Lord of the Libraries (3 page)
Minutes later, the longboats smacked hollowly against the jagged rocks below. Goblins cursed in their harsh tongues and the sound of flesh striking flesh carried to Varrowyn’s ears. Commanders ordered the goblins to keep silent.
The beasties are tense,
the dwarven captain thought, smiling to himself. Even as much as he anticipated the battle, part of him dreaded it. The chances of all the warriors he’d gathered emerging from the engagement unscathed was near nonexistent. But a message needed to be sent to the goblinkin waiting out in the monster-infested sea.
the dwarven captain thought, smiling to himself. Even as much as he anticipated the battle, part of him dreaded it. The chances of all the warriors he’d gathered emerging from the engagement unscathed was near nonexistent. But a message needed to be sent to the goblinkin waiting out in the monster-infested sea.
The first of the goblins came into view slowly. He shoved his head over the edge of land cautiously, ducked down so his ill-fitting helm slid down his face. If Varrowyn hadn’t known blood was in the offing, he might have laughed at the sight. There were a few blacksmiths who made armor among the goblinkin, but they were seldom seen. Most of the armor the goblins wore came from the spoils of war, dragged from the bodies of humans and dwarves.
Come on now. Don’t back away none. Just us trees in the forest a-waitin’ on ye. Ye’re safe enough here.
Varrowyn took a fresh grip on his battle-axe.
Varrowyn took a fresh grip on his battle-axe.
Almost as tall as humans and loutish looking, the goblins possessed triangular, wedge-shaped heads filled with wide mouths and big, crooked teeth. Spiky black hair sprouted from their heads, chins, and out their flaring ears. Most of them were broad-shouldered, but either tended to be overweight or undernourished looking. A goblin’s diet and metabolism either made for feast or famine, with few left between, so they either ran fat or they ran skinny. Ugly, gray-green, splotchy skin covered them and marked them instantly.
All of them wore armor tonight, but few had taken care to work in a layer of lampblack so the metal wouldn’t shine. At least, if the armor were
clean it would have shined. As it was now, the metal surfaces only reflected a dulled sheen, but it was still visible. They carried axes, swords, and cudgels.
clean it would have shined. As it was now, the metal surfaces only reflected a dulled sheen, but it was still visible. They carried axes, swords, and cudgels.
Finally, the goblins were all ashore. They clustered together along the shoreline.
Stupid beasties,
Varrowyn thought. If he’d been in charge, he’d have ordered four separate landings at minimum that were properly spaced apart so they couldn’t all be taken at once but would still be able to help each other.
Varrowyn thought. If he’d been in charge, he’d have ordered four separate landings at minimum that were properly spaced apart so they couldn’t all be taken at once but would still be able to help each other.
He rose with a yell. “Archers!”
Instantly, the eight elven warders among the group loosed shafts. Arrows hissed through the air and sank into the goblinkin, piercing their chests, throats, and eyes. At least twenty of the enemy died in that onslaught, their bodies falling at the feet of their comrades and over the side of the drop-off to the foaming water below.
“Again!” Varrowyn yelled.
Arrows took flight again. This time the goblinkin lifted their shields and most of the shafts broke against them. Crying out in fear and rage, the goblinkin rushed the tree line.
“Set anvils!” Varrowyn roared. He stepped out of the darkness and into step with his shield mates.
Dividing into four-man groups, the dwarves set anvils, their chosen defensive posture. Two by two, with the front two men carrying large shields and hand axes, maces, or morning stars, the dwarves met the goblinkin attack and held them. The thunder of metal-on-metal filled the forest. The two dwarves in the back carried battle-axes and waited for the cry to go out for—
“Axes!” Varrowyn commanded.
As the goblinkin reeled back from the dwarven shields, the dwarves rotated into axes, forming the offensive groups in a diamond shape, or a two-by-two square turned on edge. One of the warriors carrying a battle-axe stepped to the forefront and was flanked by two others so no one could intercept them without braving a deadly net of flashing steel. They became wedges that drove into the midst of their opponents.
The humans moved in to confront their enemies one-on-one without the concerted effort of the dwarves. The elven warders, accompanied by their animal companions consisting of birds, badgers, and bears, fought as well, staying on the outside of the battle and picking off their opponents.
But it was the dwarves who ripped the heart out of the massed goblinkin, driving deeply into them again and again and leaving a twisted trail of bodies behind.
But it was the dwarves who ripped the heart out of the massed goblinkin, driving deeply into them again and again and leaving a twisted trail of bodies behind.
Varrowyn sang a dwarven fighting song, timed perfectly so that the cadence matched a warrior’s natural weapon swing. His fellow dwarves joined in, and their voices reverberated throughout the forest and across the crashing surf.
He blocked a spear thrust to the side with his axe, then swung the iron-bound haft up into the goblin’s face, breaking teeth and sending the foul creature stumbling back to take down yet another. Sidestepping a blow, the dwarven captain brought the battle-axe down and cleaved through an iron helm and the goblin head that wore it. The death screams of goblins mixed in with the dwarven war song.
The battle lasted only minutes. The execution, for that was what the action truly was, only stopped when the defenders of Greydawn Moors ran out of goblinkin to kill.
Breathing hard and bloodied, fire skating along his ribs from a spear wound, Varrowyn shook the blood from his battle-axe. Amid the carnage left of the goblinkin, bodies of a handful of dwarves, humans, and also elves lay.
“Varrowyn,” broad-faced Kummel called. The warrior sat on his knees holding the hand of young Anell.
Heart heavy with dread, Varrowyn joined them. The young dwarf’s parents had already lost one son to the goblinkin. Anell lay bleeding from a wound to the throat. Kummel was attempting to stanch the flow with a compress made of his own tunic, but experience told Varrowyn the effort was in vain.
The young dwarven warrior was dying and there was naught any of them could do.
Varrowyn took the young dwarf’s hand. “Ye fought well, Anell. Ye did. I saw ye, glimpsed ye from the corner of me eye, I did. Ye are ever’ inch a brawler.”
A faint smile tugged at Anell’s bloody lips. His beard was scarce thick enough to mask his chin. “The dweller,” he gasped. “I would speak … with the dweller lad.”
Varrowyn sent the order and Dockett was brought forward. Despite the horrors of the attack on Greydawn Moors last month, the dweller
hadn’t hardened to the ways of war. His eyes rounded in fear and filled with tears, and he stood on shaking legs.
hadn’t hardened to the ways of war. His eyes rounded in fear and filled with tears, and he stood on shaking legs.
“Me,” Anell said to the dweller as he took hold of the other’s shirt. “I am Anell, son of Morag Thur, of the … the Unrelenting Hammer Clan. I died here tonight fightin’ … against the goblinkin to save the Library. As I swore to the Old Ones an’ my father … that I would. Make them … remember … me.” He swallowed. “Please. Do not let … them forget.”
“I-I-I will,” Dockett promised. Tears leaked from his eyes and ran down his dirty cheeks. “The world will know you forever, Anell. I swear by the Old Ones that they will.”
With a final exhalation, Anell passed. His sightless eyes rolled up and his lifeless body relaxed on the bloodied earth.
Kummel cursed. Pain and rage cracked his broad face and tightened his voice. “He was just a young ’un, Varrowyn. It ain’t right. Wasn’t his time to die. I don’t want to tell his ma. Her heart’s already broken.”
Varrowyn sat quietly. Kummel and Anell had been shield mates for years.
“I am sorry for your loss,” the young dweller whispered.
Uncoiling, Kummel put a big hand on the young dweller’s chest and shoved him away. Dockett rolled a half dozen times and sprawled. Hesitantly, obviously expecting further attack, he pushed himself up.
The other survivors of the attack gathered around. All of them had lost someone they knew.
“Don’t ye be apologizin’ to me!” Kummel roared. “An’ that promise ye made to Anell? That was worthless, was what it was!” He took a step toward the dweller.
Fearing that Kummel was out of control in his grief, Varrowyn stepped forward and intercepted the dwarven warrior. “Stand down,” the dwarven captain ordered.
Kummel stopped, but the thought flashed through his eyes that maybe he wouldn’t. “We’re dyin’ here, Varrowyn. Dyin’ one by one for these dwellers that don’t know how to fight for themselves an’ wouldn’t even if they did because they’re all cowards.”
“This one left the safety of his da’s tavern,” Varrowyn said, “an’ is sure to get a thumpin’ when he gets back for sneakin’ along with us as he did.”
He spoke loud enough so that all could hear. “An’ he made his way through the dark forest at night.” He paused. “Do ye know why he did that?”
He spoke loud enough so that all could hear. “An’ he made his way through the dark forest at night.” He paused. “Do ye know why he did that?”
No one answered.
Varrowyn knew that only a few of his comrades felt as Kummel did. Most accepted their lot to defend the island even though the goblinkin had found out where it was and would work together to destroy it.
“He came out here to tell our story,” Varrowyn said. He reached back and caught Dockett by the shoulder, hauling him forward to stand at his side. The youth flinched but Varrowyn held him protectively. “Ye all heard him say that. An’ he gave Anell his word that he would make certain people remembered him.”
“Won’t do Anell no good,” Kummel argued. “When he’s cold an’ lifeless in the ground—”
“People will still remember him,” Varrowyn cut in. “They will remember what he did here tonight. These Librarians have the power to do that.”
“Pity they ain’t much better fighters.”
“An’ it’s a pity ye can’t write nor read,” Varrowyn said. He raked his gaze across those assembled around him. “Let me tell ye what ye’re fightin’ for here. There was a time when dwarves could read, an’ they could write. I’ve seen some of the stone tablets inside the Library. They wrote of their histories an’ the way they forged metals or mined for gems. Some of ye standin’ here, mayhap ye’ve taken a lesson or three from the Grandmagister or First Librarian Juhg or one of the others what ain’t so selfish with what they know.”
Some of the dwarves had paid closer attention to the books that they guarded, forming, if not friendships, then acquaintanceships among the Librarians.
“We lost all that durin’ the Cataclysm when Lord Kharrion assembled the goblinkin tribes an’ tried to take over everything,” Varrowyn said. “No tellin’ what all was lost because we have no way of knowin’.” He looked back in the direction of the Knucklebones Mountains where the firelight flickered against the dark underbelly of clouds. “An’ we lost more a month ago.”
“We lost a lot of warriors that night,” Kummel said. “An’ in the time that followed. Savin’ books ain’t gonna make up for that.”
“No,” Varrowyn agreed. “But through the Librarians, we’re gonna have histories of what happened. We’re gonna know who stood their ground an’ died there. A thousand years from now, as long as books exist, dwarves will still know about the good that was done here.”
Silence hung over the crowd.
Varrowyn’s voice softened. “We lost Anell tonight. That’s true. But we’re gonna keep him with us. An’ through this young dweller, through his skills as a Librarian, we’re gonna keep Anell with us forever. My children will know of him. An’ their children after them. An’ all the dwarven children yet to come.” He looked around. “That’s what ye warriors are layin’ ver lives down for.”
Kummel hung his head. Tears still ran down his broad face. “There are stories about Anell that must be told,” he whispered. “There are things that must not be forgotten.”
Dockett stepped forward. “I will listen to them, Kummel. And I will record them faithfully. I swear to you that I will not let him be forgotten.”
“I thank ye,” Kummel said. Then he returned to Anell and began preparing him for burial.
After a moment’s hesitation, Dockett sat cross-legged on the ground. He took out a stick of charcoal and drew on the page, quickly blocking out the image of Kummel tending to poor, dead Anell. The other dweller youth joined the first, taking out a bag of inks and quills and burned charcoal sticks, laying them out for his brother.
No, Varrowyn thought with fierce pride as he watched the dweller lad,
that one’s pap isn’t gonna lay a hand on him. I’ll not stand for it, I won’t.
He turned away and walked back to the ledge to peer out at the black sea.
that one’s pap isn’t gonna lay a hand on him. I’ll not stand for it, I won’t.
He turned away and walked back to the ledge to peer out at the black sea.
Farady joined him, lifting his arm to accept Whisperwing again. “You did well back there. The situation could have deteriorated radically.”
“They just forgot, is all. Them’s good warriors. By the Old Ones, ye can’t take that away from ’em. It’s hard bein’ here, knowin’ them goblinkin are gettin’ reinforcements whilst we’re dyin’ with no help in sight. It would have been better had Gran’magister Lamplighter an’ Juhg not been captured as they was. The Gran’magister, he could have helped us hold the line.”
All throughout Greydawn Moors, the story was still told of how dragonets had carried away the Grandmagister and his chosen apprentice from
the mystical Shrikra’s Tower the day of the attack. Many feared that the Grandmagister was dead, having already been cut up and tossed into a goblinkin stew.
the mystical Shrikra’s Tower the day of the attack. Many feared that the Grandmagister was dead, having already been cut up and tossed into a goblinkin stew.
“Well,” Farady said with soft conviction, “the Grandmagister is not here. We will simply have to make do until his return. This is not over.”
Varrowyn blew out his breath. “I know. But I can’t help thinkin’ maybe it would be better if it was over. One way or the other. Waitin’ wears on a body.”
“‘One way or the other’?” Farady repeated. “I thought you told me we were going to win this.”
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