Bitter winds tumbled down from the high peaks. Interrupted by patches of sunshine, heavy clouds rode west. The conditions would have been difficult, but the Queen’s escort was well supplied against the weather. In the carriage, oil heaters kept out the worst of the cold.

Late in the afternoon of the second day, the company met a clear track leading eastward. Third Father confirmed that it led to the library.

“Is it the only road?” asked Estie.

His downcast manner suggested a shrug. “On foot, men can ascend the foothills wherever they wish. For horses, there are paths. But wagons and other conveyances must use this road.”

Estie passed the monk’s answers to Commander Crayn. The Commander called instructions to the coachman. For sub-Commander Waysel’s sake, Crayn marked the place where the Queen’s company turned off the main track. Followed by its burdened wagon, Estie’s carriage finally left the desert behind and began to ascend the foothills of the Wall Mountains.

The end of the journey was near. The next morning, Queen Estie saw the Repository itself for the first time.

According to Third Father, it was still more than a day away. Here, however, the road crested a ridge that gave a view of the immense castle-fortress where it emerged from the cliffs of the Wall Mountains.

At the sight, Queen Estie’s heart lifted. She jumped down from her carriage and hurried to the edge of the track to study the vista of the library.

It was there at last. Diminished by distance, it looked majestic nonetheless. Huge and indomitable.

Formed of white stone that seemed bright and pure despite the sky’s glowering overcast, the enormous rounds of its tower rose against the snow-clad peaks. They stood in a tall stack, eighteen or twenty of them, each placed a little off-center to counterbalance the tower’s imponderable height. And each of them contained knowledge: books of all kinds, papers, scrolls; maps in loose sheets or bound volumes; treatises on innumerable subjects; pamphlets of instructions and arguments. The Last Repository was a treasure-house of what could be known in the world.

Gazing across the rumpled rise of the foothills, Queen Estie did not wonder why the library’s custodians wanted to preserve it. The wonder was how it had come to exist at all. It had to be ancient beyond imagining. It looked as precious as life.

She had spent too much of her journey fretting. Excited at last, she hurried back to her companions. Claiming her horse from Commander Crayn, she led her company forward at a brisk trot. She wanted to gallop, but she resisted the impulse.

Finally, at least some of her questions would be answered.