Baelon slipped his fingers beneath the splintered wood of a fallen bookshelf. He hoisted it up, righted it; it rocked a bit as it settled. Baelon wasted no time in digging through the dust and half-decayed pages of what was undoubtedly once a fantastic selection of books.

“What will we do once we find it?” Godrid asked as he placed his torch into a wall sconce and leaned against the doorframe.

“We use it.” Baelon didn’t stop searching. “We find a target that will make ...