Canticle

by R. A. Salvatore

  "What have you to gain by keeping me here?" Danica asked, as though she had read the druid's thoughts. "If Cadderly is not in danger, then he will find and defeat the curse before I... we, can get to him. But if he and the dwarves have found danger, then they could surely use our help."

  Newander waved his hands and whistled shrilly to the vines. They jumped to his call, releasing their hold on Danica and the bed, rolling back out the open window.

  Danica stretched her arms and legs for many moments before she could bring herself to stand, and even then she got up quite unsteadily, needing Newander's support.

  "Are you so certain that you are fit for walking?" the druid asked. "You suffered some serious wounds to the head."

  Danica pulled roughly from his grasp and staggered to the middle of the room. There she began an exercise routine, falling more and more easily into the familiar movements. Her arms waved and darted in perfect harmony, each guiding the other to its next maneuver. Every now and again, one of her feet came whistling up in front of her, arcing high over her head.

  Newander watched her tentatively at first, then smiled and nodded his agreement that the young woman had fully regained control of her movements, movements that seemed ever so graceful and appealing, almost animal-like, to the druid.

  "We should be going, then," Newander offered, taking up his oaken staff and moving to the door.

  Renewed sounds from Histra's room greeted them as they entered the hall. Danica glanced anxiously at Newander, then started for the priestess's door. Newander's hand clasped her shoulder and stopped her.

  "The curse," the druid explained.

  "But we must go to help," Danica started to retort, but she stopped suddenly as she recognized the connotations of those cries.

  Danica's blush became a deep red, and she giggled in spite of the seriousness of the situation. Newander tried to hurry her down the corridor and she did not resist. Indeed, it was Danica pulling the druid by the time they passed Histra's closed door.

  Their first stop was Cadderly's room, and they entered just as Kierkan Rufo was pulling himself free from the last of Ivan's stubborn bindings.

  Danica's eyes lit up at the sight. Vivid memories of Rufo prodding her and grabbing at her assaulted her thoughts, and a wave of sheer hatred, augmented by the red mist, nearly overwhelmed her.

  "Where is Cadderly?" Danica demanded through clenched teeth.

  Newander knew nothing of Rufo, of course, but the druid recognized immediately that Danica's feelings for the angular man were not positive.

  Rufo twisted his wrist free and tore away from the bed. He averted his gaze, obviously not wanting to face Danica, or anyone else at that moment. Thoroughly wretched, the beaten man wanted only to crawl under his own bed in his own dark room. He had the misfortune, though, or the poor judgment, to walk near Danica on his way out of the room.

  "Where is Cadderly?" Danica insisted again, stepping in Rufo's way.

  Rufo sneered at her and swung a backhand that never got close. Before Newander could begin to intervene, Danica had caught Rufo's wrist and used its own momentum, with a slight twist, to send the angular man lurching to the side. Newander heard the dull thud, though Danica's next movement had been too subtle to follow. The druid wasn't sure where Danica had hit the man, but from the curious way Rufo squealed and hopped up onto his toes, Newander could make a guess.

  "Danica!" the druid cried, wrapping himself around Danica's arms and pulling her back from the tiptoeing man. "Danica," he whispered in Danica's ear. "It is the curse. Remember the curse? You must fight it, girl!"

  Danica relaxed immediately and let Rufo slip by. The stubborn man couldn't resist the temptation to turn back as he passed and put one more sneer in Danica's face.

  Danica's foot caught him on the side of the head and sent him tumbling out into the hall.

  "I meant to do that," Danica assured Newander, making no struggles against his continuing hold, "curse or no curse!"

  The druid nodded resignedly; Rufo had asked for that one. He let Danica go as soon as he heard Rufo scramble away down the corridor.

  "He is stubborn, that one," Newander remarked.

  "Too true," said Danica. "He must have come in on Cadderly and the dwarves."

  "Did you notice the bruises on his face?" said the druid. "It would seem that he did not fare too well in that fight."

  Danica agreed quietly, thinking it best not to tell Newander that she was the one who had put most of those bruises on Rufo's face. "So Rufo did not slow them," Danica reasoned. "They have made their way to the cellars, and we must be quick to follow."

  The druid hesitated.

  "What is it?"

  "I am afraid for you," Newander admitted, "and of you. How free are you of the mist? Less than I was believing, by the look on your face when we came upon that one."

  "I admit that, for all my efforts, the mist remains," replied Danica, "but your words brought me back under control, I assure you, even against Kierkan Rufo. My argument with him goes beyond this curse. I'll not forget the way he has stared at me, or what he tried to do to me." A suspicious look came into Danica's brown eyes, and she cautiously backed away from Newander. "Why is Newander, the druid, not affected by this thing? And what does Cadderly possess that frees him from the influences of the red mist?"

  "As for myself, I know not," Newander replied immediately. "Your Cadderly believes I am free because there are no ridden desires in my heart, and because I came into the library after the curse had started. I knew that something was amiss here as soon as I went to my friends―perhaps that warning has allowed me to fend off the cursing effects."

  Danica didn't seem convinced. "I am a disciplined warrior," she replied, "but the curse found its way into my thoughts easily enough, even just now, though I understand the dangers of it."

  Newander shrugged, having no explanation. "That was your Cadderly's theory, not my own," he reminded her.

  "What does Newander believe?"

  Again the druid merely shrugged.

  "For Cadderly," he said a moment later, "it was he who opened the bottle, and that alone might have saved him. Often in magical curses, the bringer of the curse does not feel its sting."

  Danica didn't really appreciate the value of anything the druid had said, but the sincerity in Newander's voice was undeniable. She lowered her guard and walked out beside the man.

  The kitchen still belonged to the gluttons. Several more had fallen in an overstuffed stupor, but others continued to wander about, pillaging the dwarves' well-organized cupboards.

  Newander and Danica tried to keep their distance as they made their way toward the cellar door, but one fat priest took more than a passing interest in the beautiful young woman.

  "Here's a tasty bit still to be tried" he slobbered between several thunderous belches. Rubbing his greasy fingers on his greasier robes, he started straight for Danica.

  He had nearly reached her―and Danica thought she would have to clobber the man―when a pudgy hand grabbed him on the shoulder and roughly spun him about.

  "Hold!" shouted Headmaster Avery. "What do you think you are about?"

  The priest eyed Avery with sincere confusion, as did Danica, standing behind him.

  "Danica," Avery explained to the man. "Danica and Cadderly! You keep away from her." Before the man could make any apologies, before Danica could try to calm Avery, the pudgy headmaster swung across with his other arm, holding a hefty leg of mutton, and cracked the offending priest on the side of the head. The man dropped in a heap and did not move.

  "But, Headmaster ..." Danica began.

  Avery cut her off. "No need to thank me," he said. "I watch out for my dear friend, Cadderly. And for his friends, too, of course. No need to thank me!" He wandered off without waiting for any reply, gorging on his mutton and searching for new stores to raid.

  Danica and Newander started for the fallen man, but the priest awoke with a start and shook his head briskly. He wiped a hand across
the mutton-wetted side of his head, smelled his fingers curiously for a moment when he realized the wetness was not his own blood, then began licking them wildly.

  The two companions' relief when they reached the heavy, iron-bound cellar door dissipated as soon as they found the portal barred. Danica worked at the jam for a few moments, trying to discover the source of the lock, while the druid prepared a spell.

  Newander spoke a few words―they sounded elvish to Danica―and the door groaned, as if in answer. Wood planks warped and loosened and the whole door rattled to Danica's slightest touch.

  When the druid's spell was completed, Danica went at the door more forcefully. It no longer fit neatly on any side, though the locking bar remained firmly in place behind it.

  Danica spent a long moment in deep concentration, then lashed out with her open palm. Her blow would have dropped any man, but the door was very old, of ancient oak, and very thick, and the punch had little effect. This portal had been constructed for defense in the earliest days of the library. If a goblin raid ever overpowered the outside defenses, the priests could retreat to the cellars. It had only happened twice in the history of the library, and both times, the oaken door had stopped the intruders. Neither the flames of goblin torches, nor the weight of their crude battering rams had broken through, and now, Danica, for all her power and training, was simply overmatched.

  "It appears that Cadderly and the dwarves will have to get the task finished without our help," Newander remarked grimly, though there was a hint of relief in his voice.

  Danica was not so willing to surrender. "Outside," she ordered, starting back across the kitchen. "There may be a window, or some other way down."

  Newander did not think her hopes likely, but Danica hadn't asked for, or even waited to hear, his opinion. Reluctantly, the druid shrugged and ran to catch up with her.

  They split up just outside the double doors, Danica searching along the base of the wall to the south, Newander going north. Danica had gone only a few steps when she was joined by a welcomed friend.

  "Percival," the woman said happily, glad for the distraction as the white squirrel peered over the edge of the roof right above her, chattering excitedly. Danica knew immediately that something was bothering the squirrel, but while she could sometimes figure out the connotations of a few of Percival's basic cries, she could not begin to follow his wild stream of chatter.

  "Oh, Percival!" she scolded loudly, interrupting the squirrel's banter. "I do not understand."

  "Surely I do," said Newander, coming up quickly behind Danica. To the squirrel, he said, "Do continue," and he uttered a series of squeaks and clicks.

  Percival began again at once, at such a pace that Newander was hard pressed to keep up.

  "We may have found our way in," the druid announced to Danica when Percival had finished. "That is, if we can trust the beast."

  Danica studied the squirrel for a brief moment, then vouched for him.

  The first place Percival led them was the old work shed to the side of the library. As soon as they entered, they understood the squirrel's noisy introduction to the place, for the chains still hung from the ceiling near to the back wall and droplets of blood had spattered the floor beneath them.

  "Mullivy?" Danica asked to no one in particular. Her question set Percival off on a new stream of gossip. Danica waited patiently for the squirrel to finish, then turned to Newander for a translation.

  "This Mullivy," the druid asked, looking about with even more concern, "might he be the caretaker?"

  Danica nodded. "He has been groundskeeper of the library for decades."

  "Percival claims he was brought here by another man," the druid explained, "then they both went off to the hole."

  "The hole?"

  "Tunnel, he means, as best as I can figure," explained Newander. "All this happened several days ago, perhaps. Percival's grasp of time is weak. Still, it is remarkable that the squirrel can recall the incident at all. They are not known for long memories, you know."

  Percival hopped down from the shelf and raced out the door as though he had taken exception to the druid's last remark. Danica and Newander rushed to follow, Danica pausing to collect a couple of torches that Mullivy had conveniently stocked in the work shed.

  It seemed as if Percival was almost playing a deliberate game with them as they tried to follow his darting movements along the broken ground and rough underbrush south of the library. At last, after many wrong turns, they caught up to the squirrel along a ridge. Below them, under an overhang thick with brush, they saw the ancient tunnel, heading into the mountain in the general direction of the library.

  "This might not get us anywhere near the cellars we are seeking," Newander offered.

  "How long will it take us to get through the door in the kitchen?" Danica asked, mostly to remind the druid of their lack of options. To accentuate her point, she led Newander's gaze to the west, where the sun was already disappearing behind the high peaks of the Snowflakes.

  Newander took a torch from her, uttered a few words, and produced a flame in his open palm. The fire did not burn the druid, but it lit the torch, and then lit Danica's torch, easily enough before Newander extinguished it.

  They walked in side by side, taking note that there were indeed prints in the dust on the tunnel floor―foot prints, possibly, though most were scraped away in a manner that neither of them could explain.

  Neither of them realized that zombies dragged their feet when they walked.

  General Druzil

  Ivan wiped a line of blood from his brother's neck. "Druid?" Ivan asked, and there now remained little sarcasm in his tone. Pikel's wild fighting obviously had impressed Ivan, and the dwarf had no way of knowing how much more there was to being a druid than barking animal noises during a fight. "Maybe that'd not be so bad." Pikel nodded gratefully, his smile wide under his low-hanging helmet.

  "Where do we go from here?" Ivan asked Cadderly, who was leaning quietly against the wall. Cadderly opened his eyes. This passage was new to him and the fight had agitated him. Even concentrating on the dripping water did little to help him get his bearings. "We went mostly west," he offered tentatively. "Ws have to come back around ..."

  "North," Ivan corrected, then he whispered to Pikel, "Never met a human who could tell his way underground," which brought a chuckle from both dwarves. "Whatever the direction," Cadderly went on, "we have to get back to the original area. We were close to our goal before the attack. I am certain of that."

  "The best way back is the way we ran," reasoned Ivan.

  "Uh oh," muttered Pikel, peeking around the corner to the passage behind them.

  Cadderly and Ivan didn't miss the dwarf's point, and they understood even more clearly a second later, when the now familiar scraping-scuffing sound of approaching bony feet came from beyond the bend.

  Ivan and Pikel clasped their weapons and nodded eagerly―too eagerly, by the young scholar's estimation. Cadderly moved quickly to quench the battle-fires burning in their eyes. "We go the other way," he ordered. "This passage must have another exit, just like all the others, and no doubt it connects to tunnels that will allow us to get behind our pursuers."

  "Ye fearing a fight?" balked Ivan, narrowing his eyes with contempt.

  The dwarf's suddenly gruff tone alarmed Cadderly. "The bottle," he reminded Ivan. "That is our first and most important target. Once we close it, you can go back after all the skeletons you desire." The answer seemed to appease Ivan, but Cadderly was hoping that once they had closed the bottle and defeated whoever or whatever was behind this whole curse, no further fighting would be necessary.

  The corridor went on for a long way with no side passages, and no alcoves, though some areas were lined by rotted crates.

  When they at last did see a turn up ahead, a bend that went back the same way as the one they had left behind, they were greeted once again by the scraping-scuffling sound. All three glanced at each other with concern; Ivan's glare at Cadderly w
as not complimentary.

  "We left the others far behind," the dwarf reasoned. "This must be a new group. Now they're on both sides! I told ye we should've fought them when we could!"

  "Turn back," Cadderly said, thinking that perhaps the dwarf's reasoning was not correct.

  Ivan didn't seem to like the idea. "There are more behind us," he huffed. "Ye want to be fighting both groups at once?"

  Cadderly wanted to argue that perhaps there were not skeletons behind them, that perhaps this unseen group in front of them was the same as those they had left behind. He saw clearly that he wouldn't convince the grumbling dwarves, so he didn't waste the time in trying. "We have wood," he said. "Let us at least build some defenses."

  The brothers had no problem with that suggestion, and they quickly followed Cadderly a short way back down the passage, to the last grouping of rotted crates. Ivan and Pikel conferred in a private huddle for a moment, then swept into action. Several of the boxes, weakened by the decades, fell apart at the touch, but soon the dwarves had two shoulder-high-to-a-man and fairiy solid lines running out from one wall, forming a corridor too narrow for more than one or two skeletons to come through at a time.

  "Just get yerself behind me and me brother," Ivan instructed Cadderly. "We're better for smashing walking bones than that toy ye carry!"

  By then, the scuffling was quite loud in front of them and Cadderly could detect some movement just at the end of his narrow light beam. The skeletons did not advance any farther, though.

  "Have they lost the trail?" Cadderly whispered.

  Ivan shook his head. "They know we're here," he insisted.

  "Why do they hold back?"