The Destruction of the Books

by Mel Odom

  Nodding, Varrowyn said, “It shall be as ye say ’twill, Grandmagister. Ye have me word on that.”

  “Thank you, my friend.” The Grandmagister turned again to the Librarians. “I want the others found, and I want them to leave the Library. Have them wait farther down the Knucklebones. At the trading place near the Ogre’s Fingers.”

  The trading place was little more than a shack with a straw roof to keep off the sun. Most people in Greydawn Moors didn’t like the idea of trekking up the mountain at the Library because it was hard to show resentment of a place if someone went there. However, a number of merchants and craftsmen from the town, as well as from the ships, regularly came up to the trading area to swap and barter and sell to the Librarians, who did not want to trouble themselves with traveling down the Knucklebones or who had eclectic tastes for foreign goods.

  Still others brought pieces of art, sculptures, and paintings for trade. Art from before the Cataclysm was almost as rare as books, but there were new artists—painters, sculptors, and weavers—that were starting new concepts. Grandmagister Lamplighter, unlike any Grandmagister before him, had assigned such studies to First and Second Level Librarians, giving them the task of matching current techniques with those described in books from the pre-Cataclysm days.

  Art, Grandmagister Lamplighter had said on numerous occasions, was as important as anything they could study and was a true and revealing language that remained handed down—father to son and mother to daughter—for generation after generation. Several times through the study of those things, the Librarians had been able to identify tribes and clans and houses of trade that had vanished in the turmoil of the Goblin War. On some of his quests, the Grandmagister had gone into those areas and taken oral histories that furthered the knowledge the Library held. Over the years, Grandmagister Lamplighter had transcribed hundreds of books in this manner.

  “Hopefully,” the Grandmagister said, “reinforcements will come from Greydawn Moors and from the forest below.”

  “The dwarves an’ the elves will come up,” one of Varrowyn’s warriors muttered. “Mayhap the humans who might be lurkin’ about. But ye can bet that won’t none of the dwellers be makin’ that long climb up this mountain tonight.”

  Juhg felt ashamed, knowing that the dwarf was speaking the truth. But a dweller acted in the fashion that the Old Ones had made for him: fearful and unwilling to risk his life or limb for anything outside his own survival or—if the aberration were great enough—for greed. Curiosity was also a weakness, but dwellers who heard the alarm bell ringing would know that only Death awaited at the top of the Knucklebones.

  If he had not believed in the Library so much more than himself—and come to believe in it even more over the passing years—Grandmagister Lamplighter had often admitted he would have been no better than most of the other dwellers. Juhg had never truly believed that. Grandmagister Lamplighter was destined for greatness. Even Craugh had said that on seldom occasion.

  “No,” the Grandmagister agreed without remorse or embarrassment. “Dwellers won’t come to our rescue.”

  The dwarf who’d spoken his thoughts looked guilty and didn’t dare meet the Grandmagister’s eye.

  “And the help coming from town will more than likely be too late,” the Grandmagister said. “Mayhap the elven warders who live in the forests will reach us first, and perhaps even in time.” He took in a breath and released it. “For now, we save ourselves, and we save everyone else that we can. I want the Librarians out of here, and I want as many of the books taken as we can get our hands on.”

  “It will be done as ye say, Grandmagister,” Varrowyn promised.

  The Grandmagister turned to the four Librarians hiding behind Craugh and gave them quick instructions. As he listened, Juhg understood that the Grandmagister had divided the Library into quadrants, already taking into account the four best escape routes and making certain every floor received adequate warning.

  He dismissed the Librarians and the dwarves and turned to Juhg. “You will come with us.”

  Where? Juhg wanted to ask. But he didn’t. For one fleeting second, he thought the Grandmagister might be listening to his dweller instincts and intended to flee, then he dismissed that. Grandmagister Lamplighter had run from several fights over the years that Juhg had known him, but only when those fights might be properly avoided. A dwarf or possibly a prideful elf, and definitely a human who believed Death could never truly reach out and touch him, would never have survived as long as the Grandmagister unless that dwarf, elf, or human were well and truly blessed by the Old Ones.

  Craugh took the lead, holding his staff with its magical light before them.

  No, Juhg realized, watching the wizard’s grim face, wherever the Grandmagister was presently headed, things were going to be decidedly dangerous.

  * * *

  “This is a very powerful spell,” Craugh said, holding his staff high some minutes later and staring in perplexion at the three stairways carved out of the mountain before him.

  All three of the stairways led up. The magical light chopped into the dense, dank shadows that huddled there, but none of the creatures that roamed the Library seemed to have found their way to those stairwells yet.

  “We need to get to the lowest level of the Library,” Craugh said. He held the staff aloft and looked around. “This isn’t the lowest level, is it?”

  “No,” Grandmagister Lamplighter said. “Four levels yet remain below us.”

  Gesturing to the three stairwells, Craugh said, “Is there another stairwell that will take us down?”

  “The ones on the left and in the center go down,” the Grandmagister said.

  Craugh looked at him. “Clearly, they go up.”

  “For only a short time,” Juhg said, “then they go down again.”

  “And the one on the right?”

  “It goes up,” the Grandmagister responded.

  Craugh grumbled beneath his breath. “A perfectly foolish way to build a structure, if you ask me.”

  “The Library wasn’t built in a day,” Grandmagister Lamplighter declared defensively.

  “Of course it wasn’t,” Craugh snapped. “It takes real planning to organize this kind of chaos.” He headed for the stairwell on the left.

  “Not that way,” Grandmagister Lamplighter and Juhg said at the same time.

  Craugh glared at them. “And why not?”

  “Because that stairwell doesn’t go four floors down,” the Grandmagister answered.

  “It only goes two,” Juhg said.

  “And that level doesn’t go any farther?” Craugh asked.

  “No,” Juhg replied. “That level lies to the south. The third and fourth levels lie to the north and west.”

  “Excavations on the south side below that level hit the water table each time,” the Grandmagister said. “The excavations to the north and west allowed the miners to go more deeply into the earth.”

  “This is nonsense,” Craugh said, plunging through the middle stairwell and quickly going down the steps with the staff pointed before him. “You don’t have a Library here, Wick, you’ve got a rather messy clump of rabbit warrens.”

  Don’t have a Library hung in the still air of the stairwell.

  Glancing back up, Craugh said, “I am sorry, my old friend. I—as I so often do, I’m afraid—spoke without thinking. That was not only ill-mannered of me, but very hurtful, given the present circumstances. Please forgive me.”

  Juhg’s astonishment caused him to trip on the stairs. He almost plunged headlong down the twisting steps that dug ever farther into the heart of the Knucklebones Mountains. Never in all of the stories, twice-told tales, or outright lies about Craugh had Juhg ever heard of the old wizard asking for forgiveness or owning up to his ill manners.

  Craugh swung his staff and stopped Juhg’s plunge at once while never missing a step himself. The staff held like an iron bar till Juhg once more had his balance, then it was whisked away.

  “The
se are trying times,” Grandmagister Lamplighter said, “and likely even more difficulties lie ahead of us. I know that you will stand with us, Craugh. Your comment is already forgotten.”

  “And you, apprentice,” Craugh said in a lowered voice that barely carried over the slapping of their feet against the stone steps, “you’ll forget this conversation entirely, hmmmm?”

  The threat wasn’t concealed well and the old wizard’s eye was sharp.

  “Yes,” Juhg promised.

  Craugh eyed him a moment more, then turned his attention once more to their progress.

  They went on, following the twisting and turning path of the stairwell as they descended to the heart of the Knucklebones Mountains.

  * * *

  At the bottom, the stairwell let out into a hallway with six doors. All of the doors were tall and broad and arched. Lanterns glowed on the walls, providing just enough light to make out the surroundings.

  “Can’t see a blasted thing in here,” Craugh grumped as he thrust his lighted staff around in all directions.

  Only then did Juhg remember that the wizard possessed human eyes that couldn’t see well in the low light. “What are you looking for?” Juhg asked.

  “I know what I’m looking for, apprentice,” Craugh snapped. “I just can’t find my way there.” He stamped the staff against the floor and the magical light glowed more brightly. “Ah, that’s much better.”

  “Which way—” the Grandmagister started to ask.

  “This way.” Craugh plowed ahead, obviously drawn by something neither the Grandmagister nor Juhg could see.

  Juhg followed, wondering why none of the Dread Riders or the Grymmlings had risen up from the darkness to confront them, then just as quickly thanking the fates that those creatures hadn’t.

  “As I said,” Craugh spoke as they raced onward, “this is a very old spell. It has taken root inside the Library, as its dark-hearted weaver intended. To remove it, we must destroy the root.”

  “Will you be able to separate the spell from the Library?” the Grandmagister asked.

  Craugh shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “If you can’t, what will become of the Library?”

  Craugh didn’t answer.

  “Craugh,” the Grandmagister called.

  The old wizard shook his head. “I don’t know, Wick. Truly, I do not. The magic that built this place, all the glamours that have been laid since the Foundation Stone was first put into place those hundreds of years ago, all of it is old. As magic ages, it frays, holding still if it was a strongly laid spell, but becoming a little unraveled.”

  “‘And in fraying,’” Juhg said, “‘the magic ties into the everyday world to maintain itself, drawing on the true essence that lies within a person, a place, or a thing, till the unnatural becomes part of the natural. In doing that, the magic becomes more a part of everything around it till the glamour and the thing or person or place it was laid upon become inseparable.’”

  Craugh looked at Juhg with raised eyebrows. “Very good, apprentice. Very well put indeed.”

  Juhg felt embarrassed. He’d spoken out of turn. “I didn’t just know that. That’s a quote from—”

  “Legorn’s The Existence of Magic Within the Natural World, or Why Ghosts Exist,” Craugh said. “I am well aware of the book. I’m just surprised that you would read such a thing, apprentice, or have a command of its understanding.”

  “My only familiarity came at the Grandmagister’s urging,” Juhg said.

  “Still, that you would remember much of it. Legorn’s book was written in Esketaryn, an elven language forgotten even before Lord Kharrion rose up to claim the goblinkin tribes. Not many can read that book. Not even many wizards. Or Librarians, for that matter, I suspect.”

  “There are translations,” Juhg said before he thought about it.

  “I didn’t know translations existed,” Craugh said.

  “Juhg did them,” Grandmagister Lamplighter said. “In three different languages.”

  “Translated a magic book?” Craugh looked doubtful.

  “A book about magic,” Juhg pointed out, knowing there was a big difference between a magic book and a book about magic.

  “One of many such volumes,” the Grandmagister declared with a measure of pride. “As I have told you on any number of occasions, Juhg is a very talented Librarian.”

  “Yet he chose to leave the Vault,” Craugh reminded. He shook his head. “His heart is not into this place as much as is yours, Wick. No one has ever loved this place as much as you.”

  “But—”

  “No one,” Craugh said. “I’ve known several Grandmagisters during my time in this world. During my visits. I know what I’m talking about.”

  Surprise spun through Juhg. No one knew how old Craugh was, but everyone knew that a wizard’s years weren’t measured as a man’s were.

  “And you can’t fault him, Wick. Juhg is no different than any other Librarian you’ve taught or guided or mentored. He’s just more knowledgeable than most.”

  The Grandmagister said nothing, but Juhg saw that Grandmagister Lamplighter’s eyes reflected his sadness over that truth. The fact that such an emotion could even register in light of everything that had happened in this past hour was amazing and showed how deeply the Grandmagister had cared about Juhg’s decision to leave.

  Juhg suddenly felt certain he would rather be upstairs alongside the dwarves fighting Dread Riders and Grymmlings while carrying his weight in books than to be in the lowest recesses of the Library with the cantankerous old wizard and the Grandmagister. Juhg did not want to feel guilty about the choice he had made. Living in the Library and serving the secrets it held was the Grandmagister’s dream, not his.

  Craugh continued leading the way. Juhg glanced at the doors to the rooms he had visited on occasion while serving as First Level Librarian. Now that he looked at those doors, remembering the shelves and shelves of books in each of the rooms, he wished that he’d had more time to find out what was among the stacks.

  Perhaps, he told himself with a little hope, those days and those opportunities are yet to be. Not all of the Library can possibly be destroyed.

  Only a little farther on, Juhg saw what it was that Craugh had traveled to the bottom of the Library to find. In the fourth large chamber they came to, a pulsating web of deep purple magical power permeated the entire room, contracting and expanding in a seemingly endless flow across the ceiling, walls, and floor.

  16

  Web of Spells

  Juhg stayed behind Craugh, fearing that the darkness ahead was filled with Dread Riders and Grymmlings. Instead, nothing moved but the shadows as the web of magic shifted and flickered, pulsing like a heartbeat. The throb of the magical spell sounded like a heartbeat as well, but one that thundered rapidly. Echoes rolled around Juhg.

  “What is it?” Grandmagister Lamplighter asked.

  “The root of the magic.” Craugh pointed his staff at the pulsing web. Purple sparks shot from the shifting design to bite and flash at the magical light atop the wizard’s staff. “This is the force that holds open the doors all through the levels above us.”

  Another spark spat from the web, jumping like an arrow in flight straight at the wizard.

  Craugh blocked the spark with his staff. The spark broke into a thousand gleaming pieces and disappeared. “If I can destroy this, all the magical doors to the upper floors will close.”

  “What about the creatures that have made it through the doors?” the Grandmagister asked.

  “Some might yet remain. That fact depends on how possessive the spell is. If I destroy the spell and the magic behind it is possessive, the spell may very well draw those creatures back to the world they came from. I will try to encourage that.” Craugh settled his pointed hat more firmly atop his head and stepped into the room. “Those that remain we will have to track down and kill. But I don’t know yet how many more can be sent through the doors.”

  “Why aren’t
any of the creatures here?” Juhg whispered, hoping he didn’t jinx them by mentioning the lack of enemies bent to spill their blood.

  “No door was made here.” Craugh pointed at the web of power. “This is the root. The spell took hold of the Library here, leeched into the magic protecting this place, and bent those old magics to its use as well. The root could not allow itself to be disturbed by doors or anything else that might disrupt its pattern.” The wizard faced the spell grimly. “That is the spell’s strength and it is its weakness.” He stepped closer. “And I must find a way to disrupt it.”

  Winds suddenly whipped up in the chamber, biting cold breezes that ripped at Craugh’s robe and beard until he spoke harsh, guttural words. Then the wind seemed to blow right through him because it never touched him again.

  But the wind touched Juhg, bringing a near-freezing intensity that chafed his exposed skin and turned his fingers into brittle sticks. He’d never seen anything freeze so quickly. He squinted his eyes against the gale, blinked near-frozen tears down his cheeks, and watched Craugh approach the magical web stuck tight to the sides of the chamber.

  Craugh shouted words of power. The wind changed and became filled with the blazing heat of the desert. Juhg sweltered, opening his robe and breathing harshly to try to pull more air into his lungs.

  A ball of whirling green light formed in Craugh’s free hand. He raised the ball to look at it, as if weighing it or checking its shape, like he was picking out a melon in the marketplace. Then he hurled the ball against the web.

  An explosion rocked the Library, even in the bedrock of the Knucklebones Mountains.

  Juhg felt the floor shift beneath him, looking on in stunned amazement as cracks shot across the floor and huge sections of stone lifted and bashed against each other like ice floes colliding. The crunching impacts filled the chamber with noise. Juhg fell and pushed himself up again, only to struggle to keep himself from falling back as the section of floor he stood on reared into the air and almost turned perpendicular to the position it had previously enjoyed.