and purpose and needs no repair - just like the mind of a scholar .”
Dalar always thought it to be a rather ludicrous saying, and felt it only proved the common peoples views about the Council of Scholars; a view that painted the men and women of the scholarhood as nothing more than pompous know-it-alls looking to stroke their own egos.
Dalar led his mount around to the back where the stable sat under a lone, withered willow tree. He tethered the mechanical beast to a sturdy metal hook, reached under its jaw line and flicked the power switch. The azure glow of the cortex dimmed to nothing as the power source turned off.
Stretching his back and legs as he departed the stable, Dalar let his steps lead him round the far side of the wilted willow tree.
For years, Dalar thought the lonely sentinel had developed an arborial sickness causing it to lose its leaves due to the sprawling city; however, upon his ascension into the esteemed ranks of the High Scholars, he quickly learnt otherwise. The Chief Scholar of the time, Benjamin R. Riley, had revealed to Dalar there was a hidden entrance located in the trunk of the tree, marked only by three misshapen blemishes on the trunk’s rough exterior. Now, Dalar pressed each of the blemishes in the appropriate order, and spoke a simple word of command. The trunk gave way to a small opening, which led to a descending spiral staircase of the finest marble. Looking about to ensure there were no prying eyes, Dalar retreated into the bowels of the lonely tree.
He took the stairs two at a time, letting his feet guide him in the soft glow of everflame lanterns, which sat in small crevaces along the descending wall. Dalar soon came to stand at the base of the stairs in a large, marbled hall. The room was spacious, and bare, save for a cast iron bench along the far wall. In his early days as High Scholar, Dalar had spent many afternoons relaxing on the bench with the latest piece of praised literature.
Several minutes passed as he navigated the winding passages of the lowest level of the Libatorium. Soon enough, and after several more flights of twisting stairs, Dalar found himself standing in the Hall of Knowledge.
If one were to enter the Libatorium by normal means, they would find themselves in the wide space known as the Hall of Knowledge. The floor was made of a hardened jadestone from the furthest reaches of the Far East. Woven into the sparkling jade floor were scenes of airships, flying in the heavens, all depicted with varying colours of alabaster shells, pearl and topaz. To either wing of the hall were descending stairs of maple, stained in a dark cocoa varnish used most commonly in southern Grubbenbrut.
Waiting for him, in the center of the room, was none other than his old friend, the current Chief Scholar, Edwin Baltrus.
“Dalar, my lad,” the older man said as he moved forward and embraced the younger. “How good it is to see you in these troubled times. I hope Lillian does not mind my abruptness?”
“Of course not, Edwin. She knows my loyalties to the scholarhood.” Dalar replied smiling.
“I am sorry for the urgency, but the Chancellor could not afford to wait a fortnight for our annual gala.” Edwin patted Dalar’s shoulder as they broke their embrace. “How is your son, big now I would assume, yes?”
“Quite,” the thought of his son filled Dalar with a longing for home. “Jakob will be three this time next month. He has an uncannily inquisitive mind, from me no doubt, and a fierceness that I am sure he gets from Lily.”
Edwin smiled, leading Dalar to the western most stair. They gossiped briefly as they ascended . The older man led Dalar through a large archway of granite. Dalar had no need to guess they headed for Edwin’s private chambers. As they wound their way through the upper halls of the Libatorium, they passed many more effigies to the great minds of science, art and literature.
Before long, Dalar found himself sitting in a cozy wing backed
Dalar always thought it to be a rather ludicrous saying, and felt it only proved the common peoples views about the Council of Scholars; a view that painted the men and women of the scholarhood as nothing more than pompous know-it-alls looking to stroke their own egos.
Dalar led his mount around to the back where the stable sat under a lone, withered willow tree. He tethered the mechanical beast to a sturdy metal hook, reached under its jaw line and flicked the power switch. The azure glow of the cortex dimmed to nothing as the power source turned off.
Stretching his back and legs as he departed the stable, Dalar let his steps lead him round the far side of the wilted willow tree.
For years, Dalar thought the lonely sentinel had developed an arborial sickness causing it to lose its leaves due to the sprawling city; however, upon his ascension into the esteemed ranks of the High Scholars, he quickly learnt otherwise. The Chief Scholar of the time, Benjamin R. Riley, had revealed to Dalar there was a hidden entrance located in the trunk of the tree, marked only by three misshapen blemishes on the trunk’s rough exterior. Now, Dalar pressed each of the blemishes in the appropriate order, and spoke a simple word of command. The trunk gave way to a small opening, which led to a descending spiral staircase of the finest marble. Looking about to ensure there were no prying eyes, Dalar retreated into the bowels of the lonely tree.
He took the stairs two at a time, letting his feet guide him in the soft glow of everflame lanterns, which sat in small crevaces along the descending wall. Dalar soon came to stand at the base of the stairs in a large, marbled hall. The room was spacious, and bare, save for a cast iron bench along the far wall. In his early days as High Scholar, Dalar had spent many afternoons relaxing on the bench with the latest piece of praised literature.
Several minutes passed as he navigated the winding passages of the lowest level of the Libatorium. Soon enough, and after several more flights of twisting stairs, Dalar found himself standing in the Hall of Knowledge.
If one were to enter the Libatorium by normal means, they would find themselves in the wide space known as the Hall of Knowledge. The floor was made of a hardened jadestone from the furthest reaches of the Far East. Woven into the sparkling jade floor were scenes of airships, flying in the heavens, all depicted with varying colours of alabaster shells, pearl and topaz. To either wing of the hall were descending stairs of maple, stained in a dark cocoa varnish used most commonly in southern Grubbenbrut.
Waiting for him, in the center of the room, was none other than his old friend, the current Chief Scholar, Edwin Baltrus.
“Dalar, my lad,” the older man said as he moved forward and embraced the younger. “How good it is to see you in these troubled times. I hope Lillian does not mind my abruptness?”
“Of course not, Edwin. She knows my loyalties to the scholarhood.” Dalar replied smiling.
“I am sorry for the urgency, but the Chancellor could not afford to wait a fortnight for our annual gala.” Edwin patted Dalar’s shoulder as they broke their embrace. “How is your son, big now I would assume, yes?”
“Quite,” the thought of his son filled Dalar with a longing for home. “Jakob will be three this time next month. He has an uncannily inquisitive mind, from me no doubt, and a fierceness that I am sure he gets from Lily.”
Edwin smiled, leading Dalar to the western most stair. They gossiped briefly as they ascended . The older man led Dalar through a large archway of granite. Dalar had no need to guess they headed for Edwin’s private chambers. As they wound their way through the upper halls of the Libatorium, they passed many more effigies to the great minds of science, art and literature.
Before long, Dalar found himself sitting in a cozy wing backed
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