Lord of the Libraries (44 page)

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Authors: Mel Odom

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BOOK: Lord of the Libraries
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Other elves occupied a treehouse campsite farther back in the forest. Only Juhg’s trained eyes allowed him to pick out the resting place the elves had built thirty feet off the ground in the towering trees.
“I would,” Jassamyn answered in the elven tongue. She spoke a formal version of it, which surprised the elven warder. “If we can arrange a suitable price.”
The elf smiled a little. “I’m sure that we can find one, lady.”
Jassamyn dickered for the price as if she were spending the last of her gold, and the elven warder battled with the attitude that she could never make the trip without him and that he had any number of other paying clients waiting. In only a few minutes, they agreed upon a price.
Juhg swayed in his saddle and might have fallen off if Raisho had not reached over to steady him.
“Is he sick?” the elven warder asked.
“He suffers from a wound gotten while fighting goblinkin out in the Drylands,” Jassamyn answered. “I found no poultices I wanted to use in Grass’s Edge.”
“The Drylands have gotten to be a bad place,” the elf said as he walked to his horse and rummaged through his saddlebags. “Many goblinkin roam the sands out there.”
“Less so than before,” Cobner said.
The elf raised an eyebrow.
The dwarven warrior grinned. “It’s quite a tale. One meant for the sharing on the road between men what’s been through a scrape or two and know the how and why of putting your life on the line.”
“Then that shall be the price for the medicine I have to offer.” The elf brought a poultice over to Juhg. “My name is Ashkar. My people are the Woodwind elves.”
“The reason the Sighing Forest is so named,” Juhg remembered, and found he was talking before he knew he was going to. “Your people have music that sounds like the wind through the trees.”
Ashkar seemed surprised. “You’ve been through the Sighing Forest before?” He pressed the fragrant poultice under Juhg’s bandage.
“Yes. With my mentor.”
“And who is your mentor?”
“Edgewick Lamplighter,” Juhg said.
Ashkar looked at him in surprise. “The Grandmagister of the Vault of All Known Knowledge?”
The old fear hit Juhg like a fist blow. He couldn’t answer.
“How do you know about the Library?” Jassamyn asked.
“Lady,” Ashkar said, “all of the mainland is talking about Greydawn Moors and the Library that is said to be there that holds all the books in the world. Word has spread. The defenders who sail the Blood-Soaked Sea have spread the word that the Library is in danger.” He shrugged. “A few have gone there, but so many don’t believe the tales.”
“They’re true, right enough,” Cobner growled.
“Then why are you here instead of there? I’ve been told that even though some few have gone to help those who live in Greydawn Moors that the goblinkin are massing anew.”
“The Grandmagister was taken by a man named Aldhran Khempus,” Jassamyn said.
Juhg couldn’t believe that his companions were telling everything they knew. The Library was supposed to be kept secret.
But the secret is out, isn’t it? It was gone the day smoke from the burning buildings along Yondering Docks touched the sky. Like most secrets, it will never be secret again.
“We ride to the Haze Mountains now to rescue him,” Jassamyn said.
“Is it true? What they say? That the Vault of All Known Knowledge contains books on all the races of the world?”
“Yes,” Juhg croaked. “There are Librarians there, Ashkar, who can teach you the old ways of your people. They can help you find out who your ancestors were, what cities they lived in, what works they left behind. All those things are there.”
“How do I know what you say is true?”
Shaking from the fever and from the trepidation about what he was about to reveal, Juhg climbed down from his mount. He walked to the elven warder and took his journal from his jacket. He opened the book and flipped through it, showing the pictures and the writing he had done.
“This is a book,” Juhg said. “Just the book of our travels. Of my travels. Since I left Greydawn Moors.” He stopped on a page that held a drawing he’d done of the city, another of the Library before it had fallen, and other of the Grandmagister. He showed the elven warder pictures of Raisho and Cobner and Jassamyn. And Craugh. And he wept unashamedly when he told the warder of the wizard’s death in the tunnels of fallen Sweetdew.
As he went on, unable to stop himself, Juhg watched Ashkar call out to the other elves, who dropped from their lofty retreat and joined them. And still Juhg talked, telling them all of the things the Grandmagister had done, the risks he had taken, and the things that Juhg had read about.
He talked for hours and didn’t know it. So much was bunched up inside of him that once it started to come out it couldn’t be stopped. He talked in spite of his dry throat and his pounding head and the pain he felt over the loss of Craugh and his trembling knees.
He showed Ashkar how to write his name in his tongue, taking out his quill and ink and writing it in his journal, then taught the young elven warder—at his request—to write his own name in the dirt at their feet with a twig. Other elves asked that their names be written as well. And Juhg showed them.
He taught them their names and told them stories about their ancestors. He gave them back parts of themselves that they had never known they had lost. Some of the names of heroes and warriors were known to the warders, and some of them found families in the past that they had never known they had.
Toward evening, when Juhg finally realized how long he had talked, he was surprised to find that his audience had increased from a dozen or so elven warders to more than a hundred humans, dwarves, and elves, all drawn from the forest or the city to hear the wondrous tales told by the dweller who claimed to be a Librarian from the Vault of All Known Knowledge where all the books in the world had been stored.
Juhg found that instead of being weakened by the constant barrage of
questions and challenges the people before him brought up, that he was invigorated by it. He was a teacher, not just a repository of knowledge that he couldn’t tell anyone. He was giving back more than he had ever known he could give. The career of Librarian had now come full circle; he was giving back everything he had protected and kept secret for so long.
When people in the back complained that they could not see him properly, a caravan master pulled up a cart and helped Juhg stand on it. Lanterns were hung from the trees and food was provided for those who were hungry.
Children—human, dwarven, elven, and dweller—gathered at the wheels of the wagon, watching in astonishment as the dweller told of battles past and heroic deeds, and the bravery of the Unity army and the Builders who had caused Greydawn Moors to be torn from the sea floor.
The talk continued until the morning, though Jassamyn tried to stop it so that Juhg could rest. He couldn’t remember when the fever had left him. Nor could he believe how strong he felt after not sleeping all night. But with the dawning sun, he knew they had to go.
And when they rode east to the Dragon’s Tongue River, elves and humans and dwarves rode with them.
“You know what you just done back there, don’t you?” Cobner asked with a wide grin.
Juhg couldn’t speak, but he was certain the Grandmagister would never approve of what he had done.
“What you done,” Cobner said, turning in his saddle to gaze back at the long line of riders behind them, “is raise us an army.” He reached over and fiercely hugged Juhg. “By the Old Ones, Juhg, I am proud of you. And the Grandmagister will be too, never you fear.”
Juhg sincerely hoped so, but they didn’t even know if the Grandmagister was still alive.
Aldhran Khempus’s Power
B
y the time they had reached the Dragon’s Tongue River, more riders had massed for the trip down to the Haze Mountains. Trailtown, the city located on the river that thrived on caravan trade, was overwhelmed with new arrivals looking to see the dweller Librarian they had heard about.
Ashkar had sent elven warders scrambling through the forest in all directions to notify everyone within hailing distance and to spread the news that the talk they had heard of the mysterious Library and the island where it was hid was all true.
All during the day as the river barges were prepared, Juhg met with leaders of the different clans and groups in the largest hostelry available, letting them go back to their followers to relay what he had said. The groups had to be scheduled.
“By the Old Ones,” Raisho said during one of the lulls between meetings, “I’ve never seen so many people in all me life.”
“Neither have I,” Juhg admitted. In truth, seeing so many people together scared him. Usually bad things happened when so many people got together.
“One lamentable thing about it, though,” Cobner said, “we’re not gonna be able to sneak up on Aldhran Khempus. Likely he’s got spies out and about to watch things for him.”
Jassamyn smiled as she fed the draca. “Aldhran Khempus
did
have spies out. Men he employed to keep their eyes and ears sharp.”
“Did, did ye say?” Raisho asked.
“Did,” Jassamyn repeated. “Ashkar and the Woodwind elves knew most of those men. The rest of them they found out about. If there is an Aldhran spy about between here and the Haze Mountains, it’s one that knows nothing of what’s going on here.”
Cobner grinned a rogue’s grin. “And you won’t find many goblinkin along the river either. After the dwarves we freed in the Drylands got back with their stories about how the goblinkin were enslaving them to dig in the sands for elven treasure, why, the dwarves took it upon themselves to go goblinkin hunting, claiming they was taking vengeance for what went on in the Drylands.” He rubbed his hands. “Aldhran Khempus won’t know we’re coming, Juhg. Just like Greydawn Moors didn’t know he was coming. Vengeance is gonna rain down on him when we get there.”
That made Juhg uncomfortable. He walked over to the second-floor window of the rooms they’d been given to do their meetings in and looked out. Since Ashkar had started taking care of his wounds, he’d nearly fully recovered.
“The Grandmagister is still in the middle of Khempus’s keep,” Juhg said. “If things start to go badly for Khempus, he won’t hesitate to kill the Grandmagister to seek out his own revenge.”
“When he looks down into the valley before the Haze Mountains,” Raisho said, “he’s gonna know things arc going to go badly for him.”
“There is other news, too,” Jassamyn said. “Some of the elves from down near the Haze Mountains are talking about the things that are going on there.”
“What things?” Juhg asked.
“The goblinkin had been talking about a mysterious red crystal that Aldhran Khempus has been working with. It’s supposed to be very powerful.”
“A red crystal?” Juhg asked. “The fourth section of
The Book of Time
is supposed to be red gemstones.”
“This one is cut in the shape of a square. Aldhran Khempus uses it for a power source.”
Juhg reached into his jacket. “Last night, I finally had the chance to read through Tuhl’s journal.” They had recovered the Librarian’s personal effects from the beetle room. The beetles wouldn’t eat paper even when it was covered in blood.
“Last night?” Jassamyn asked. “You were supposed to be sleeping.”
“I tried,” Juhg said. She had posted Raisho and Cobner on his door for six hours and not allowed anyone in to see him.
Jassamyn looked accusingly at the young sailor and the dwarven warrior.
“Don’t look at me,” Cobner protested. “I didn’t see no light in his room.
“I climbed up onto the roof and read by candlelight,” Juhg said. He’d found a small space, just dweller-sized, next to the hostelry’s big chimney. It had provided protection for the candle as well as obscuring him from sight of the people gathered and talking in the streets about the story of the dweller Librarian and the Grandmagister held by goblinkin in the Haze Mountains.
Jassamyn sighed and looked exasperated. She’d only that day removed the sutures from his face. She’d been right: the scar left by the goblinkin club was going to be a frightful one. For now, the flesh was still puffy and pink, showing signs of having been freshly healed.
“Tuhl’s journal was encrypted, too,” Juhg said, “but the code wasn’t nearly as specific as the one the Grandmagister used. Tuhl used a simple exchange method that I’ve seen several times before. I found out that Aldhran Khempus had been working with the other Library for a while.”
“He was a Librarian?” Cobner asked.
“No. He’s a wizard. At least, that’s what the people at the other Library believed him to be. From all accounts, he came from nowhere. He had no history. But he knew about the Library. About both Libraries, actually. But he didn’t know where the Vault of All Known Knowledge or Greydawn Moors was.” Juhg shook his head. “Khempus was the one who spelled the book that Ertonomous Dron carried in Kelloch’s Harbor.”
“The one that opened the gate in the Vault of All Known Knowledge that allowed the Blazebulls, Dread Riders, and Grymmlings in?” Cobner asked.
“Yes. There were forty-seven other books that Khempus took the time to trap in a like manner. All of them were sent out to different locations.”
“Bait for a trap,” Raisho said.
“And I found it,” Juhg said.
“Herby found it,” Raisho corrected. “Ye an’ me an’ Capt’n Attikus an’
Windchaser
, why we just brought it back to Greydawn Moors. That was what we was supposed to do.”
“I know. And Khempus knew that, too. When the trap was sprung, he was prepared to sail from the mainland, not knowing he was much closer than he’d thought.”
“But you said Khempus wasn’t working for the other Library,” Jassamyn said.
“He wasn’t. As soon as the trap was sprung, Khempus left the other Library. According to Tuhl’s journal, the Librarians believed that Khempus suspected the Grandmagister knew where the pieces of
The Book of Time
were.
“How?”
Juhg shook his head. “We’ll have to ask the Grandmagister. I suspect, though, that their paths crossed. From when I was taken captive aboard the goblinkin ship, I gathered that they had a history together.”
“So as soon as Khempus knew where Greydawn Moors was,” Raisho said, “he quit the Library cold an’ met up with his goblinkin chums.”
“Yes.” Juhg took out Tuhl’s blood-stained journal. “What Khempus may not know is that Tuhl spent time in the Haze Mountains with the goblinkin there. He spoke their language and often used them to search for
The Book of Time
. Gave them information for treasure hunts and looting in exchange for murder and kidnapping.”
“Like he was doing in the Drylands,” Cobner growled.
“Yes. Tuhl suspected that the fourth section of
The Book of Time,
the red gemstones—or
stone,
if the elves are correct—was located in the goblinkin keep.”
“Ye keep sayin’ it’s a goblinkin keep,” Raisho said, “but I didn’t know goblinkin built keeps.”
“They don’t,” Juhg agreed. “Before the goblinkin took it over, before the Cataclysm, the keep belonged to humans. A group of traders that specialized in hauling goods up and down the mountains on both sides. They called the place the Eagle’s Nest because it was so high. They were not always
honest with everyone they traded with, though, and had many enemies. Some they were jealous of and some they just didn’t like. All of their chosen enemies were powerful, though. That was why they carved escape routes into the mountain.”
“How do you know that?” Cobner asked.
“Because Tuhl found the journals written by one of the family members years ago,” Juhg said, flipping through the pages of the blood-stained journal. “Tuhl had thought
The Book of Time
might have been hidden in one of them, so he explored them. Without the goblinkin knowing.”
“He wrote about that in his journal?” Jassamyn asked.
“Yes.” Juhg tapped one of the pages. “Here.”
“Does Khempus know about them?” the elven maid asked.
“According to Tuhl, no. The Library planned, if they could find a thief or band of thieves brave enough, to hire him or them to steal
The Book of Time
from Khempus in the event that he found it.”
“I don’t see what good that does any of us,” Cobner complained.
Jassamyn sat forward in her chair and grinned at Juhg. “Because Tuhl left a map, didn’t he?”
Smiling himself, crookedly because the wound at the side of his face hurt terribly, Juhg flipped the page and revealed the first of the diagrams Tuhl had recorded in his journal. He touched part of the map. “This one,” he said, “goes to the dungeon where I saw the Grandmagister.”
 
 
The barge trip down the Dragon’s Tongue took five days. The army held up the on the fourth day and camped out in the Sighing Forest so they could travel the last leg of their journey by night and not be detected.
Past midnight, Juhg arrived in the basin where
One-Eyed Peggie
was tied up. The port city that occupied the stretch of land around Spit Basin at the end of the Dragon’s Tongue—the derogatory name of the place earned by the cutthroats, smugglers, thieves, and brigands who called the city home—was still in full swing and had a reputation for indulging in sinful delights until dawn.
High above the city on a rocky shelf of land nearly eight thousand feet above, putting it almost fifteen thousand feet above sea level, the blunt lines of the goblinkeep sat in the craggy crown of the Haze Mountains.
The wispy clouds that circled the mountain range earned their name in the bright moonslight.
Stealing through the alleys between the well-lighted taverns festooned with festive colored lanterns, Juhg and his companions made their way to the docks without drawing attention to themselves. They were surprised to see Hallekk standing out on deck awaiting them.
The big dwarf stood with his arms folded over his broad chest. “Juhg,” he said, looking at the scar on the dweller’s face. “It’s good to see ye. Ye’ve had a hard time of it from what I seen.” When Juhg stepped onto the deck, Hallekk took him in a fierce embrace and held him tight for a moment.
For a moment, Juhg was nonplussed. Then he reasoned out Hallekk’s seeming precognitive ability. “The monster’s eye,” he said.
Hallekk greeted the others and welcomed them aboard. “Since we put down anchor here an’ been waitin’ on ye, there ain’t been much else to do.”
With
One-Eyed Peggie
slowly rolling a little to allow for the river current spilling into the basin, Juhg almost felt like he’d come home. Only one thing—one
person—
was missing.
“What of the Grandmagister?” Juhg asked in a small voice.
“He’s alive,” Hallekk said. “Khempus has done hard for him, Juhg, but he’s managed to stay alive.”
Juhg let out a tense breath. After losing Craugh, hearing bad news about the Grandmagister would have emptied him.
“Ye’ve got an army a-waitin’ out in them woods,” Hallekk said. “That surprised me.”
“It surprised me, too,” Juhg admitted. “But talk of what is happening out in Greydawn Moors has already reached this far.”
“It’s them caravans,” Hallekk said. “Ye’ll never meet a busier bunch of busybodies tellin’ stories an’ news and stuff.”
“So I see. Though I’d never before suspected they could get news out this quickly.”
“It’s important news,” Jassamyn said. “It’s not every day that you find out a Library exists. I can still remember when the Grandmagister told me.”
“Most of these morons around here don’t believe it,” Hallekk said. “They talk about it an’ such, but they don’t believe it. All they think is that the island is gonna become a goblinkin lodestone an’ get ever’body there kilt.”
“It almost did that.”
Hallekk looked at Juhg. “Me an’ my crew, we’re about fed up to the gills with sittin’ around an’ makin’ nice with people we’d rather be deepsixin’. What are ye gonna do with that army ye raised up?”
“We’re going to climb that mountain,” Juhg said, “and we’re going to free the Grandmagister and finish putting
The Book of Time
back together.”
 
 
It was eight thousand feet, give or take, from the basin at the foot of the Haze Mountains to the keep. If it had been on level ground, it would only have taken a man thirty minutes or so to walk. Climbing that distance, even though they were able to negotiate the distance without resorting to climbing ropes and pitons, took hours.

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