The records room had a certain reputation for being haunted. In fact, in the past, ghosts had made the life of the recordskeeper, Dakrias Brown, miserable. The ghosts had constantly left the vast chamber in a state of disarray, forcing Dakrias to clean up and reorganize repeatedly. Apparently he and the ghosts had come to some accord over time, for now the records room remained as peaceful as any other part of the castle. Or mostly, anyway. It did not mean the ghosts had actually left.

Laren paused, still feeling that gaze on her. She whipped around, but as usual, no one, or no thing, was there. She broke out in a cold sweat. Yes, she’d encountered ghosts before, and perhaps stranger phenomena in her long career as a Green Rider, but experience didn’t make it easier for her. Dead spirits, she thought, ought to be dead and off to the heavens, not spying on and spooking the living.

The sensation of being watched vanished all at once, and she shook herself. Probably just her imagination living up to the reputation of these corridors. It was certainly easy enough down here, she mused, as she passed the gaping black maw of an abandoned corridor that branched off to her left.

Finally she entered the records room and breathed a sigh of relief to find Dakrias dictating to two of his clerks. A whole wing was devoted to administration, but when Dakrias was made chief of administration, he chose to remain in the records room rather than occupy his predecessor’s large and well-appointed office a couple of levels above. It was quieter down here, he said. Fewer people to pester him. He left the daily operations of administration to an able deputy, who loved the big office and the authority, while Dakrias dealt with only the most pressing matters, and the records room, of course.

Laren was grateful he’d agreed to meet her so late at night, but it was the only time she had to spare. He’d said it was no trouble, that he often worked after hours. Apparently that meant his assistants did, too. Usually she found him poking through some old crate of documents or poring over old tomes. Whether they were an account of grain production from a hundred years ago, or a tally of how many loaves of bread the castle kitchen served per month, it all seemed to fascinate Dakrias. The records room contained all manner of the realm’s statistical arcana, from maps to financial accounts, and when a Rider ledger was filled up from front cover to back, it was sent here to be archived, along with any other paperwork that covered the administrative workings of the messenger service.

While Laren waited for Dakrias to conclude his dictation, she gazed toward the high ceiling. She couldn’t help but look all the way up, high beyond the uppermost shelves, seeking a glint of glass, but the ceiling was so high that light could not reach it. Had the original ceiling, a dome of stained glass, not been built over, in daylight she would have seen scenes from the Long War and the part the First Rider played in it.

“Ah, Captain,” Dakrias said, clapping his hands. “You’ve come to find out what we’ve discovered, eh?”

“The question is, did you find anything at all?”

“Come and see.” He led her to a table filled to capacity with books, sheaves of paper tied with ribbon, scrolls of faded parchment, and ledgers. The table appeared to bow beneath all the weight.

“All of this?” she asked incredulously. She had requested that Dakrias track down any records pertaining to Green Riders and warfare, including provisioning, tactics, special uses . . . any wisdom that her predecessors might have left behind that would aid her when it finally came to war with Second Empire. Historical records of the Riders were scarce, so the amount of documents burdening the table surprised her more than just a little.

Dakrias nodded and grinned. “There may be more. We’re still looking. But I’ll warn you that most of these contain but passing or oblique references to the Riders.”

She touched the brittle binding of one book. It was so old it looked apt to fall apart if she opened it.

“We even pulled files and accounts of actions against the Darrow Raiders,” Dakrias said, “though I know you were intimately acquainted with some of that.”

She noticed his gaze shift. He was looking at her neck scar, which he must assume she had acquired during battle with the Raiders, but the injury that had caused it had in fact occurred at a later time. When he realized what he was doing, he cleared his throat and looked away.

“Elgin might be interested in those,” she said. He’d been Chief Rider back then. Now in retirement, he’d returned to the castle to help train up new Riders.

Dakrias went through the piles explaining to her what was in which, as if the records were old friends of his. It was clear this was going to be more than a one-person task, sorting through what looked, to her, to be an overwhelming mess. She’d thought Dakrias might find a few items that she could go through in a spare moment, but she hadn’t time to deal with this treasure trove. She’d assign one or two of her more studious Riders to assist Elgin.

As Dakrias grew more enthusiastic about his finds, Laren found her attention drifting toward the ceiling again. After a while, she realized Dakrias had silenced and followed her gaze.

“Do you see something?” he whispered, as if he didn’t want ghosts to hear him.

“I don’t, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to go up above and take a look at the glass.”

“Don’t mind at all, and if you don’t object, I should like to accompany you to make sure my junior clerks are minding their duty.”

Laren had heard that Dakrias sent wayward clerks up to clear dust and cobwebs from the stained glass as punishment for their transgressions, meanwhile providing them with some educational insight into the darker times of Sacoridia’s history and how the realm had emerged victorious. It was something she wished to be reminded of, as well.