Page 156 of Dragon Avenger (Age of Fire 2)

“So we do,” Elgee said. “Mark! I look forward to telling this tale to my directing partner when I return to the Delvings. A courtly dragon!”

Wistala ate, even tasted a little of the honeymead on her tongue, but found it too sweet. But even a drakka’s appetite, somewhat guarded by Mother’s repeated warnings against gluttony, couldn’t compare to the amount of food the dwarves ate.

When farewells were said and the dwarves installed in their room upstairs, weighted by the vast meal, mead, and Rainfall’s coin purse, Rainfall sat beside the fire with the bit of craft from the Library at Thallia on his lap.

“Aren’t you curious to see this opened, Wistala?”

“Honestly, I am,” she admitted. The “baton” was made of black shining leather, stiffened in some manner, and capped at one end.

“Then open Heloise’s seal, and let us see their answer.”

The wax—it featured what looked like two sets of identical steps rising to a peak—yielded to Wistala’s sii-claw with no trouble at all. The seal held a leather thong closed over a tiny metal nub, which in turn secured the leather cap in place, as tight fitting as a hominid’s footwear covered the feet. Both a rattle and a rustle came from inside, as she turned the tube.

She looked within. Rolled paper, and something glinting. She extracted the thick paper.

“Fine cotton paper, Wistala,” Rainfall said. “I expect good news.”

“I can’t read it.”

“May I?” Rainfall asked.

“Of course.” Wistala handed it to him.

“Ah, it’s in the priestly tongue, the oldest script of Cloud-temple of Thellasa and therefore Hypat, and only used these days for ritual. I shall translate:

“Be it known within and without the . . . ahem . . . civilized land that Wistala of Hesstur, having been of service to scholarship and common enlightenment, is recorded among the ancient and exalted order of Librarians, Keepers, and Archivists; is entitled to call herself an Agent in and of the Librarians; is admitted to the commons of all Hypatian Libraries; and is presented with insignia of rank and station in the Hypatian Order, all of which are to be recognized and held for the remainder of her natural life.”

A thin hammered disk of gold had been set into wax and pressed hard into the paper. Wistala inspected the device, another triangular shape with a star at the top.

Rainfall smiled at her. “The old phraseology sounds a little ignorant these days. It was used before Hypatia knew of aught but barbarians beyond its borders. How do you like being an Agent-Librarian, Nuum Wistala?”

“Nuum? Oh, for an expression easier on dragon-tongues.”

Wistala sniffed the paper: ink and a dry sandlike smell were overlaid by the gold and the wax. “I can’t say yet. What must I do?”

“Avoid swaggering your entitlement about, unless you wish to be laughed at. Even a Surveyor-Mapper will receive more bows, for on his lines are fields and pastures divided. Should you want to take pupils, it is useful, I suppose. Now let us admire your badge of title.”

The badge was a triangular gemstone, about the size of Yari-Tab’s nose, set in silver and fitted on the top with an eyehook for a chain.

“Golden topaz,” Rainfall said. “It matches your eyes nicely. Symbolic of a clear head and clear vision, and enlightenment. The motto on the back reads lun-byedon, ‘light-giver,’ in the old priestly tongue.”

The polish of the stone made the baubles Father used to give Jizara and her seem like dull quartz. “I would like to wear it.”

“It would look well set into one of your scales, I suppose, and all elves would smile, for our victory garlands are of wound green and gold—but you shed them, don’t you? Chain about your neck? But you’ll outgrow anything we can find around here.”

“How do the others at the library wear them?” Wistala asked.

“Some fit them into their hair so they hang just above and between the eyes, an old tradition dating back to the priestly scroll-keepers. Or they will puncture the earlobe and dangle them there by a sort of hook.”

Wistala looked at her reflection in a polished piece of copper near the door. Hominids made a little ritual of gazing at themselves before stepping outside.

“Then I shall fix it in my fringe, at the fore, as I don’t have a hominid head with that grotesque plate of greasy skin above my eyes. You may have to help with your blacksmithing tools. A drakka’s fringe is nerveless, but tough.”

Jessup returned, and he and Rainfall pointed out different features of the public room to Wistala, and Rainfall suggested the addition of a notice-post outside the door. “I fear I’m becoming in danger of being entirely too pleased with myself,” Rainfall said. “Making Wistala a librarian and getting you the rank of postman.”

“Postman? I’m hardly able to read, sir,” Jessup said.

“Oh, I’ll improve you. Without being able to work my gardens, I need more mental diversions, and if I stay within my library all hours, I’ll be thought a hermit. A reliable post will bring visitors to the inn. But before making you postman, I must give Tala her oath of citizenship.”

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