The Chronicler

Three years later

The journey took four hours by carriage.

When they arrived, Demenik stepped out and surveyed the area.

It's smaller than I remember.

Armoured guards stood on each side of a black wrought-iron gate. They ignored Demenik as he walked past and made his way through the small, dense garden to the front door of the ancient stone fortress located in the centre of this immense city.

A silver-haired man dressed in black pants and a jade green silk shirt met him at the door, bowing and leading him inside. Demenik walked to a stone staircase and descended alone into the bowels of the manor, travelling down a low-ceilinged stone hallway until he reached a great wooden door. Without hesitating, he pushed on the door and entered as it swung inward.

The room was a large library with high ceilings, and bookshelves lined every wall. At the far end sat a great wooden table, which served as a desk, and a large leather chair. A dark-robed man rose from the chair and pulled the black hood from his head as Demenik approached. He looked to be about sixty, a handsome man with golden blond hair cut short and a well-groomed beard of the same colour. He squinted as he looked at Demenik, his sharp blue eyes examining the young man who stood before him.

Demenik bowed low, resting one knee on the ground and lowering his head. "Greetings, Chronicler."

"You look well." The Chronicler's voice was deep and rich, a combination of power, comfort, and malice all at once.

"As do you," Demenik replied.

"Come over here and take a seat."

Demenik stood and obeyed. The man's manner was appraising as he examined the young man for for another moment before sitting, shrugging his shoulders to adjust his black robes around him. "It has been many years since I led you to the alleys."

Demenik nodded.

"I am pleased with your progress thus far."

"That is good."

The Chronicler chuckled. "You have followed my instructions to the letter."

"The only instructions you gave me were to survive in the alleys and to return to this place on my twenty-first birthday."

"And here you are. Would you like a drink?"

"Yes, thank you."

The man produced two glasses and poured a dark amber liquid into each from a decanter sitting on his desk. Demenik accepted one and sniffed it. "Excellent aroma."

The Chronicler raised one eyebrow. "You have learned to appreciate fine liquor. That is good." He raised his glass. "To your prosperity, Demenik."

"May it endure for a thousand years."

"Just so."

Both men drank. Demenik surveyed the room, his eyes stopping on volumes of books along the walls before moving on. "I could spend a decade in here, reading."

"Most of the volumes are empty. You would require less than a week to read all of the words currently written in this room."

"Why am I here?"

The older man retrieved a large leather-bound book and opened it to a blank page. "I have questions." He produced a pen and placed it on the table. Then he reached for a bottle of ink and removed the lid.

"Ask them."

"It will require time."

Demenik bowed his head. "Take all the time you need, Chronicler."

***

Hours passed while the two men spoke. A servant brought food and they continued speaking while they ate.

Finally, the Chronicler nodded and replaced the lid on the ink. He set the pen to one side and carefully closed the book. "You progress."

"As expected?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any new instructions for me?"

"Prosper and return to this place should you reach the age of forty."

"On my birthday?" Demenik stood.

"The day is not important. The year is."

"Very well."

"Thank you for the visit, Demenik. I am . . . encouraged by what I have heard."

"Will you be alive when I return in nineteen years?"

The man's mouth twitched and he smiled. "Do I appear older than when you saw me last?"

"No."

"Perhaps I will look the same nineteen years from now. That is my burden, not yours. You must wait and see."

"As you say, Chronicler."

Demenik bowed and left the room.

The Chronicler looked at the door for many minutes. Then he picked up the volume that he had been writing in, stood, and walked to a nearby shelf.

He placed it among the other books that looked identical and paused, letting his hand trail slowly down its spine.