One of the culminating events of the Promise Day celebration each year was the Templar exhibition. Raith found it ironic that to celebrate mortal’s liberation from the tyranny of the gods, they showed off powers that were a direct legacy of those same gods. Despite the irony, it was very impressive to watch.

  The city’s main arena was where the Tier 1 skirmishers matches took place, as well as famous bard concerts and the like. Today it was filled to the 100,000 seat capacity for the Templar exhibition. Raith stood in the lower entrance to catch the beginning before making his way to the library. He didn’t have long to wait.

  A hush fell over the crowd as an elderly gnome [Elementalist] wearing plain brown robes made his way slowly out onto the field. He knelt, placing his hand on the dirt. Raith could feel the rumbling in his chest before he heard it. It built up for several seconds until, with terrifying abruptness, a spire of rock fifty feet tall spouted from the center of the stadium. Dirt showered those sitting closest, and a cheer erupted from the crowd.

  The old gnome bowed, then made his way back off the field as slowly as he’d come. Three Templars replaced him, entering from three different directions to converge on the spire. A shirtless man with muscles so large they bordered on absurdity charged towards the spire. The war cry he roared sounded comically small in the enormous stadium, right until he punched the spire with a blow so mighty the rock cracked clear through. Screams of alarm rose as the massive stone tipped, but the man leveraged himself beneath as it fell and lifted it over his head. With a grunt, he hurled the spire directly into the air above them.

  Now a gray robed Templar stepped forwards, folding her arms across her chest. She spun, forming a huge spiral of wind around herself. The column of air caught the rock before it could fall back to the earth. Fierce gusts howled and whipped the audience, but the tempest at the center narrowed and pushed the spire so high they had to crane their necks to see it. As quickly as it started, she halted her spin, and the wind cut off.

  More cries of alarm rose as the massive stone plummeted back to earth, and this time a number of people began to run. Before the crowd could descend into panic, the last Templar stepped up. Two bright red beams of light fired from her eyes, striking the spire as it fell. Within seconds, the entire stone was reduced to nothing but dust that drifted in a cloud slowly back down through the air.

  After a moment of stunned silence, the crowed went wild.

  Raith knew better than anyone that not all, or perhaps even most, [Divine] skills were this flashy. But it was still fun to watch them in action. Hours of music and demonstrations were scheduled, but he would not be able to stick around for them this year. He jogged out of the stadium, and was relieved to find the streets mostly clear as he hurried to the library.

  As promised, Nessa was setting up a cart right outside. She studiously avoided looking his way as he walked up the steps to the library doors. A crowd had already begun to gather, and he smiled to see that Thea had kept her promise to spread the word.

  He spotted many green Loremaster robes, but no sign of Master Rinnel. A slight trepidation rose in his gut, but he pushed it away. He’d have to trust Thea. When he’d asked her about it yesterday, she insisted she had it handled but refused to elaborate. With anyone else, he would have pressed the issue, but it wouldn’t have done any good with her.

  Stepping into the library, Raith was reminded that he disliked this place entirely aside from animosity towards the Order. A vast stone room lined with massive wooden shelves and a double row of tables down the center. Two wings, each a quarter the size of the main room, swept off to either side. A second level ringed the outside wall in a massive circle of shelves and balcony, leaving the center open to the soaring height of the domed ceiling. It felt cold and austere in contrast to the welcoming warmth of Vandimir’s shop.

  Several years ago, he made a list of all of his ‘must read’ books in this collection. For two straight weeks, he’d spent every available moment plowing through them so he would never have to step foot in here again. It had been a silly idea. His ever changing obsessions dragged him back from time to time, but he still avoided it whenever possible.

  Only a few holdouts remained at the tables, surrounded by piles of tomes and lost in their research. None so much as glanced up as he entered the building. The sole remaining Loremaster sat behind a large counter near the entrance. The elderly woman greeted him with a hopeful look, then obvious disappointment as she returned to her reading.

  Sorry, I’m not whoever you’re expecting, lady.

  Still no sign of Rinnel. The door to the Rare and Priceless section sat halfway down the wall across from the front desk. As always, the large wooden door was closed and Raith had no idea how to determine if anyone was inside. Stepping over to the nearest shelf, he grabbed a couple of books at random and positioned himself at a table to observe the door while he pretended to read.

  Concern grew as each minute passed, with no sign from Master Rinnel. He was just about to risk peeking in when the door finally opened. The frail aged man was completely swallowed by his dark green robes, but the eyes behind those famous spectacles were sharp as a hawk. He held onto the arm of an unremarkable looking middle aged woman, who everyone in this city recognized on sight.

  Weaver's tits, that’s Myst.

  Her comfortable adventurer’s garb seemed to match her casual appearance, but even Raith could recognize the expensive magical fabrics from which they were woven. Fireproof ashen fleece, shorn from volcano dwelling ember rams, was expertly blended with moonspider silk. Two curved short blades sat on her hips, and the fifth braid warrior could put them to better use than almost anyone on Tela. But it was her [Divine Skill] that made the Templar nearly unmatched in battle. At will she could make herself, in part or whole, as insubstantial as the morning fog.

  Rinnel closed the door behind them and gave it a tug to ensure it had latched properly. Resuming his hold on Myst’s arm, he gave her hand a friendly pat as she helped him hobble across the marble floor.

  “Thank you again for your help, young woman. It’s very kind of you to take the time for a useless old man.”

  She looked at him, aghast.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, sir. I’ll count myself a victor if I’m half as useful when I’m your age.”

  “I just wish I knew where my cane got off to. Damned inconvenient. It’s the Weaver’s own luck this cobbler has come to visit. They say such wonderful things about her shoes, you know.”

  The woman at the front counter looked up as the pair approached, something akin to desperation in her eyes.

  “Master Rinnel. Would you please remind our colleagues out there that one of them needs to come relieve me so I don’t miss the sale?”

  “Of course, dear. You’ll get a turn, even if I have to sit there myself.” She smiled and visibly relaxed. The old Loremaster turned back towards Myst as they continued their shuffle outside. “Now have I ever told you about the time the merdragon Emperor Palagrion requested me specifically for assistance in tracing his lineage back to the True Dragons.”

  Raith waited until the door completely shut with a woof of air before breathing a sigh of relief. Seeing Myst brought home the seriousness of getting caught. If someone like that came after him, he might as well just lie down on the floor and die. Not that they were likely to execute him for trespassing. Probably. He hoped.

  The woman at the counter eased back into her reading, looking up only to glance hopefully at the entrance. Raith casually shelved his books and then tried to look nonchalant walking over to the Rare and Priceless section. No one paid him a bit of attention, which was extremely fortunate if he looked half as awkward as he felt.

  His outlook improved upon finding that a bookcase obstructed the line of sight from the counter to this door. He took a deep, steadying breath. Now that Rinnel left, getting inside this room was the biggest gamble. Reaching into his pocket, he felt the cool, smooth wardstone the Thieves Guild had lent him. After using [Distinguished Guest] he activated the stone.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Nothing seemed to happen.

  The alarm was supposed to be disabled for ten seconds if the stone worked. If it hadn’t, and he opened that door, Myst or someone like her would be hunting him down in moments.

  Five seconds left.

  He reached out and grabbed the handle, closing his eyes.

  Three seconds.

  He flung the door open and stepped through. No alarm sounded as he quietly shut the door behind him. A warm rush of relief flooded his body.

  I could kiss Willoughby. Ok maybe not kiss. But at least offer heartfelt thanks.

  He found himself alone in a room that was much larger than he was expecting. Unlike the austerity main hall, this room had low ceilings and plush rugs carpeting the floor. At least a dozen long bookshelves ran down each side, with tables along the wall for study. An elaborate archway led to another room in the back, where he could see a row of oversized books. This was going to be a problem. He had no idea how these books were organized or where to start.

  He walked up to the closest shelf to check the titles. Anatomy texts on all the races of Tela. It was tempting to stay and start reading, but the clock was ticking. If everything went quickly, maybe he could sneak in a few more books. Making his way down one side, it seemed the tomes were loosely categorized by topic. Several rows down, he arrived at the section on Gnomish skills and classes.

  Better knock out the Thieves Guild quest while I’m standing here.

  He stepped back to view the entire shelf and activated [Life in Staccato].

  There it is. Tapestry of a Trapmaster, by Rold Gimmley.

  According to Willoughby, Rold had been legendary in his day. Even centuries later, his name was lauded in thief circles. Raith took down the tome and began to read. The content was astounding. He’d never seen anything like it. The information on traps assumed a starting level of knowledge far beyond anything he could conceive. It might as well have been written in another language.

  And the patterns! Nothing below fourth braid in skills either [Skills] or [Classes]. Some were even seventh braid. There may not be a single person alive on Tela that was seventh braid right now. Such beautiful complexity in every stitch. While this wouldn't be the path he followed, it was a sobering reminder of how far he had to go to reach the highest halls of power.

  When he finished, he placed the book reverently back on the shelf.

  I didn’t charge them nearly enough for this.

  He paused to look for a book on the gnomish [Gizmoteer] class. Vandamir’s shop had ignited a fascination in their wondrous contraptions. Part inventor, part enchanter, all curiosity, Raith had been determined to weave the [Gizmoteer] class for a time. He’d been heartbroken to hear the gnomes never shared those patterns with outsiders. After a thorough search, it looked like even the Order of the Loom wasn’t privy to their secrets.

  Moving back through the shelves took longer than he liked. They were too close together for him to step back far enough and view the entire thing at once before activating his [Skill]. This forced him to check only a quarter of a shelf at a time.

  Adding to his frustration, he came across dozens of books that he absolutely had to read. Every moment he wasted looking for his book was a moment he couldn’t spend trying to sneak in one of these while he had the chance.

  He made it through the entire main room without a hint of Exalted Patterns. Going in and out of [Staccato] made it very difficult to keep track of how much time had actually passed, but it felt like this was taking way too long.

  What if it’s not here?

  He shook his head as if to dislodge the thought through his ears. It had to be here. That only left the room in the back.

  These books ranged from almost too big to pick up, all the way to three books along the back wall that were taller than him. Raith realized with awe that the huge books must have been penned by True Giants. Dust covered many of the tomes, and he immediately began to search for his book.

  Nestled in the corner, draped in dusty cobwebs, sat Galath Stone-eye’s Lexicon of Exalted Patterns. Raith dropped his skill and leapt in a complete circle, unable to stop himself from letting out a little yip of glee. He looked nervously around, but it was very unlikely anyone had heard his outburst through the thick stone walls.

  The book was huge. Not gargantuan like the ones on the back wall, but it was over three feet tall and more than half again as wide. The damn thing probably weighed as much as he did. Cyclops were ‘only’ about ten feet tall, and this tome was big even for them. The giant-kin often oversized their creations out of some sort of yearning to get back to their roots. This sometimes comical stature insecurity had now become a real problem.

  Reaching out to brush away the cobwebs, he gave the tome an experimental tug. It didn’t budge. The twice cursed cover was made of actual stone.

  Those absolute fuckers. Why stone? Even the giant-kin would find this too heavy.

  Bracing one foot high on the shelf, he grabbed hold of the book with both hands and heaved. It came tumbling off with a clatter, and a huge crack formed on the spine where it hit the floor. A frantic use of [Bookbinding] took care of about a third of the damage. He did the math, and should have time for a couple more cooldowns to get the whole thing fixed.

  Raith stood the book up and leaned it on the shelf. With a shaking hand, he opened to the first page.

  "As the chosen of the gods, we giant-kin are heir to their legacy in both power and dominion over Tela. It is my solemn duty as Patrician to record the patterns of our divine greatness, that the majesty of our ascendance be eternal."

  The Age of Giants was many millenia past, and the only thing that remained eternal was their arrogance. But this was finally it. Months of research, waiting and desperate searching was over. He read with the appetite of a man long starved, pausing only long enough to turn each page.

  It was all that he’d hoped for, and more. Not only did it detail the [Class] and [Skill] he sought, there were nearly two dozen more, each more extraordinary than the last. Most of them were far afield of his class progression, but several…well, he’d have time to sort through it all when he got out of here.

  By the time he was finished, he couldn’t wait to get out of there and braid up. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he had a feeling he was pressing his luck. As agonizing as it was to leave without reading more of these marvelous tomes, he needed to hurry.

  Crouching down, he wriggled his fingers underneath Exalted Patterns and heaved up with his legs. The tome came up with him, and he managed to hook its corner over the lip of the sturdy shelf. He leaned most of the book’s weight onto his shoulder while he repositioned his hands to shove it back into place. When he let go of the bottom, one corner slipped off the shelf, twisting the book away from his body and crashing down. Cover facing up and cracked in half. Pages bent and splayed against the floor.

  “Fuck!”

  There was way too much damage to fix in the time he had.

  [Staccato]

  His mind raced and Raith forced himself to calm down. This was fine. He could fix this. There is no reason to panic.

  Ok, I don’t actually need to fix it all the way. Dust covered this book when I arrived. No one has read it in years. I just need to make it look good enough to pass while it’s shelved.

  Releasing the skill, he lunged at a loose piece of the huge stone cover and heaved it up onto the shelf.

  Grabbing the other piece, he carefully maneuvered it on the other side so the pages would slide in between them when he go the book up there. Without the majority of the cover, the weight was more manageable, although still really heavy.

  As he attempted to slide it into place, the bent pages snagged on either side. He leaned the mass on his shoulder again, reaching to tuck one side before shifting the weight to do the same to the other. He was straining from the weight, and the book was positioned so he couldn’t see what his hand was doing as he tried to smooth the pages enough to shelve the damn book.

  “You look like you could use a hand with that.”

  Raith leapt backwards, letting the tome tumble back to the ground. Heart in his throat, he let out a shriek and raised his hands defensively.

  Leaning casually beneath the archway to the back room, Myst stood with her hands resting on the hilts of her weapons and a lopsided grin on her face. There was no way she came through the door without him hearing it open. He wondered how long she had been standing there.

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  She shifted away from the wall and took a step towards him. He flinched.

  “Not unless you make me.”

  Oh, thank the Weavers.

  For just a moment there, he’d been more certain he was about to die than he was that the sun would rise. The relief was overwhelming, but pivoted back into dread as he realized that was hardly the end of his predicament. He glanced at the broken tome on the floor and her eyes followed his gaze. She looked back at him and raised her eyebrows. He gave a weak smile.

  “I can fix that.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  Raith knelt on the floor and began scooping up the gravel with both hands. After dumping it on top of the book, he activated the repair skill. To his great relief, it actually bound the loose rock back into shape, although there was still a long way to go before it was whole.

  “See! Just give me half an hour and it’ll be good as new." He looked back down at the mess, then to Myst. “Ok, maybe an hour. Then I’ll get out of your hair and we can pretend this never happened.”

  “I’m afraid that thread was snipped a while ago. There are about a dozen guards outside that door.” She nodded towards the entrance he had come through. “I volunteered to come see what all the racket was before they came barging in here. Don’t you worry about that book. The librarians have plenty of [Skills] to set it right.”

  He glanced nervously at the door. Bile rose in his throat and he forced it down.

  “So what happens now?”

  “Now, you walk on ahead of me, nice and easy. Right out that door and into the loving arms of those guards. Then you become their problem, and I go get some lunch.”

  Much to Raith’s dismay, that is exactly what happened. He assumed she even went for lunch afterwards, but he was too busy getting thrown into a cell to find out.