Aphenglow shook her head. “I would have sensed it. Anyway, who would go to such trouble?”

“Someone who was afraid you might find something useful regarding the old magic and either not give it to them or give it to the wrong people.”

Aphenglow shook her head, troubled and uncertain. The idea was appalling, even now.

“Do you think the Elves themselves might have done this?” Seersha asked quickly. “Attack the King’s granddaughter?”

“Or someone who hates the Druids,” Bombax broke in. “Someone who would like to see the order disbanded and their magic confiscated and destroyed.”

He explained what had happened the previous day in Arishaig with the death of the old Prime Minister and the election of Drustan Chazhul. Khyber listened and nodded. “Perhaps. Anything is possible. What matters is that someone thinks what Aphen has brought us has value.”

“Or might have value,” Pleysia corrected. “The attempt to steal the diary might have been a protective measure to assure that nothing gets taken out of those storerooms, no matter the value.”

“A preventive act?” Khyber rose and walked over to the chamber doors and opened them. “Would you find something for me to eat and drink?” she asked Garroneck as he stepped forward to see what she required. “Bring it here.”

When he was gone, she dismissed the others, all save Aphenglow, whom she asked to remain behind. With the young Elven woman sitting across from her, she read through the entirety of the diary, pausing only to eat and drink when Garroneck brought her hot food and cold ale.

“Where is Woostra?” she asked her Troll Captain as he was leaving. “He is still with us, isn’t he?”

Garroneck nodded. “Very much so. He is probably down in the library, poring through his books. Do you wish to see him?”

She nodded, and the big Troll departed to find him. Woostra was her personal secretary and the keeper of the Druid records. When she wanted to know something about the history of the Four Lands, she went first to him. She finished her meal while waiting, feeling a measure of strength and contentment return as a result. She had nearly finished reading through the rest of the diary when Woostra finally rushed in, somewhat in a state of dishevelment.

“Mistress, I didn’t realize you were awake.” Rail-thin and bent, he might have weighed a little more than a wool travel cloak soaked through. Hair stuck out of his large ears and tunneled down his neck. His chin hooked up and his nose hooked down. Odd looking didn’t begin to cover it, but his memory was astounding and his work ethic faultless. “Are you well? You look perplexed. Do you need help with something? You must tell me at once!”

That was Woostra, somewhat overbearing but always anxious to help. “I want to know if you have ever come across the name Aleia Omarosian in our books and papers.”