Cadderly looked again on Danica's room, the image identical to the one he had blocked out―even Newander remained at his position near the door―except that now there hung in the air an almost imperceptible pink haze.
Cadderly felt his heart quicken as the purpose of that haze became all too clear. His gaze fell over Danica, still deep in her own meditation. Cadderly's thoughts reached out to Danica and were answered. She was battling, as he had suspected, fighting back against that permeating pink haze, trying to recover her sensibilities against its debilitating effects.
"Fight, Danica!" he heard himself say, and the words broke his trance. He looked over to Newander, his expression desperate.
"I was the cause," he said, holding up his hands as though they were covered in blood. "I opened it!"
Newander rushed over and knelt beside Cadderly, trying to calm him. "Opened?"
"The bottle," Cadderly stammered. "The bottle! The red-glowing bottle. The mist―do you see the mist?"
Newander glanced around, then shook his head.
"It is there... here," Cadderly said, grabbing the druid's arm and using it to help him to his feet. "We have to close that bottle!"
"Where?" the druid asked.
Cadderly stopped suddenly, considering the question. He remembered the skeletons, the dusty smell, the corridors lined with alcoves. "There really was a door in the wine cellar," he said at length, "a door to the lowest catacombs, those dungeons no longer used in the library."
"We must go there?" asked Newander, rising beside Cadderly.
"No," Cadderly cautioned, "not yet. The catacombs are not empty. We have to prepare." He looked to Danica again, seeing her in a new light now that he understood her mental struggles.
"Will she be fighting beside us?" Newander asked, noticing Cadderly's focus.
"Danica is fighting now," Cadderly assured him, "but the mist hangs all about us, and it is insistent." He gave Newander a confused look. "I still do not know why I have been spared its effects."
"If you were indeed the cause, as you believe," replied the druid, who had lengthy experience with magical practices, "then that fact alone might have spared you."
Cadderly considered the words for a moment, but they hardly seemed to matter. "Whatever the reason," he said determinedly, "we―I―have to close that bottle." He spent a few minutes trying to recall the obstacles before him and imagining even more frightening monsters that might be lurking just outside his nightmarish visions. Cadderly knew that he would need allies in this fight, powerful allies to help him get back to the altar room.
"Ivan and Pikel," he said to Newander. "The dwarves are more resistant, as you said. They will help us."
"Go to them," Newander bade him.
"You stay with Danica," Cadderly replied. "Let no one, except for me and the dwarven brothers, into the room."
"I have ways of keeping the world out," Newander assured him.
As soon as he entered the hallway, Cadderly heard the druid chanting softly. Danica's wooden door, suddenly brought to life by Newander's spell, warped and expanded, wedging tightly, immovably, into its frame.
* * * * *
Ivan and Pikel were not fighting when Cadderly entered the kitchen this time, but neither were they cooking. They sat quietly, somberly, at the room's main table opposite each other.
As soon as he noticed Cadderly, Ivan absently handed him the one-handed crossbow, finished to perfection. "Had an urge," the dwarf explained, not giving the magnificent item a second look.
Cadderly was not surprised. It seemed that many people in the Edificant Library were having "urges" these days.
"What's it about?" Ivan asked suddenly.
Cadderly did not understand. Pikel, a grim expression on his normally carefree features, pointed to the door leading into the dining room. Cadderly crossed the kitchen tentatively and when he looked into the adjoining room, he came to realize the reason for the dwarves' somber mood. Half the gluttonous priests, Avery included, remained at the table, hardly able to move. The other half were worse yet, lying on the floor in their own vomit. Cadderly knew without going to them that several were dead, and his face, too, was ashen when he turned back into the kitchen.
"So what's it about?" Ivan asked again.
Cadderly looked at him long and hard, unsure of how he could begin to explain the bottle and his own, still unclear actions. Finally, he said only, "I am not certain what has happened, but I believe I know now how to stop it."
He thought his proclamation would excite the dwarves, but they hardly stirred at the news.
"Will you help me?" Cadderly asked. "I cannot do it alone."
"What do ye need?" Ivan asked offhandedly.
"You," Cadderly replied, "and your brother. The curse―and it is a curse―comes from below the cellars. I have to go down there to end it, but I fear that the place is guarded."
"Guarded?" Ivan balked. "How can ye guess that?"
"Just trust me, I beg," replied Cadderly. "I am not so skilled with weapons, but I have witnessed you two at your fighting and could use your strong arms. Will you come with me?"
The dwarves exchanged bored looks and shrugs. "I'd rather be cooking," Ivan remarked. "Gave up me adventuring pack long ago. Pikel'd rather be ..." He stopped and eyed his brother intently.
Pikel fixed a smug look on his face, reached up, and waggled one side of his green beard.
"A druid!" Ivan yelled, hopping to his feet and grabbing a nearby pan. "Ye stupid bird-loving, oak-kissing ... !"
"Oo oi!" Pikel exclaimed, arming himself with a rolling pin.
Cadderly was between them in an instant. "It is all part of the curse!" he cried. "Can you not see that? It makes you argue and fight!"
Both dwarves jumped back a step and lowered their utensil weapons.
"Oo," muttered Pikel curiously.
"If you want to fight a true enemy," Cadderly began, "then come to my room and help me prepare. There is something below the cellars, something horrible and evil. If we do not stop it, then all the library is doomed."
Ivan leaned to the side and looked around the young scholar to his similarly leaning brother. They shared a shrug and simultaneously heaved their cookware weapons across to the other side of the room.
"Let us go to the gluttons first," Cadderly instructed. "We should leave them as comfortable as we may."
The dwarves nodded. "Then I'll get me axe," Ivan declared, "and me brother'll get his tree!"
"Tree?" Cadderly echoed quietly at the departing dwarves' backs. One look at Pikel's green-dyed braid bouncing halfway down the dwarf's back and his huge, gnarly, and smelly feet flopping out every which way from his delicate sandals told Cadderly not even to bother pressing the question.
Blood On His Hands
Cadderly sorted through the many leather straps hanging in his wardrobe, finally puffing out a belt with a strangely shaped, wide and shallow leather sheath on one side. The fit of the small crossbow was perfect―there was even a place for the loading pin. As usual, Ivan and Pikel had crafted the metal to exact specifications.
Cadderly drew the crossbow out again as soon as he had put it in. He tested the pin next, cranking the bow and firing several times. The action was smooth and easy; Cadderly even managed, without too much difficulty, to manipulate the weapon enough to crank it with one hand.
Next Cadderly took out the bandolier and slung it over his shoulder, carefully lining up the sixteen loaded darts in front of him, within easy reach. He winced when he wondered what damage a blow to his chest might cause, but he held faith that the darts and the bandolier had been properly constructed. He felt better when he saw himself in the mirror, as if wearing his latest inventions had returned to him some control over his surroundings. Any smile he felt welling was quickly sublimated, though, when he remembered the dangerous task ahead. This was no game, he reminded himself. Already, and because of his own actions, several men had died and all the library was threatened.
Cadderly mov
ed across the room, behind the door, to a closed and sealed iron box. He fitted a key into the lock, then paused for a long moment, considering carefully the precise steps he had to follow once the box was opened. He had practiced this maneuver many times, but never before had he believed he would need it.
As soon as the box lid was opened, all the area around Cadderly fell into a globe of absolute darkness. It was not a surprise to the young scholar; Cadderly had paid Histra handsomely for placing this reversed form of her light spell within the box. It was inconvenient―and Cadderly did not enjoy dealing with Histra―but necessary to protect one of Cadderly's most prized possessions. In an ancient tome, Cadderly had stumbled upon the formula for the very potent sleep poison used by the drow elves. The exotic ingredients had not been found easily―one fungus in particular could only be gained in deep tunnels far below Toril's surface―and the arrangements to mix them―which the alchemist, Belago, had done deep underground also―had been even more difficult to secure, but Cadderly had persevered. With the blessings and backing of Dean Thobicus, his efforts had produced five tiny vials of the poison.
At least, Cadderly hoped it was the poison―one does not often find the opportunity to test such things.
Even with the apparent success of the brewing, though, there remained one severe limitation. The potion was a drow mix, brewed in the strange magical emanations found only in the Underdark, the lightless world beneath Toril's surface. It was a well-known fact that if drow poison was exposed to the sun, even for a moment, it would become useless in a very short while. The open air alone could destroy the expensive mixture, so Cadderly had taken great steps, like the spell of darkness, to protect his investment.
He closed his eyes and worked from memory. First he unscrewed the tiny compartment of his feathered ring and laid the top in a predetermined place to the side, then he removed one of the vials from the box, carefully popping its cork. He poured the gooey contents into his opened ring, then found and replaced the feathered top.
Cadderly breathed easier. If he had slipped at all, he would have wasted perhaps a thousand gold pieces worth of ingredients and many weeks of labor. Also, if he had spilled even a drop of the poison onto his hand, and if it had found its way into a tiny scratch or nick, he no doubt would be snoozing soundly right beside the box.
None of that had happened. Cadderly was precise and disciplined when he needed to be, and his many practice sessions with vials of water had paid off.
The darkness disappeared within the confines of the sealed box when Cadderly closed the lid. Ivan and Pikel were already in the room, surrounding the young scholar, weapons ready and faces grim at the sight of the unexpected darkness.
"Just yourself, then," Ivan grumbled relaxing his grip on his heavy, two-headed axe.
Cadderly could not immediately find his breath to reply. He just sat and stared at the dwarven brothers. Both wore armor of interlocking rings, dusty from decades of idleness and rusted in several spots. Ivan wore a helm fashioned with deer antlers―an eight-pointer―while Pikel wore a cooking pot! For all his precautionary armor, Pikel still wore his open-toed sandals.
Most amazing of all, though, was Pikel's weapon. Looking upon it, Cadderly understood Ivan's earlier reference. It was indeed a "tree," the polished trunk of some black and smooth-barked variety that Cadderly did not recognize. The club was fully four feet long, nearly as tall as Pikel, a foot in diameter on the wide end, and less than half that on the narrow, gripping end. Looped leather hand-grips were spiked on at various intervals to aid the wielder, but still it seemed an awkward and cumbersome thing.
As if he sensed Cadderly's private doubts, Pikel whipped the club about through several attack and defense routines with obvious ease.
Cadderly nodded his appreciation, sincerely relieved that he had not been on the receiving end of any of Pikel's mock strikes.
"Are ye set to go?" Ivan asked, adjusting his armor.
"Almost," Cadderly answered. "I have just a few more minor preparations, and I want to look in on Danica before we go"
"How can we help ye?" offered Ivan.
Cadderly could see that the dwarves were both anxious to get on with it. He knew that it had been many years since the Bouldershoulder brothers had walked into adventure, many years spent cooking meals in the haven that was the Edificant Library. It wasn't a bad life by anyone's measure, but the thought of imminent danger and adventure obviously had worked an enchantment over the dwarves. There was an unmistakable luster to their dark eyes and their movements were agitated and nervous.
"Go to Belago's alchemy shop," Cadderly replied, thinking it best to keep the dwarves busy. He described the distillation equipment and the potion that Belago was brewing for him. "If he has any more for me, bring it back," Cadderly instructed, thinking the task simple enough.
The dwarves already had hopped off down the hallway when Cadderly realized that he hadn't seen Belago about lately, not since before the curse had taken hold of the library. What had happened to the alchemist? Cadderly wondered. Was the shop still operational? Were the proper mixtures for blending his Oil of Impact still slipping in the precise amounts through the hoppers? Cadderly shrugged away his worries, trusting in Ivan and Pikel to use their best judgment.
Percival was at the window again, chattering with his customary excitement. Cadderly went over and leaned on the sill, bending to put his face close to his little friend's and listen intently. Cadderly could not understand the squirrel's talk, of course, no more than a child could understand a pet dog's, but he and Percival had developed quite an emotive rapport, and he knew well enough that Percival comprehended some simple words or phrases, mostly those pertaining to food.
"I will be gone for a while," Cadderly said. The squirrel probably wouldn't understand so complex a message, he realized, but talking to Percival often helped Cadderly sort through his own confusion. Percival never really provided any answers, but Cadderly often found them hidden within his own words.
Percival sat up on his hind legs, licking his forepaws and running them quickly over his face.
"Something bad has happened," Cadderly tried to explain, "something that I caused. Now I am going to fix it."
His somber tone, if not his words, had a calming effect on the rodent. Percival stopped licking and sat very still.
"So I will be gone," Cadderly continued, "down below the library, in the deep tunnels that are no longer used."
Something he had said apparently struck the squirrel profoundly. Percival ran in tight circles, chattering and clicking, and it was a very long while before Cadderly could calm the beast down. He knew that Percival had something important―by Percival's standards―to tell him, but he had no time for the squirrel's distractions.
"Do not worry," Cadderly said, as much to himself as to Percival. "I will return soon, and then all will be as it was." The words sounded hollow to him. Things would not be as they had been. Even if he managed to close the smoking bottle, and even if that simple act removed the curse, it wouldn't bring back the priests of Ilmater or the dead gluttons in the dining room.
Cadderly shook those dark thoughts away. He could not hope to succeed if he began his quest in despair.
"Do not worry!" he said again, firmly.
Again the squirrel went crazy, and this time, Cadderly realized, from the direction of Percival's gaze, the source of the excitement. Cadderly looked back over his shoulder, expecting to see that Ivan and Pikel had returned.
He saw instead Kierkan Rufo, and more pointedly, the dagger in Rufo's hand.
"What is it?" Cadderly asked weakly, but he needed no verbal answer to decipher the man's intent. Rufo's left eye was still bruised and closed, and his nose pointed as much toward his cheek as straight ahead. His ugly wounds only accentuated the look of sheer hatred in his cold, dark eyes.
"Where is your light now?" the tall man sneered. "But then, it would not do you much good, would it?" He limped noticeably, but his approach was steady.
"What are you doing?" Cadderly asked him.
"Is not the mighty Cadderly smart enough to figure that out?" Rufo mocked him.
"You do not want to do this," Cadderly said as calmly as he could. "There are consequences ..."
"What?" Rufo cried wildly. "Oh, but I do indeed want to do this. I want to hold your heart in my hands. I want to bring it to your dear Danica and show her who was the stronger."
Cadderly looked for some retort. He thought of mentioning the obvious weakness in Rufo's plan―if he did bring Cadderly's heart to Danica, she would kill him―but even that, Cadderly guessed, would not stop Kierkan Rufo. Rufo was under the curse fully, following its devious call with no regard for consequences. Reluctantly, but with no apparent options, Cadderly slipped one finger inside the loop of his spindle-disk cord and moved right up against the side of his bed.
Rufo came straight in, dagger leading, and Cadderly rolled sideways across the bed, just getting out of the angular man's long reach.
Rufo jumped back quickly, faster than Cadderly expected he could move, to cut off Cadderly's angle for the door. He rushed around the bottom of the bed, launching a wide, arcing swing at Cadderly's belly.
Cadderly easily kept back beyond the dagger, then he retaliated, snapping his spindle-disks above Rufo's swinging arm. Rufo's already broken nose crackled under the impact and a new stream of blood flowed thickly over the dried stains on his lip. Rufo, obsessed with utter hatred, shook away the minor hit and came on.
Though the blow had not been very solid, it still had almost broken the rhythm of Cadderly's working wrist. He managed to coax the disks back to his hand, but the cord was now loosely wound and he couldn't immediately strike again effectively. Rufo seemed to sense his weakness. He grinned wickedly and came in again.
Percival saved Cadderly's life, leaping from the window to land squarely on Rufo's face. With a single swipe, Rufo sent the squirrel flying across the room, and Percival had done no real damage, but Cadderly had not wasted the time.
With Rufo distracted, he had snapped the spindle-disks straight down and back up several times to realign and tighten the cord.
[The Cleric Quintet 01] - Canticle Page 17
