by Mel Odom
The cat fell into step beside them, trudging through the snow with a definite limp.
“Ryman Bey and the Razor’s Kiss thieves are leaving the keep,” Alysta said. “They have what they came for.”
“And they think we’re as good as dead,” Wick said grimly.
“If we live through the night and manage to return to Wharf Rat’s Warren, they’ll be waiting.”
Wick went on, forcing himself to move through the physical pains and exhaustion that plagued him. The pain was dulled somewhat by the questions that revolved endlessly inside his head.
EPILOGUE
Safe Harbor
“Over here!” someone cried. “They’re over here!”growled.
“Thank the Old Ones!” a familiar voice growled. “Are they still alive?”
Wick struggled against the lethargy that filled him. He tried to move but wasn’t able to. Even fear seemed walled off by the cold that filled him. He sat hunkered in the folds of his cloak where he, Quarrel, and Alysta had decided to take shelter beneath a stand of spruce trees when they could go no farther.
They’d walked for an hour or more and found no sign of habitation. That part of the coast appeared completely desolate. The bright spot was that they hadn’t crossed paths with the Razor’s Kiss thieves, either.
Unless they’ve come calling now, Wick thought grimly. He kept still, trusting the snow that had fallen to keep them covered. The snow now felt several inches thick. He wondered how they’d been found. With the snow around them and falling fast, he’d believed they’d safely dug in and disappeared.
Then hands dug at the snow and uncovered them. Torchlight burned bright and hot against his eyes.
Hallekk peered at Wick. “Are ye truly alive, then?” Snow clung to his beard, and his breath had formed ice crystals in his mustache.
“I am,” Wick whispered. Heartened by the sight of his friend, the little Librarian tried to stand. Past Hallekk, One-Eyed Peggie sat at anchor well away from the rocky shoals. A longboat sat beached on the shore. Craugh stood nearby, his staff blistering the frigid air with a trail of green sparks. “It’s good to see you. I hoped you would come soon—soon enough.” He tried to take a step and almost fell.
“Go easy there with ye,” Hallekk cautioned, throwing his big arms around Wick and lifting him as he would a child. “I got ye. Don’t ye fret none. I got ye.”
“What about Quarrel and the cat?” Wick whispered.
Hallekk peered into the cloak nest. “They’re alive. We’ll take care of ’em.”
“Please,” Wick asked. Then the fatigue that filled him claimed him and took him into the yawning blackness.
When Wick woke again, he was on One-Eyed Peggie, sleeping in a bed this time instead of a hammock. For a while he simply lay there, luxuriating in the warmth he’d thought he’d never again feel while he’d huddled in the thin protection of his cloak. The ship was in motion, riding the ocean waves, rising and falling regular enough to let him know they were making good time—wherever they were headed.
Thoughts of Quarrel and how the young woman was faring drove Wick reluctantly from the bed. He still wore the clothes he’d gone roving in while at Wharf Rat’s Warren. A bath, he knew, was in order at his earliest convenience.
He found his cloak on a chair beside the door. He pulled the garment on, then went out into the waist. In the hallway, two dwarven pirates carried supplies up from the cargo hold to the galley, replenishing Cook’s supplies. After a brief conversation, Wick found out that Quarrel was resting and that Craugh and Cap’n Farok were topside making plans to pursue Wraith. While the idea of the two making further plans didn’t make Wick’s heart leap for joy, he was still glad that Gujhar and Ryman Bey hadn’t escaped undetected. Although he was afraid of crossing paths with the two again—and the mysterious master Gujhar worked for—the little Librarian didn’t like leaving any mystery unsolved.
And this one looked like the biggest he’d ever seen.
On the main deck, Wick found the wizard and the ship’s captain on the stern castle, heads together as they consulted a map. Wick hailed them.
“So,” Craugh said, “you’ve risen.” He didn’t look particularly relieved or glad to see Wick. Doubtless, he was thinking that Wick had managed to let yet another of the weapons escape their grasp.
Wick gazed at the sun and judged it was only a couple of hours past sunrise. “I have. And you’re lucky that I did after all that I’ve been through. You found us early this morning. I’ve only gotten a few hours of sleep. I’m surprised I’m even up.”
“You’ve gotten more than a few hours’ sleep,” Craugh said. “You slept through one whole day.”
The news shocked Wick. He never slept that long. His ability to sleep so little had helped him keep up with the work Frollo assigned him at the Vault of All Known Knowledge.
“A day?” Wick repeated.
“Aye,” Cap’n Farok said. He ran a withered hand through his gray beard and smiled a little. “Me, I never seen a halfer go so long without a meal. Unless he was chained up somewheres an’ food couldn’t be had, of course.”
“Of course,” Wick said, dazed. A day? I slept a whole day away? He looked at Craugh. “We’ve lost time.”
“We have,” Craugh agreed. “But we’ve learned more.”
“What?”
“We’ve learned that the three owners of those mystic weapons had hidden them,” Alysta said. “They didn’t just disappear over the years.”
Wick turned toward her voice only to see her leap gracefully to the table where the map was. The cat sat on her haunches and wrapped her tail around her feet. “So?” he asked.
“That means someone was looking for them a thousand years ago,” Alysta said. “Otherwise there would have been no reason to hide them.”
“Who’s looking for them?”
“That’s just one of the questions we need answers for,” Cap’n Farok said. “There’s somethin’ more than meets the eye to this.”
“The monster’s eye?” Wick asked, thinking of the great eye kept in the jug under the captain’s bed.
Cap’n Farok frowned and waved a hand. “No. This doesn’t have anythin’ to do with that there eye. I meant the eye.” He pointed to one of his eyes. “Me eye. Yer eye. Just … just … the eye. It were a figure of speech.”
“Oh,” Wick said, realizing he was thinking too literally. Then he thought of something else. “How is Quarrel?”
“Mendin’,” Cap’n Farok said. “Hallekk took the arrow out of her shoulder. He says it missed everythin’ important. Gonna be painful comin’ back from it, but she’ll get it done all right. She’s young yet. Got a lot of healin’ left to her.”
“She’s a very strong young woman,” Alysta added. “I look forward to getting to know her.”
“I’m glad,” Wick said.
“Although I’m not too happy with you.” The cat focused her unblinking gaze on the little Librarian. “When you threw both of you over the cliff, I thought you’d committed suicide and taken her with you.”
“‘Threw yerself over the cliff ’?” Cap’n Farok looked totally shocked.
“It had to be done,” Wick insisted. “It was the only way.”
In a disapproving tone, Alysta quickly related the events.
“Ye hadn’t mentioned that when we talked,” Cap’n Farok said when the cat finished her tale.
“We had other things to discuss,” Alysta said.
Cap’n Farok dropped a trembling hand on Wick’s shoulder and grinned, pleased and proud. “Jumpin’ offa cliffs, is it? Wait’ll I tell Hallekk. Or Cobner! By the Old Ones, that crusty warrior’ll have hisself a laugh now, won’t he? An’ claim all the credit fer yer courage an’ skill. ’Course, he’ll probably leave ye yer trickery an’ such fer thinkin’ of such a thing.”
In spite of the situation, Wick grinned. Cobner, who still claimed that Wick had saved his life that night in Hanged Elf’s Point, would rejoice in the telling of the story.
No doubt Cobner would further embellish it when he told it in taverns. By the time Cobner was finished with it, Wick was likely to be nine feet tall and to have taken at least fifty Razor’s Kiss thieves with him. It would be something to hear, that was certain. He looked forward to it and felt a pang of wistfulness to see his friend again.
“I swear,” Cap’n Farok said, still grinning, “since ye started a-hangin’ out with proper pirates, Librarian Lamplighter, ye sure have picked up some almighty un-Librarian ways.”
“I suppose,” Wick replied, but he felt proud of his accomplishments. He felt proudest of the fact that he’d lived through everything. Looking at Craugh took some of the celebration out of the moment, though.
Craugh gazed out to sea, his brows knit in consternation.
Wick hadn’t often seen the wizard worried. “Do you know where Wraith is bound for?”
“Perhaps,” Craugh said.
“Where?”
Craugh glanced at Wick in a way that let the little Librarian know he’d rather not answer that question. But Cap’n Farok and Alysta were waiting on a reply as well.
“There can be only one place,” Craugh said. “The Forest of Fangs and Shadows.”
A chill passed through Wick. He’d spent a little time in the area, but never enough to get completely comfortable with it. The Forest of Fangs and Shadows was a dangerous place, filled with monstrous spiders, elves that had chosen solitary lives apart from the rest of the world and didn’t welcome intrusion, and frightful beasts left over from the Cataclysm.
“Why there?” Wick asked.
“Because Sokadir lives there,” the wizard answered. “Somewhere.”
“Sokadir is still alive?” Wick asked. Sokadir was the elven warder hero who had taken up arms with Deathwhisper, the enchanted bow, at the Battle of Fell’s Keep more than a thousand years ago.
Craugh nodded and took out his pipe. He tamped it full, then muttered an incantation to light it. “He is an elf, you know. They live for a long, long time. Unless they’re killed, of course.”
“You never mentioned Sokadir was still alive,” Wick said.
“No.”
Wick couldn’t believe it. “That’s something worth knowing.”
“Now you know it.”
“I could have known it days ago, before we left Greydawn Moors.”
“Knowing Sokadir was alive wouldn’t have helped us find Boneslicer or Seaspray,” Craugh replied testily.
“If we truly want to know what happened at the Battle of Fell’s Keep,” Wick pointed out, “all we have to do is ask Sokadir.”
“Except that Sokadir doesn’t want to be found,” Craugh said. “I went looking for him before I went looking for you.”
Wick thought about that. It was the first admission Craugh had made that his arrival in Greydawn Moors hadn’t been exactly fortuitous happenstance.
“I couldn’t find Sokadir,” Craugh said. “But I encountered others who were looking for him as well.” He paused. “These were very dangerous beings.”
Beings. The description slammed into Wick. Beings. Not people. Not creatures. Beings.
“It was their interest,” Craugh said, “that made me most curious about why they would be looking for him after all these years.”
Wick cleared his throat. “What … kind of beings?”
A small, mirthless smile pulled at Craugh’s mouth. “The very dangerous, murderous sort, of course.”
Of course. Wick sighed. “Gujhar believes that with Boneslicer and Seaspray in his possession he’ll be able to track down Deathwhisper because of the magic spell that bound them at the Battle of Fell’s Keep.”
“That’s probably true. Magic ties all things together, after a fashion. Those three weapons shared a binding.”
“Then we need to catch Wraith.” Wick looked at the ocean, but there was no ship in sight.
“I’m keeping watch over Wraith,” Craugh said. “I can do that for a time. I’ve managed to place a compatriot on board that ship while it was at Wharf Rat’s Warren.” He puffed on his pipe. “More than that, though, I can also track Sokadir and Deathwhisper. When the time is right.”
“How?”
“Through Master Oskarr and Captain Dulaun’s descendants.”
“Why couldn’t you have done that before?” Wick asked. “Bulokk is with us, and you sent Alysta to me. You had their descendants before I ever entered Wharf Rat’s Warren.”
Craugh regarded the cat. “Alysta is not … quite who she used to be. When she lost her old body, she lost that tie to Captain Dulaun.”
Wick looked at the cat, feeling a little sad for her and all that she had given up. After all, how could a person live as a cat after years of having hands?
“Now we have my granddaughter,” Alysta said, “and we have the scent of our enemies. I will have my ancestor’s sword back where it belongs.”
“We’ll have them all back,” Cap’n Farok promised. “Afore this affair gets any more outta hand.” Then he shifted his gaze to Wick. “There’s breakfast a-waitin’ belowdecks, Librarian. Best get at it while it’s hot.”
At the thought of breakfast, Wick’s stomach rumbled. He was too hungry after a day’s sleep to feel nervous over where One-Eyed Peggie was headed. He took his leave and headed belowdecks. Whatever trouble was brewing, it would come soon enough. He chose to be fortified for it.
In the galley, Bulokk and the Cinder Clouds Islands dwarves were regaling each other with tales while stuffing themselves with breakfast. One-Eyed Peggie never stinted on feeding her hands and passengers.
As soon as Wick arrived, some of the pirate crew greeted him and called him to their table, which sparked an immediate good-natured battle between them and the Cinder Clouds Islands clan as they entreated Wick to sit with them. In the end, they made way for Wick in the middle of both groups and he gave in to their demands for his stories in Wharf Rat’s Warren.
With a full plate ahead of him and plenty more to hand, Wick sat among the pirates and warriors and spun his tales. He couldn’t help thinking how out of place Grandmagister Frollo would have thought him among them. But surely there was no finer place for a storyteller than in front of a willing audience.
A Note from Grandmagister Edgewick Lamplighter
After my recovery, which was thankfully short in returning, I spent time at my journals. I have written this one and placed it with a friend of mine in Deldal’s Mills. Since you have that book, my apprentice, doubtless you know that my friend was none other than Evarch. Hopefully the Ordal that helped you solve the riddle to find this journal was known to me. He was a good friend.
Better yet, you should never be given this book, for it will mean that an Old Evil has once more risen. And, quite possibly, that an end has come to me. If that is true, try to find time to come to my grave and read to me every now and again.
I’m reminded of Alysta, the cat, in this instance. At least she had paws to turn the pages of a book with if she had a mind. I shudder to think of an eternity spent without books. I have hopes that every book that was ever lost is somewhere waiting for me when my life here finally ends.
There is yet a third book, of course. One that will complete this trilogy you’ve come seeking. You’ll find it deep within the Forest of Shadows and Fangs. Look for that journal in the Crocodile’s Throat at Jaramak’s Aerie just off Never-Know Road.
Due to circumstances beyond my control, I couldn’t take that book from that place. Even that book is somewhat unfinished, though. I fear you’re going to have to write the end to that one.
Just don’t let it be the end of you. You’re facing horrible foes who don’t know the meaning of mercy. If the Old Ones are willing, Craugh will be with you. He was the one who helped us escape from the madness of the Darkling Swamp when the time came. But even he couldn’t destroy Lord Kharrion’s foul legacy.
That’s all I can say for now. To say any more would reveal too much at the wrong time. A story has to unfold at a natural pace, and—
sometimes—so does life.
If you’ve come this far, and you’re the one I taught my secrets to, then I must have cared for you. Hopefully you cared about me. Even more so, I hope that my life mattered and that I did good works. But mostly I hope that I got to read every good book there was.
Go forth then, my apprentice. Step lightly and with care. Everywhere you go now, there will be only danger. I wish that I could save you from this undertaking, but obviously I can’t. So I wish you good luck from afar.
Sincerely,
Edgewick Lamplighter
Grandmagister
Vault of All Known Knowledge
Greydawn Moors
AFTERWORD
Tears wet Juhg’s cheeks as he finished reading the last words in his mentor’s second journal. The fire still blazed brightly in Evarch’s fireplace, so someone must have kept it fed while he was reading, though he’d been swept away by Grandmagister Lamplighter’s words and hadn’t noticed.
He wiped his face with a hand and looked to his companions.
“Are you all right?” Yurial asked. Concern showed on her youthful face.
After a moment, when he found his voice, Juhg nodded. “I am.”
“It must be hard,” she said.
“What? The translation?” Juhg shook his head. “Grandmagister Lamplighter taught me his codes. Most of them are almost second nature now.”
“I meant it must be hard reading his last words.”
“These aren’t his last words.” The declaration came out more defensively than Juhg had intended.
“Wick isn’t here,” Yurial said quietly. “If this is as important as you say it is, as important as Craugh has led you to believe, I know that Wick would be here.” She smiled a little. “Despite his protestations contrariwise, he was never one to miss out on an adventure.” Her eyes searched his. “You don’t know if you’re ever going to see him again.”
Juhg returned her gaze and found he couldn’t lie to her. Or to himself. “Wick is gone,” he whispered, “off on an adventure like none have ever before taken.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if he will ever return. Or if he will even be permitted.”
