner? It sounded like the makings of a quest that might interest me. I enjoyed earning quests, not having them handed to me as if they were leaflets passed out on the street corners.

  As the sun set, the library began closing for the night, and I gave up trying to decipher the little symbol. Despite the mystery, my day went well. I learned much about monster culture and linguistics and decoded the correct coordinates.

  I knew exactly where to find whatever the orcs, kobolds, and gnolls sought.

  After shelving the books in their proper place, I limped back to the Cross Keys with the good news.