by Mel Odom
“That’s why this journey is hard,” Yurial said. “You’re being offered one last chance to walk in your mentor’s footsteps. I felt the same way when I found songs in my father’s things that I’d never heard him sing.” She smiled a little. “Wick taught my father the secret of writing.”
“Grandmagister Lamplighter did that?” Juhg was surprised. Grandmagister Lamplighter had always taken pains to keep his abilities secret, and had believed that none on the mainland knew how to read except wizards.
“He did,” Yurial said. “Learning to write didn’t come easily to my father. If it hadn’t been for Evarch’s wines and spirits, I don’t think either of them would have made it through that education.”
“Do you know how to read?”
She nodded. “I do. It was hard not to learn with them railing at each other. My father made me practice the lute every day for hours. While I played the lute, he worked with ink and paper till he finally grasped what Wick was teaching him.” She smiled at the memory. “I think I learned more than my father did, but he learned enough to capture songs on paper. While he was busy at that, I taught Wick to play the lute. He’d played the lute before, of course, and I never found anything he couldn’t play, but he didn’t quite have the fingering down. I helped him with that.”
Juhg felt the weight of the book on his leg. Fatigue leeched the strength from him and he could barely keep his eyes open.
“When I first started playing my father’s songs,” Yurial said, “I felt only sadness and despair. Gradually, I came to love my father’s songs. Someday you’ll be able to feel better about these journals you’re after.”
“There’s only one more,” Juhg said. “After that—” He couldn’t go on.
“There are others,” Raisho said, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. He looked tired as well. “Just in readin’ that book, ye’ve learned that there are other books the Grandmagister wrote what ye ’aven’t read yet.”
“I know,” Juhg said. But do they still survive? There were days, sometimes, when he didn’t think of the trap he’d unwittingly brought to the Vault of All Known Knowledge that had destroyed so many books. Even with the addition of the second Library he’d discovered while looking for The Book of Time, several of those books hadn’t been replaced.
They were gone. Forever.
“It’s only the end when ye give up on it,” Raisho said. “Ye used to tell me that when I’d get to feelin’ dispirited. I’d ’ate to think ye were just a-tellin’ me that.”
“It’s just that I don’t know if I’m up to this task,” Juhg said. “We were nearly killed last night—” He stopped himself, then corrected his statement. Gray dawn was already touching the windows of Evarch’s distillery. “—two nights ago. Someone is looking for us.” Tired as he was, he dreaded sleep, knowing the scarecrow thing would be waiting for him in his dreams.
“You can do this,” Evarch said. “Elsewise Wick wouldn’t have put you on the track like he did.”
“He didn’t put me on the track,” Juhg said. “Craugh did. And now he’s missing.” He could still see BEWARE written in blood in the wizard’s cabin aboard Moonsdreamer. What had happened to Craugh, and who had taken the wizard unawares on board a ship full of Raisho’s best pirates?
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Evarch stated evenly. “Wick put you onto this trail.” He pointed his pipe at the journal Juhg held. “He’s even talking to you through those pages, asking you to finish what he started.”
“It wasn’t just what he started,” Juhg said. “It was what he couldn’t finish.”
“Have you ever read Krumwirth?” Evarch asked.
“Yes.” Juhg frowned. “Don’t tell me that you read as well?”
“No, no. I knew Wick did, but I never had an interest.”
“There’s a lot you could learn about wine and spirits,” Juhg said. “At the Vault of All Known Knowledge, there are thousands of books about fermenting and distilling.”
Evarch waved the idea of the books away. “You can keep them. I know all I need to. I can’t keep up with the orders I get now.” He puffed on his pipe. “Anyway, what I was getting to was a quote Wick gave me at one time that stuck with me. Of course, he was talking about wines and such at the time, but I’ve found the quote fits a great deal of occasions. It fits this one now.” He cleared his throat. “‘For every vine there is a season, for every rhyme there is a reason, to do less than all you can is treason.’”
“I remember the quote,” Juhg said.
“Good. Then you’ll know Wick put a lot of store by that thought.” Evarch grew more serious. “All those years ago when Wick passed through here, I knew what he was dealing with was dangerous. I saw him go up the Steadfast River, and I saw him come back down it. He looked better going up it. When he came back, he didn’t talk about all that he’d lost, or all the warriors that he’d gone with who didn’t come back. I didn’t ask. I’ve seen men who’ve gone through war before, and I knew that was what Wick had been through.”
For a moment, silence filled the room except for the crackle of the wood burning on the fire.
“Juhg,” Yurial said.
Juhg looked at her.
“Could you really turn around now? After you’ve come so far?”
Taking a deep breath, Juhg shook his head. But he couldn’t help wondering if all the schools he was trying to get started would still be built and organized if something happened to him. Could he better protect the future he was trying to build by continuing to build, or by tracking down whatever villainy lay in the past?
Then he knew there was no choice. Old villainy had a habit of popping up when least expected. Just as it had now.
“No,” he said. Then he looked at his three companions. “But if we’re going up the Steadfast River to combat whatever Grandmagister Lamplighter was unable to defeat, we’re going to need help.”
BOOK THREE
DEATHWHISPER
FOREWORD
The Bowman
Startled shouts drew Juhg’s attention from the journal he worked on down in the ship’s galley. He glanced up, only then aware that the vessel had subtly shifted her course. Somewhere on Moonsdreamer’s top deck sailors yelled in panic.
“Over here!” someone screamed. “There’s more of ’em over here!”
“Get it off me! Get it off me!”
“It’s bit me! Help!”
Capping his inkwell, Juhg placed blotting paper on the freshly inked pages and hoped that they didn’t smear. He’d been working down in the ship’s galley, picking at a plate of breakfast Cook had fixed for him even though it was after hours in the mess.
He hurried up the stairwell, pausing only to open a cunningly concealed hiding place and stash the book inside. Moonsdreamer was a pirate vessel that hailed out of Greydawn Moors. As such, she had a number of hiding places and voids that were located from stem to stern.
At the top step, Juhg reached down for the knife he wore in his boot. The blade was good Teholian steel, eight inches long, and sharp as a razor.
“There’s another one over there!” a pirate yelled.
“Kill it!” a second squalled.
“They’re everywhere!” The third voice held fearful dread.
“Stop yer caterwaulin’ an’ get to stompin’!” Bulokk shouted.
The sounds of boots thudding against the deck exploded and rolled over the deck.
“Stand yer ground, blast ye!” Raisho’s deep voice rang out. “Show me ye got guts fer fightin’, or I’ll get me own look at ’em when we’re done ’ere!” His tone was just as fierce as his words. “Get them fishin’ nets up ’ere! Stretch ’em across the riggin’ an’ make a shield!”
Several of the pirates sprang to do their captain’s bidding.
Peering out from the stairwell, Juhg saw dozens of plate-sized spiders dropping from the dark green leafy canopy. The Forest of Fangs and Shadows earned its name, stockpiled with things that hunted and fed on the weak and u
nwary.
Covered in dark green chitin that provided limited armor, the fat-bodied spiders dropped to the sails, the deck, and the men. The spiders died easily enough, but they came down as if powered by a sudden cloudburst. Some of them died from the fall, but others scuttled across the deck in search of prey or clung to the rigging to drop again.
Gathering his courage, Juhg stepped out onto the deck. “They’re trance spiders,” he called out to them. “Their bites won’t kill you. Just make you sick.”
“Make ye sick enough ye’ll wish ye was dead,” a black sailor with gray hair said, ripping one of the arachnids from his neck and clubbing it with an armored fist. “I seen ’em afore. Nasty creatures. But it ain’t the little ones what ye should be afeared of.”
Glancing up, Juhg saw that Moonsdreamer’s masts sometimes raked against the tall trees. Branches rattled and sometimes splintered against the masts. The crew carrying the nets crawled quickly through the rigging, avoiding most of the spiders because the creatures had dropped to the ship below.
The vibrations through the branches had drawn the trance spiders. Webbing hung everywhere above, looking like dirty gray mausoleum sheets scattered among the branches.
The crew kept smashing and hacking the spiders to pieces. Yellow ichors stained Moonsdreamer’s scarred deck. Four of Raisho’s sailors had dropped to their knees and were heaving up the contents of their stomachs. One of Bulokk’s dwarves was down as well.
Juhg joined the fight on the deck, stomping on the spiders where he found them.
Spiders died by the dozen, but for every one that perished two others seemed to plop down to take its place. They crawled and cowered, and some even leaped two feet or more, eliciting startled yells from the crew and the dwarves.
Finally, though, the sailors navigating through the yards had strung the huge fishing net over the pirate ship. Used for deep ocean fishing to bring up cod and other edible fish, the net was big enough to cover two vessels Moonsdreamer’s size.
Spiders continued to drop onto the net. In moments, they clustered over the strands so thick that it was hard to see the trees for the spiders.
“We should stop,” a pirate complained. “They might make their way through that net, an’ then where would we be?”
“We ain’t stoppin’.” Raisho gazed down at his crew from the stern castle. His dark face held grim resolve.
The scuttling noise made by the spiders crawling across the net sounded loud. Somewhere in the rigging a loose sail luffed in the slight breeze afforded upriver and would have to be tightened.
“If ’n we don’t stop, them spiders is likely to cover us over,” a sailor said.
As if to underscore this possibility, a few more meaty plops sounded against the net.
“An’ likely as not, they’ll find a way to come a-creepin’ under that net,” the sailor went on.
“If they do, we’ll kill ’em,” Raisho growled. He raked his men with a hard gaze. “Ye were all conscripted to ’elp take care of the Vault of All Known Knowledge. Some of ye’ve been at it longer’n I ’ave. Ye draw yer pay whether ye’re fightin’ goblinkin what’s tryin’ to get to Greydawn Moors an’ the Library there, or whether ye’re tradin’ up an’ down the Shattered Coast in the ’opes of linin’ yer own pockets with profits.”
The pirates didn’t say anything. They knew it was true.
“Now, no less than the Grandmagister ’isself ’as come callin’ on ye to ’elp ’im out,” Raisho thundered. “By the Old Ones, ye’ll stand up an’ be counted like fine sailin’ men an’ proper pirates—ever’ one of ye—or I’ll ’eave the lot of ye overboard an’ conscript the first bunch of farm boys a-wantin’ to get out of town that I see.” He glared down hotly, arms crossed over his broad chest.
“Farm boys?” one old sailor cried indignantly. “Would ye be after havin’ our fine ship an’ home turned over to the grubby hands of farm boys?”
“No,” a few of the crew muttered.
“Well then,” the old sailor said, looking displeased, “if that’s all the spirit ye’ve got in ye, the Grandmagister sure picked himself a sorry crew to get him through this. I might as well jump overboard an’ save Cap’n Raisho the trouble of heavin’ me.” He pointed up. “Or open that net an’ let them spiders have at ye.”
“No!” the crew roared.
“Then let’s make sure we keep me ship clear of them spiders,” Raisho ordered. “We’ve come too far into ’em to turn around, an’ I don’t fancy travelin’ overland to the Crocodile’s Throat meself. I’m a sailin’ man.”
The crew hooted and hollered with more vigor—except for the six crew and two dwarves down with the trance spider venom—and set about their chores. They kept vigilant watch, though Juhg knew they all feared spider invasion.
Juhg walked to the ship’s prow and stared out at the turgid water. This far upriver, the Steadfast rolled along slowly, wide and deep instead of the faster waters around Deldal’s Mills and Calmpoint. Getting permission to come through the gates at Calmpoint had required heavy bribery. Luckily Raisho never sailed anywhere without enough gold to ransom his way out of trouble he couldn’t fight his way through.
He’d spent two days bargaining with the city official before Moonsdreamer had been allowed upriver toward Darbrit’s Landing. Before the Cataclysm, Darbrit’s Landing had been a strong port city, a place where traders and caravan captains met to agree to terms, a place where artisans and guildsmen came to sell their wares, or to buy.
Juhg had never been through Darbrit’s Landing, but he’d heard of it. These days it was supposed to be a place of dead things, of ghosts. But the lure of treasure drew fortune hunters in time and again, and the gruesome stories continued about what went on there.
“What are ye thinkin’ about so hard, scribbler?”
Glancing up, Juhg found Raisho standing beside him. “Actually, I’m wondering if I’m leading us into a trap,” he admitted.
Raisho frowned. “Not so loud. Some of ’em’s got keen ears, an’ we’re ’avin’ problems enough without spookin’ ’em further.”
Silently, Juhg nodded. He peered through the gloomy murk that was present despite the fact that it was shortly before the noon hour. Spiders continued to plop onto the net. Several of the arachnids scuttled over the net in front of Juhg’s face.
“Ye know we’re a-goin’ in the right direction,” Raisho said. “Don’t ye?”
“I do.” Juhg took a deep breath.
“Well then, ye just need to remember that it’s the time an’ toil of the travel that takes a toll on the traveler, not the frettin’.”
Looking at his best friend, Juhg smiled. “You almost got it right.”
“I knew frettin’ wasn’t right,” Raisho said. “I read that poem a lot. It’s one of me favorites.”
“You read it?” Juhg was surprised.
“I do.”
“How?”
“I bribed one of the Novices to make me a copy of that book of poems ye wrote,” Raisho answered.
“Bribed?” Librarians don’t take bribes. At least Juhg didn’t think they did. “He charged you? For a book? That I’d written?” He’d heard of such things, of course, back before the Cataclysm. However, he planned to give books away for free. If a person or town would lodge and feed a Librarian. And provide the paper and ink, of course.
Raisho shrugged. “Only a little. Cost me a ’am an’ a couple snozzgrape pies.”
“Pies?” My writing, my poetry, is worth pies?
“Two.” Raisho held up two fingers defensively. “An’ the ’am weren’t a cheap one. ’E wanted a fair price for ’is time, ’e did.”
“Two pies and a ham.”
“A good ’am.”
Juhg couldn’t believe it.
Raisho looked at Juhg in concern. “Are ye sure one of them trance spiders didn’t bite ye? Normally ye’re much better at conversations.”
Juhg was flummoxed. He cleared his throat. “That volume of poetry wasn’t mea
nt for public consumption.”
“Ye read it to me.”
“You’re my friend.”
“Would ye ’ave made me a copy if I’d asked?”
Juhg hesitated. “Yes.” But he also knew he would have found ways of putting that task off. Reading the poems to Raisho had been impulse. Before, when the muse had taken him, he’d always had Grandmagister Lamplighter to read to.
“Well then, I just saved ye the trouble of ’avin’ to do it yerself. Ye should be thankin’ me.”
Juhg didn’t know what to say about that.
“An’ who would have thought it?” Raisho asked. “That ye, who prides yerself on makin’ libraries an’ books fer people, would try keepin’ one out of people’s ’ands.”
Standing there, Juhg listened to the spiders plopping against the net overhead. He realized then that Raisho had only mentioned the poem as a distraction. He let out a tense breath.
“Maybe I should get back to work,” Juhg said.
Raisho gazed up at the spider-laden net. “Ye should. We’re gettin’ closer to Darbrit’s Landing. Ain’t gonna be much more time that ye can work in a safe place.”
Juhg turned and went back across the deck strewn with dead spiders. But the sound of the spiders scuttling overhead echoed in his head and reminded him that all their lives might be forfeit.
“Is this a ship or a pigpen?” Raisho roared.
“It’s a ship, cap’n,” came the immediate reply from a dozen throats.
Juhg smiled at that. Raisho had turned into quite the ship’s captain.
“Then why ain’t there no buckets an’ mops out ’ere clearin’ this mess away?”
Feeling a little more lighthearted, Juhg returned to the galley with book in hand and set to work. His spirits were further buoyed when he discovered the ink hadn’t run or smeared when he’d had to put it away.
“You’re going to ruin your eyes working by lantern light.”
