The Destruction of the Books

by Mel Odom

  “I’ve not yet heard the events of those sailors’ deaths,” the Grandmagister said, “but I know this Librarian. He set no trap to cost the life of any man. I’ll vouch for him.”

  “Do ye, now?” Ganthor roared drunkenly. “Why, from what I hear, that there Librarian came from the mainland. He’s probably workin’ for the goblins like he was afore he come here.”

  “First Level Librarian Juhg,” Grandmagister Lamplighter said in a clear voice that contrasted sharply with Ganthor’s angry tone, “was a slave in the goblin mines. He lost his family to those foul creatures, and he spent years toiling with a yoke of iron around his neck while he tried to stay alive and escape.” The Grandmagister took a step toward the human, and it could be plainly seen that he was barely half the man’s height. “Not one of this crowd has ever been in such dire straits.”

  Ganthor leaned forward, towering over the Grandmagister threateningly. Carason slipped free his blade from the scabbard, looking grim and deadly earnest the whole time. His message to Ganthor and the others was clear: If any of them touched the Grandmagister, he would spill blood.

  And you’re the reason for this, Juhg told himself. Whether you mean to be or not, you’re the reason the Grandmagister stands so defenseless before them. You’re not one of these people.

  “He’s an outsider,” Ganthor accused.

  “He’s been in service to the Library for twenty years,” Grandmagister Lamplighter argued.

  “For all the good it’s done any of us.”

  “You can’t even begin to understand what a Librarian’s job is,” the Grandmagister replied.

  “They’s wastrels an’ thieves by any other name.” Ganthor looked around the room seeking support.

  All of the sailors agreed and some of them gave voice that Ganthor should get on with what they came there to do.

  Juhg had no doubt that Grandmagister Lamplighter was setting himself up to be killed. Even with Carason at his side, and what little help Juhg himself could provide, the sailors would plow through them like hail through a spring hay crop.

  He couldn’t imagine the Grandmagister taking such a firm stance, although they had faced down horrible foes in the past. Their major endeavor in those times had been to flee and escape whenever possible, which most of the time had been the case. At other times, Brant and Cobner had been with them, as well as other agents who the Grandmagister had enlisted to his cause, and the Library’s, over the years.

  Juhg stood, intending to give himself over to the sailors and hope that they came to their senses.

  Without turning around, the Grandmagister stuck an arm out and blocked Juhg’s path.

  “No one here much cares for ye or yer little Library,” Ganthor stated with a mocking sneer. “Ye’re a parasite what thrives off superstition an’ what ye can suck outta these good people here. I ain’t the only one what thinks that.”

  “Then you’re a fool,” the Grandmagister declared. “And all those who think that way are fools with you.” He looked around the room, somehow seeming taller than he was. “Greydawn Moors was put here to house the Library, to hold dear the knowledge that Lord Kharrion and the goblinkin tried to take from the hands of humans, dwarves, and elves in those long-ago Dark Years. You people who live here have been blessed to never know the hardships of the mainland. Those of you who have crewed aboard the ships know that I speak only the truth.”

  “Speak fer yerself,” Ganthor roared. “I’ve come near to spillin’ me life’s blood more’n once a-carryin’ out them orders what comes from the Library. I’ll never—”

  “You’ll never,” the Grandmagister stated in a voice that might have blown fresh off the ice of the Frozen Sea, “have to worry about such an event again, Ganthor Hemp. You’ll never crew aboard a ship from this island again. As is my rightful decree as Grandmagister of the Vault of All Known Knowledge and executor of the estate of the island of Greydawn Moors, you are banned from ever setting foot from this place again. You shall live out your days on this island, never to go forth and risk seditious and treasonous acts against the Library, and never to hold a position that would require the trust of the Vault of All Known Knowledge. Your fate will now and forever be sealed with that of this place.”

  For a moment, silence echoed across the eatery. Then the whispers started as the patrons as well as the sailors recovered from the astonishment of the Grandmagister’s order.

  Everyone knew of the power of the Grandmagister, and there were even tales of past Grandmagisters who had caused some to be locked up for a time for heinous acts. But no one had ever been made an outcast on the island and a prisoner at the same time.

  “Ye can’t do that,” Ganthor roared. A quaver of fear sounded in his voice despite his bluster.

  “It’s been done,” the Grandmagister said in a level, unemotional voice. “All of the good folk here are my witnesses.”

  “Aye, I witnessed it,” Carason said. “And all those who work for me or who intend to keep eating at this establishment heard it as well.”

  Ganthor turned back to the crowd of sailors pressing at his back. “We don’t have to take this. It’s just a lot of guff an’ hogwash. Ain’t nobody happy with the way the Grandmagisters have been runnin’ things. Them that come before this ’un was at least human an’ knew their places. We sure ain’t gonna have to listen to no halfer who’s gotten bigger’n his britches.”

  Most of the sailors raised their swords in agreement, but Juhg noticed that a few of them had started slinking away.

  “Well, then, halfer,” Ganthor sneered, turning back to the Grandmagister, “what do ye got to say about that?”

  “Only this,” a deep, stentorian voice announced. The words carried throughout the eatery from the front door, and they brought with them a sense of the power and regal bearing of the speaker. “Would the Grandmagister like you better as warty toads or as bigmouth bullfrogs?”

  “Craugh!” someone croaked.

  Gazing through the sailors and the wide area they’d left open behind them that led to the door, Juhg saw the individual standing in the doorframe. Juhg recognized the man at once.

  At six and a half feet tall—and that was without the pointed hat that made him near a giant—and slender as a reed, the wizard Craugh was imposing and threatening simply standing idle. He was not idle now, nor was he mentally self-involved as he often was unless in deep conversation with the Grandmagister.

  Worn russet-colored traveling leathers draped an innocuous brown homespun shirt that had seen better days and a pair of dark green breeches. No one knew how old Craugh was. Stories went back a hundred years and more, even though he was human and should have been long dead. Magic, it was well known, added years to a human’s life. Provided, of course, that those forces didn’t kill a wizard outright, or sooner rather than later.

  His long gray beard trailed down his skinny chest and framed a narrow face that looked sharp as a blade or a prow on a fighting vessel. That face, Juhg swore, could break through ice floes or shear forests. Craugh’s bright green eyes flashed with the power he wielded. He carried a gnarled wooden staff only slightly taller than him and had a crook on the end of it for lifting things.

  Without fear, Craugh walked into the eatery. Even the people still sitting at the tables moved away from him in fear. He fixed his gaze on Ganthor.

  “You drunken popinjay,” the wizard stated in a heated voice, leaning down to thrust his face into the ringleader’s. “How dare you talk that way to the Grandmagister! Especially this Grandmagister whom I have known these many years and know firsthand has risked his life and limb dozens of times over to keep both this island’s knowledge intact as well as its secrets. His efforts have gone far beyond those of other Grandmagisters before him. And there you stand, Ganthor Hemp, throwing accusations like a chittering squirrel high in the branches of an oak tree.”

  Ganthor shriveled.

  Craugh did not stop until he, too, stood at Grandmagister Lamplighter’s side. Under other ci
rcumstances, the sight of the two standing so close together might have drawn laughter. Craugh was nearly twice as tall as the Grandmagister but seemed even taller because of his thin build.

  “Well,” Craugh said as he faced the would-be lynch mob, “you’ve heard the Grandmagister’s pronouncements. What are you waiting for? Begone!” He stamped his staff against the wooden floor.

  The thudding sound resounded throughout the building, growing in intensity. Eldritch green flames jetted from Craugh’s eyes. He raised his empty left hand and threw it out before him.

  Wind rose inside the building from nowhere and whirled through the room, blowing out all the candles and banging the shutters on the windows.

  Shrieking and yelling for mercy, the drunken sailors ran from the room. They pushed and shoved against each other in their haste to escape the wizard’s wrath, then sprawled into a drunken mass out in the street. They were quickly up again and running as if for their lives.

  Perhaps, Juhg thought as he stared at the wizard, they are.

  The flames exuding from Craugh’s eyes faded. He turned and looked at Grandmagister Lamplighter. His eyes crinkled as he smiled and smoothed his ratty beard. “Bless me, Wick, I think that went about as well as could be expected under the circumstances.”

  “It was good that you came when you did, old friend,” the Grandmagister said, smiling as well.

  “I daresay, you had the situation well in hand. I should have let well enough alone, but you know how I love to make an entrance.”

  Juhg watched as Carason’s staff went about relighting lanterns and candles, and righting overturned chairs and tables. He suspected that the building couldn’t withstand many more such exits.

  “It’s been a long times since you last visited,” the Grandmagister said.

  “I have missed you, too, Grandmagister. But many events have been happening along the mainland and in the goblinkin countries that needed watching. I have learned a great many things, not all of them pleasant.”

  The two hugged, though Craugh quickly worked to regain his aplomb and his pointed hat, which had come dangerously close to falling off. The wizard turned his attention to Juhg.

  As always, Juhg had a hard time meeting Craugh’s blazing gaze, even though he and Craugh had always gotten along well together. Still, Craugh was the Grandmagister’s friend, not his.

  “And you, apprentice,” Craugh said, sizing Juhg up at a glance, “I heard down in the harbor that you’ve come across a book under strange circumstances.”

  “Yes,” Juhg said. Craugh had never called him anything but apprentice since Grandmagister Lamplighter had found him and taken him under his wing. “I was about to tell the Grandmagister the tale.”

  “Then you can tell it to us all.” Craugh gazed at the table, eyes lighting on the plate Juhg had left. “Those ruffians interrupted your meal. Get back to it. The sooner you finish, the sooner we can talk at length about this. I have tales of my own to tell. Even with a full day before us, we might not get it all done.”

  “I can wait to eat,” Juhg volunteered.

  “No,” Craugh and the Grandmagister and Carason said at the same time.

  “A traveling adventurer never knows when his next meal might be coming,” the wizard added.

  “You’ll need to keep up your strength,” the Grandmagister announced.

  “And you won’t want that when it’s cold,” Carason said.

  “Seeing the wisdom in a meal,” Craugh said as he reached out and took up a nearby chair with deceptive ease because he was much stronger than he looked, as Juhg well knew, “I’ll take a plate myself, innkeeper.”

  “As I’ve told you before,” Carason grumbled, “I’m not an innkeeper. I’m a chef.”

  “A full plate,” Craugh said, ignoring Carason’s reply. “I’ll settle for quantity—and hot—rather than quality from some would-be meat burner with grandiose ideas. I’ve just come in on a small ship that boasted only water and hardtack by voyage’s end.”

  “I’ve never seen a ship come into Greydawn Moors in such a shape as you describe,” Carason protested. “You’re just a picky eater. And like as not, you skipped eating so you could come in here and eat for free as you normally do.”

  “Well, then,” Craugh said with a grudging smile, “are you going to feed me or are you going to try to talk me to death?”

  Still complaining about the lack of gratitude in wizards in general and Craugh in particular, Carason stepped into the back kitchen to see to the food himself.

  As soon as the plate hit the table, Craugh thanked Carason and began eating with grim ruthlessness. “Well,” he said, glancing at Juhg, “tuck in. When I’m finished, you’re finished. There’s not going to be any lollygagging about during this meal.”

  That was something of a challenge as well as a threat, Juhg knew from past experience. Craugh loved to eat, and could eat surprising amounts that his skinny frame denied, but he wasted no time on the enjoyment of any repast set before him. Juhg set himself to the task.

  They ate mostly in silence, the calm quiet that those who have shared the road in dangerous times and in dangerous places know. And it was mostly silent because every herdsman and farmer who had witnessed Craugh’s show of wizardry had left.

  * * *

  “Ertonomous Dron.” Craugh repeated the wizard’s name after Juhg finished telling of the battle against Blowfly that had gained Windchaser the mysterious book that the Grandmagister held. “I think perhaps I’ve heard the name in my travels, but I’ve never met the man. From what I recall, he was an evil and despicable man.” He puffed on his pipe. “Are you certain that he’s dead?”

  “He was left at the bottom of the ocean near the Tattered Islands,” Juhg said. “Even if he survived, it’s a long way to the mainland. Or even to the Tattered Islands.”

  Craugh stroked his beard. “Still, you’d be surprised at what wizards can live through.” He smiled grimly at past memories. “The Old Ones know the fits I’ve given some of my enemies when they thought they’d killed me. Eh, Wick?”

  The Grandmagister nodded as he turned pages in the book. “Yes. I do remember the Falmorrean Gargoyle quest in particular. Even I thought you were dead that time.”

  That adventure, Juhg knew, was one he had not been privy to in conversation or in the Grandmagister’s journals he’d read, and he’d read all of them that were available. The Grandmagister had not allowed all of his personal journals of his travels to be entered into the Library. Still, he had used those narratives as resources and contributed several monographs on historical sites, biographies of people long dead, and discussions of architecture and constructions that hinted at the places he had gone and the things he had seen and done on those missing travels. He also had not given any indication why those narratives of those journeys were missing from the Library stacks.

  “That was a dicey bit of business,” Craugh said.

  “If there ever was.” The Grandmagister kept turning pages, only halfway paying attention to his friend. “I thought we were both dead.” He puffed contentedly on his pipe, then took it from his mouth and used the stem to chase sentences across the page. “I can’t believe as widely read as I am that I can’t at least guess at the origins of this language.”

  “You don’t know everything, Wick,” Craugh said. “At least, you don’t know everything yet.”

  Juhg heard the emphasis and his curiosity pricked immediately. There was some kind of hidden communication between the wizard and the Grandmagister. On past trips, he had seen and heard evidence of the same thing. Neither Grandmagister Lamplighter nor Craugh were given to let everyone in on his secrets.

  “Mayhap someday I will,” the Grandmagister mused. He sighed, then looked at the wizard. “You said you had news of the mainland.”

  Craugh nodded and breathed out a wreath of smoke. “The goblinkin are massing along the South. They’re growing stronger every day.”

  “Why?” the Grandmagister asked.

  The
news left a chill in Juhg’s heart. He had been imprisoned for all those years in a mining colony in the South.

  “I don’t know.” Craugh frowned. “Oh, I’ve heard rumblings of a council of goblinkin going to form, and even that some new prophecy has come into being among the tribe clans.”

  “A prophecy?” the Grandmagister asked.

  Craugh waved the possibility off with a hand. “The same folderol the goblinkin trot out every so often. At least, when those creatures even think to remember to do so. That Lord Kharrion will rise to lead them again.”

  “Something is bringing the goblinkin together.”

  “Yes. I’ve traveled there, Wick. Seen them myself. They are massing down near the Quartz Sea. I’ve stayed up in the mountains and spied upon them through the eyes of a falcon—not very settling to the stomach after a while, I must tell you. There are valleys and hills and dales filled with those noxious hide tents goblinkin use when those creatures march in the field instead of out in the ruins of one town or another.”

  “Have you identified any leaders among them?”

  Craugh shook his head. “Oh, you’ll see one goblin talking big one day only to see another run that one through the next day.”

  “Usually that will set one tribe against another.”

  “Mayhap it still will. But for now, they seem content not to try to kill each other in great masses. That, in itself, is a frightening thought: that we can’t depend on the goblinkin to simply destroy each other over pillaging rights.” Craugh puffed on his pipe. “You do know the tale of the Quartz Sea, don’t you?”

  The Grandmagister nodded. He reached for his current personal journal, opened it to the bookmark ribbon, then took out a fresh quill and a bottle of ink. With a deft, sure hand that Juhg was so familiar with after years of experience, the Grandmagister worked.

  A map took shape across the fresh, clean page. The shoreline looked like a crescent moon. Patches of rock formed as well. The Grandmagister moved smoothly, picking up ink with the quill and adding lines, then back to the ink before the last line faded too much.