The silence of the snowfall seemed to demand quiet. When groups or individuals spoke to each other, they talked in whispers as if they feared being overheard. The people most responsible for the library—Magisters Threnody, Rummage, Avail, and Bleak—kept watch together in silence, dismayed by what the storm concealed—and by what its passing might reveal.

Shaken by the horde’s feasting, many of the Repository’s people withdrew to their homes. For decades, they had feared what was coming without knowing exactly what they feared, apart from the ruin of their treasured books. And even that fear had a quality of abstraction. It surpassed imagining. But now they did not need to imagine it. They had seen it in its rawest form as fangs tore through flesh and viscera and bone, devouring the living and the dead alike. Even the bravest of them were shocked to the core by the Great God’s viciousness. When they could speak of it, their whispers trembled, and the blood drained from their faces.

But for Magister Rummage, it was the loss of the Knights that left him rigid with rage and shame. He had allowed them to waste their lives.

For some time, he had believed that the enemy’s first goal would be to take and secure the lower plateau. From there, the Great God would launch his assault on the Repository itself. But when Rummage heard that the enemy’s cavalry was on the road, he had considered other possibilities. True, there were only a few sorcerers among the cavalrymen. As the riders approached, however, they would pass directly in front of the thronging priests. Magister Rummage expected those priests to join the charge. They would rise to the Repository’s porch and attack the gates. What other purpose could the cavalry serve?

To his shame, the mute man had condoned Sword Eradimnie’s promise. Now he knew that he had misjudged the Repository’s enemy.

The priests had not accompanied the charge. Without them, the cavalry had posed no serious threat. Neither the riders nor their beasts could have survived the gale of Decimates with which the Repository’s Magisters would have greeted them. Cut off from any possible retreat by Waysel’s cannon, they would have been decimated.

The Knights of Ardor could have joined the defense of the lower plateau. Instead, they had died for nothing.

Scourging himself, Magister Rummage clutched his book to his chest and prayed that he would be brave enough to use it.

During this time, Queen Estie also wandered the halls. Occasionally, she walked with Third Father, but he was still too weak to stay on his feet for long. More often, she accompanied Magister Oblique while the sorceress pursued her own duties.