From a distance, the Last Repository had looked grand, wondrous, and yet somehow attainable: a place that could be reached and entered. Closer, the castle was too large for Queen Estie’s eyes and mind to grasp. The road passed below it, heading south, then turned back to make its final approach. As she ascended the slope to the wide plateau that fronted the library, she felt herself diminished. The plateau itself was vast. She had no difficulty imagining Set Ungabwey’s largest caravans settled there. Yet it seemed small below the height and whiteness of the library’s base.

There the Repository’s Magisters and its many other inhabitants lived. The massive block served as a foundation and defense for the tower of books that squatted like a fortress at the edge of the plateau. Its outer wall was featureless except for the high wooden gates of its only entrance. There were no other doors. But well above the gates stretched the crenelated balcony or rampart where its people could walk or watch—or fight.

Past that rampart, the rounds were only visible in glimpses. And behind them stood the sheer cliffs of the Wall as if the mountains themselves defended the fortress. In fact, the main keep extended deep into the nearest cliff. It was a place where hundreds or thousands of people could live in safety.

Despite her excitement, her anger, her need, Amika’s Queen felt herself shrink at the sight. She was too small to find what she needed there.

She saw no one, either on the plateau or along the high rampart. Nevertheless her arrival had been noticed. As she and her immediate escort trotted onto the plateau, followed by her carriage, the wagon, and Commander Crayn’s rearguard, they were greeted by the sound of mournful horns, a minor chord like an announcement of woe. And while the call echoed off the cliffs, the great gates eased open, noiseless on their massive hinges.

They resembled the doors of a crypt.

Instinctively, Estie halted. At her word, Crayn and his men settled their mounts into a line with her at its center. Their hands rested on their rifles, but they did not unsling the guns from their shoulders.

The gates parted only far enough to let two men emerge. They wore the grey robes of sorcerers. Apparently holding hands, they came toward the Queen at once. Almost at once, she realized that she knew who they were. Her husband had described them. To her, they seemed as portentous as living legends.

Magister Avail and Magister Rummage.