Lord of the Libraries

by Mel Odom

  He’s doing his duty, Juhg thought. A pang of guilt twinged inside him. Dockett had only a few years in at the Library, but already he knew the importance of the mission they’d undertaken to preserve knowledge—all knowledge, including the current events happening at Greydawn Moors.

  Watching the young dweller work, Juhg remembered how important the Grandmagister had held those two jobs of the Librarian: taking care of history by protecting the books, and keeping history current by adding new books and writings to the Library on a regular basis. Someone had to keep records of everything important that happened, and it was history even though it was but a moment ago.

  Good job, Dockett, he thought, and wished that he was there to recognize the young dweller’s efforts in person. If he survived, he intended to do that very thing. Reluctantly, hating to leave his observation of such a common task, he turned his attention to other activity on the island.

  Some of the island’s trade ships ran the goblinkin blockade and brought back necessary supplies and medicines to help stretch the island’s meager resources. Juhg also ascertained that Hallekk and One-Eyed Peggie maintained their position at the bottom of the Haze Mountains.

  He attempted to use the brown gemstones to investigate more of the mysteries surrounding Lord Kharrion, but those were locked away behind some impenetrable veil. He had no contact with the mantis, although he had tried.

  How was the Grandmagister faring? Juhg desperately wished to know. Once they reached the Oasis of Bleached Bones, they were only seven days away from the Haze Mountains. The first two days would be spent again on a horse, followed by five days of travel by river barge along the Dragon’s Tongue River, so named for the peculiar small fish that filled the waters there.

  But that was only if they survived the trek across the Drylands.

  What weighed most heavily on Juhg’s mind was Craugh and the uncertainty the wizard represented. Craugh’s part in the theft of The Book of Time, the Grandmagister’s attempted warning, and even the warning from Juhg’s future self made trusting the wizard a difficult choice.

  Juhg had spoken to Jassamyn about the matter when he had given her the updated version of the journal he had made for her. The elven maid had listened attentively and been sympathetic, but she had no advice. Watching her, Juhg knew that she was torn as well because she had been a friend to Craugh even more years than he had. He felt guilty again for having brought the matter to her attention. The Grandmagister would be better at handling the situation Juhg faced, and he couldn’t wait to let the Grandmagister deal with it.

  Raisho was to bed hours before Juhg finally went to sleep at the makeshift desk he’d fixed between the beds. Waking only a little after falling over, Juhg roused himself enough to blow out the candle and go to bed.

  “Have ye ever traveled by one of these contraptions afore?” Raisho asked early the next morning. He scowled at the vehicle Craugh had secured to cross the desert.

  “Yes,” Juhg answered. “A few times with the Grandmagister when we had to go to Shimmerpool to the north.”

  The vehicle looked very much like a small, two-masted sailboat equipped with sled runners. Only the craft did not have a proper hull, possessing only canvas seats and a storage area made of small dowel rods instead of solid wood to keep the weight light.

  “What’s it called?” Raisho asked.

  “A sandsail,” Juhg answered.

  “Ye’re sure that it will get us across the Drylands?”

  “Travelers use them all the time. If you tried to take a horse across the Drylands, you and the horse would die. As we go out there, you’ll see not a few who perished out there on the sand.”

  Raisho shook his head. “I have to tell ye, scribbler, I ain’t looking forward to none of this.”

  Juhg silently agreed. But there was no way around the need to go, and no other way to get there.

  The human who had sold Craugh the two sandsails delivered them with his son. They both rode mules and pulled a sandsail behind. Both were taciturn, burned beet-red from constant exposure to the hot sun.

  “When you get out there on the sand and far from Fringe,” the man said, “you want to be careful. Goblinkin have been reported out there more often than normal.”

  “Goblinkin?” Craugh repeated. “Why would goblinkin spend time out in the Drylands? Mayhap they don’t die as easily as men, elves, and dwarves, but the desert kills them, too.”

  “Nobody knows,” the man said. “But travelers have been disappearing out that way for months.”

  Craugh thanked the man and paid the balance due. The man wished them good luck and left.

  Working quickly, the companions loaded the two sandsails with supplies. Most of the supplies consisted of water because, as far as anyone knew, there was no water to be had in the Drylands after leaving Fringe.

  Cobner and Craugh took one of the sandsails, leaving the second for Jassamyn, Raisho, and Juhg. The wizard believed the weight was as equally divided as possible.

  Jassamyn had limited experience with sandsails, so Juhg took the driver’s seat. Luckily, the wind was with them. Juhg let out the sails and watched in satisfaction as the canvas captured the wind. Slowly, at first, the sandsail started forward and the skis shushed through the sand.

  Once clear of the city, Juhg added more and more sails, building primarily to the forward mast since it was the tallest. Both masts had specially constructed yardarms that telescoped out so additional sails could be easily added. In no time in all, the sandsail sped across the great expanse of the Drylands faster than a racehorse could run. And unlike a racehorse, the sandsail could keep up to speed as long as the wind blew.

  Satisfied with the arrangement of the sails, Juhg stepped back into the driver’s seat and belted in. Raisho sat next to him, while Jassamyn rode behind him. Her little draca clung to one of the yardarms on the rear mast.

  “It goes fast,” Raisho said. “I will give it that.”

  “As long as the wind blows,” Juhg agreed.

  “An’ if the wind stops blowin’?”

  “Then we’re becalmed, just like Windchaser when the wind goes away.”

  Raisho regarded the distant horizon and rubbed his chin. “Ain’t much different than sailin’, then is it?”

  “No,” Juhg replied.

  “Except when a ship’s becalmed, you don’t get out and pull it,” Jassamyn said. “I’ve been on trips before when I had to pull a sandsail for miles before we caught another breeze.”

  “Goes to show that ye never spent much time on a real workin’ ship,” Raisho said. “I’ve manned many a longboat with oars to pull a ship a few miles in hopes of catchin’ a wind.”

  At Raisho’s request, Juhg began teaching the young sailor how to steer the sandsail with the reins that controlled the different sail panels. In less than an hour, Raisho could handle the sandsail as if born to it. Jassamyn laughed and clapped at the young sailor’s exuberance.

  For a moment, Juhg was caught up in the levity, then the weight of the gemstones in the leather pouch around his neck brought back the reality of their situation. With the sandsail in good hands, he turned his attention back to his translation of the Grandmagister’s journal.

  Looking out over the rolling mountains of sand, it was hard to imagine that once a great forest had lived there, much less a river and one of the greatest elven cities ever. Juhg wondered how Lord Kharrion had presented his case to the elves to get them agree to join his cause.

  Demonstrating his newfound skill, Raisho shifted some of the sail panels to lose speed, let Cobner and Craugh’s sandsail slide past him, then swooped behind them, briefly stole their wind to slow them down, and charged ahead once more. Raucous comments flew between the dwarven warrior and the young sailor.

  Though he intended to refamiliarize himself with the Grandmagister’s notes, the sibilant shushing of the sand skis, the warmth of the sun, and the wind in his face all lulled Juhg to sleep before he knew it.

  The goblinkin slavers
struck just before sunset.

  Jassamyn spotted them first, shaking Juhg awake even as she yelled for Craugh’s attention.

  Groggy, Juhg looked up at the elven maid. “What’s wrong?” He looked back to the west, in the direction she was looking, but the setting sun made it hard to see.

  “Sails,” Jassamyn replied, taking up her bow and putting an arrow to string. “Red sails.”

  “In the sunset?” Juhg sat up straighter and squinted. His eyes burned from dryness and fatigue, but he thought he saw what had caught Jassamyn’s attention.

  A collection of red sails sailed in the sunset. Coming out of a sky that looked like a dying sun had burst over the horizon and stained everything red and purple, the sails were hard to spot.

  “How many, do ye think?” Raisho asked.

  “Six. Maybe seven.”

  Juhg silently agreed. “Maybe it’s a trade caravan.”

  “A trade caravan out here?” Jassamyn asked.

  “A few run through here,” Juhg said, but he felt that the sandsails he was staring at weren’t a trade caravan either.

  “Not this late at night. We were looking for a place to put down for the night ourselves.”

  “At least we got the wind,” Raisho said. “Can we put up any more sail?”

  “That’s all of it,” Juhg said. Sailcloth was hard to get in Fringe. The materials to make the canvas weren’t indigenous to a stingy land that bore few crops, and packing sailcloth out by trade caravan was only done by special order for an expensive price.

  “Then we’ve got a problem,” Jassamyn said grimly. “Because they’ve put up more sails than we have. They’re overtaking us.”

  The sun continued to sink and the unidentified sandsails sped closer and closer, throwing out great clouds of dust behind them. Juhg reached into his pack and took out his spyglass. He steadied the glass and peered at their pursuers as Raisho jockeyed the sandsail across the barren expanse of the Drylands.

  Through the spyglass, Juhg spotted the creatures that manned the other craft. Although one of them was a fat human male, the rest were goblinkin. He recognized the odd-shaped heads that looked like upsidedown triangles, the broad shoulders that rivaled a dwarf’s, and the splotchy gray-green skin. Their spiky black hair waved in the breeze, as did their long, wilted ears that hung down much like a dog’s ears and framed their ugly features. They wore red cloth, too, making it harder to distinguish them from the sunset.

  “Goblinkin,” Juhg announced.

  Jassamyn shouted the news to Craugh.

  Watching the speeding sandsails close on them, Juhg’s throat grew dry. He remembered well the long hard years he’d spent in the goblinkin mines. And the images of his parents and siblings’ deaths at the hands of goblinkin were fresh, raw wounds.

  “All the desert to go,” Raisho lamented, “an’ nowhere to run.”

  “They’ll pay dearly,” Jassamyn said as she rose to her knees and drew an arrow back. She released a measured half-breath and released the string.

  The arrow left the bow and smashed into the prow of the lead sandsail, quivering when it stuck.

  Immediately, as though they had practiced the maneuver for years, the goblins split up. Three sandsails went to the left and three to the right. Like wolves taking a helpless doe, they closed in.

  Jassamyn rose again. This time when she released the arrow, it sped true and slammed into the face of one of the goblinkin. The stricken creature jumped in its seat for a moment, bleeding and shrieking, then quickly went still. The other goblinkin sitting up front took over the vehicle’s reins while the two in the back dragged their dead comrade out of his seat and tossed him out into the desert.

  The body hit the sand and skidded and rolled several feet before coming to rest like a child’s broken doll.

  Lightening the load, Juhg realized.

  Then Jassamyn’s hand was on his head and she pushed him down into his seat. “Duck!” she ordered.

  Propelled by her sudden move, Juhg went down into the seat. He ended up looking up out of the seat.

  Goblinkin arrows slapped the canvas overhead and dug into the sand just below his rump and ahead of his feet. When Jassamyn’s hand was removed, he sat up cautiously. Gazing up at the sails, he saw that several of the arrows had found a new home in their sailcloth.

  Jassamyn raised and shot again, putting an arrow through the new driver of the same sandsail she’d targeted before. The arrow pierced the goblin’s neck and he reached up to tear the missile from his flesh. Unfortunately, handling a sandsail at top speed with a vigorous wind lying full on it was tricky business.

  The sandsail with the dead man in it turned sharply and rammed the one next to it. Both craft—tangled by their rigging, masts, and sails—suddenly spilled over and rolled, breaking up and scattering across the desert.

  Craugh stood in the craft next to Cobner and drew his hand back. A whirling green fireball filled the wizard’s hand and it threw it at the lead craft closing in on them from thirty feet out.

  The fireball flew through the air, expanding in size as it went, and burst across the sandsail. The goblinkin craft came to a stop as if it had slammed into an invisible wall. Green flames covered the sandsail, stretching back and coating the goblinkin aboard. Then the green flames became fire. Burning figures leaped from the fiery craft and went sprawling across the desert floor. Out of control, the burning sandsail caught a banked sand dune, went airborne and came crashing back down, spreading across the desert.

  Expertly, the surviving sandsail that chased the craft Juhg was in swooped in behind them and stole their wind in a move that was reminiscent of what Raisho had done to Craugh earlier. The sandsail’s canvas started to sag immediately. Juhg felt the craft slowing in response.

  The goblinkin driver cut to the right quickly, narrowly avoiding a collision. The goblinkin warriors hooted and jeered and screamed, rising from their seats with axes. The one in the back lifted a shield to block Jassamyn’s shot, then threw a hand-axe at her.

  Moving quickly, the elven maid blocked the flying hand-axe with her bow, sending the weapon ricocheting behind them. The goblinkin in the front seat whirled a grappling hook around its head, then let fly.

  The grappling hook shot forward and tangled in the sandsail’s rigging. Cheering their success, the goblinkin veered away. The triumph of one of them was cut immediately short as one of Jassamyn’s violet-and-white-fletched arrows pierced his heart while it stood to bare its haunches and shake its rump at them. The goblinkin grabbed the arrow in its heart and dropped over the side.

  Rope paid out from the goblinkin sandsail to the grappling hook tangled in Juhg’s sandsail’s rigging. One of the surviving goblinkin in the back tossed out a curiously shaped three-bladed device. When it struck the sand and immediately dug in, Juhg knew what it was.

  “Anchor!” Raisho warned, recognizing what it was as well.

  When we hit the end of that rope, Juhg thought, we’re going to tear our mast and rigging to pieces. He pushed himself up out of his seat and walked along the sandsail’s center beam. He grabbed the rope with one hand to steady himself and slipped free his boot knife with the other. He sawed frantically at the rope, knowing he could never hope to untangle the grappling hook.

  The rope jerked in Juhg’s hand as the anchor skipped sand in their wake. Then he felt the hardness inside the rope and knew that the goblinkin had used rope with wire core too think to cut with his knife. At that moment, the sand anchor dug deep and the line went tight for just an instant before the grappling hook snapped the main mast in half and collapsed the front sails and rigging.

  Juhg got caught up in the tangle as the rigging snared his foot and yanked him free of the sandsail. A moment of disorientation ended when he smacked into the unforgiving surface of the desert sand. All the air went out of him and blinding pain ripped through his body.

  Caught around the ankle, the broken rigging dragged Juhg nearly a hundred yards before the sand anchor—torn free of its
hold by the same violence that had ripped the sandsail’s mast to pieces—found a new purchase and dug in again. This time the rigging ripped free of the sandsail.

  “Juhg!” Raisho’s agonized cry sounded far away in the steepening darkness of the approaching night.

  Out of breath and hurting, his right ankle feeling like it was on fire, Juhg tried to get up. It took three attempts. During that time, Raisho and Jassamyn drew ever farther away, pushed by the surviving rear sail and unable to control their craft.

  Juhg tried to run and his ankle buckled and he fell down again. He struggled to get back up immediately, feeling a little hope when Cobner brought the other sandsail back, but he had to tack ferociously to come back around to Juhg’s position.

  A whirring shush stirred behind Juhg. Knowing what made the sound but hoping that he was wrong, he turned and saw two more goblinkin craft bearing down on him. Evidently they’d followed in waves, planning for the first wave to disable the target vehicles but knowing those craft wouldn’t be able to take advantage of their success very quickly.

  Crying out from the pain in his ankle, Juhg hobbled as quickly as he was able. The shushing of the approaching sandsail came closer. Although he didn’t want to, he turned around to face the goblinkin, thinking he could throw himself to the side to avoid getting hit by the craft.

  But it was already too late. One of the goblinkin hung a big arm outside the sandsail and caught Juhg around the middle. He tried to fight his captor, wedging his good leg against the sandsail’s frame to keep from getting dragged in.

  Then one of the goblinkin in the back seats leaned forward with a maniacal smile and smashed a club against Juhg’s head. Pain flooded his face and head, but Juhg barely had time to acknowledge it before his senses fled.

  “—not dead,” someone was saying in a sullen tone. “I didn’t hit him that hard. An’ if he is dead, why, then it’s his own fault for him having such a thin head. Can’t blame me for not knowin’ that ain’ ever’ dweller got himself a thick head.”