by Demi Harper
A rush of rage flooded through our bond and left me reeling. It was unlike anything I'd felt from her before.
Before I could formulate my own questions, there was a spark of light near the ceiling as the new sprite shot back down into the Grotto. It hovered in front of my gem.
"Ahem. Young Core, might you release your magical boundary so that this one may pass beyond? At present 'tis impossible to rise more than two or three leagues above—"
A furious bundle of sparks launched itself at the new sprite with a shrill scream that made me wince and the two humans clap their hands over their ears.
"Bekkit, you filthy betrayer! I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you—"
I heard a tiny plink as the two sprites collided in a shower of sparks. The plinking sounds continued as they rolled in the air. Were they punches? Spells? It was impossible to tell.
"—I hate you I hate you I hate you—"
"Unhand me, foul creature! How dare you—ow, ow, ow, stop it—"
Ket seemed to have this well in hand, so I just waited while the world's tiniest wrestling match ran its course.
Sure enough, Ket eventually stopped. Panting for breath, she delivered one last plink before retreating to her usual spot on my gem, where she slumped, clearly exhausted.
"And you lectured me on how to receive guests?" I joked into the awkward silence.
She raised herself up into the air again. "You're right. Let me introduce you. This is Bekkit. He's a snake and a traitor, and you shouldn't listen to anything he says because his tongue is forked, and he'll stab you in the back."
"I really must protest," said the other sprite, though his booming voice was a little feebler than before. He sounded as though he were nursing bruises. "I will admit the violent one sounds somewhat familiar, but I have no recollection of—"
"Somewhat familiar?!" she hissed. "We were allies! We were friends!"
She zipped around my gem agitatedly, turning her back on her apparent nemesis to address me instead. "Bekkit was the kobolds' God Core, long before Grimrock first appeared."
What? "How could you be friends with the god of kobolds?" I asked her, appalled.
"I wish I hadn't been," she growled. "When he became Grimrock's sprite, he gave him the location of my Sphere, and that was when Grimrock started sending kobold raiders to kidnap gnomes for sacrifice. It was all his fault!"
"Kobolds." Bekkit sounded thoughtful.
"You used to call them 'miniature dragons,'" she added bitterly. "I found it quite adorable. Back then."
"You really don't remember any of this?" I asked Bekkit, not without skepticism. Just because I had my own extreme case of amnesia didn't mean I was just going to take him at his word.
"Hmm... no, but I think it's coming back to me. Sprite... Core... Grimrock... oh! Oh no!"
He started flitting around, clearly in some distress.
"My beloved miniature dragons! My precious kobolds! I remember. I remember! Forgive my rudeness, but I require a moment to process all this."
He zipped up through the ceiling hole and out of sight. Ket followed close behind him.
"Oh no you don't! Get back here, backstabber!"
Her shouts gradually faded.
Benin stepped forward. "Look, before we get interrupted again—"
"Corey!"
The mage threw up his hands. "I give up."
Ket made a beeline for my gem. "There's a huge storm up in the mountains. It looks bad."
"So?"
She buzzed in frustration. "So, where do you think our stream comes from?"
"The mountains? Oh. Oh no."
"It's going to flood the Grotto. We have to focus all our efforts on the barriers. If we—"
"No." Bekkit seemed to already have recovered from his shock; he sounded authoritative but calm as he followed Ket down toward me. "That won't be enough. You're already one small shower away from being underwater. And this is not a small shower."
Ket rounded on him. "Well, we can't just give up!"
"I am not suggesting you give up." His words were grave as he looked directly into my gem. "I am suggesting you leave."
Eighteen
A Holy Box
Corey
"But where would we go?"
It felt like the hundredth time I'd asked. Neither Ket nor Bekkit answered.
We'd spent the night debating the best course of action, and I was yet to be truly convinced of any. Hours spent poring over human maps—which supposedly promised clues as to the location of some old gnomish civilization—had taught us nothing except that the area Tiri had circled was simply too large to treat as a feasible destination.
Now, the cold gray light of dawn was spreading through the Grotto, lengthening what shadows it didn’t banish, and the exhausted night-shift gnomes set down their sandbags and stumbled to their beds. When Gneil emerged along with Hoppit, a moment's Divine Inspiration had him jogging off to relieve Longshank, who'd been tirelessly overseeing the placement of the flood defenses throughout the night.
The scouts had returned shortly before sunrise. All were weighed down beneath yet more sheep's wool, which the armorer and clothiers were now boiling in water, beginning the process of extracting the lanolin.
Though I'm starting to think that waterproofing our homes right now will prove about as useful as building a spiderweb to keep the sun out. I glanced up at Binky. And we both know how futile that is.
Benin's head appeared in the hole, silhouetted against the reddening sky. The two humans had gone back up to the surface a few hours ago to make camp and snatch some sleep, though the mage looked as though the latter had eluded him; his mousy hair was tousled, and the dark bags beneath his eyes stood out starkly against the pale skin of his face.
As soon as his eyes adjusted, he caught sight of Binky right below him and flinched away. "Damn spider."
"His name is Binky, and he's like a son to me," I told him. "I'm offended you don't like him. And so is he."
"Binky?"
"Actually, he has something for you."
Receiving my mental nudge, Binky scuttered over to a nearby crevice and retrieved something round and shiny. Benin lurched backward out of sight as the spider obediently deposited the chemsphere on the ground before retreating back into his hole.
"Thanks," came the mage's voice, somewhat grudgingly.
"Our pleasure. You can stop being grumpy now."
I heard him huff. "Where did you find it?"
"Oh, it was over in a corner. It must have rolled down the hill and extinguished itself," I lied.
In fact, I'd found it in the possession of Swift and Cheer, who'd taken advantage of our distraction by wrapping the alchemical globe in sackcloth and spiriting it away like nimble-fingered ninjas. Its disappearance would have remained a mystery had I not caught them trying—unsuccessfully—to squeeze their prize through the doorway of their gnomehome. Still they’d refused to let go of it, until Ris'kin lifted them both up by the scruffs of their necks and gave them a stern shake.
The pair were still casting sulky glances at my avatar.
"You're supposed to be scavengers, not thieves," I told them. "What would you even have used it for? You can see in the dark, and you have illumishrooms for whenever you do need light."
Though the gnomes could see in the dark, they gravitated toward light like daisies toward the sun. My acolytes had all developed excellent tans, which had become a source of envy among the rest of the populace. I'd long ago come to terms with the fact that the latter's infrequent bouts of prayer were driven more by my shrine's location beneath the sunlight than by any particular desire to worship me.
On cloudy days, though, or at night, they would sometimes light the illumishrooms. Unlike the humid cavern from which the scouts first gathered them, the Grotto’s surfaces weren’t layered with condensation. Since the illumishrooms only glowed when in contact with water, this meant dipping them in the stream, flicking them with the contents of a waterskin, or, o
n one occasion, licking them.
I didn't need illumishrooms or even the brightening sunlight to notice the stream's swollen water levels and crumbling banks, or the increasing damage to the bridges from the debris caught by the current. I felt like a piece of flotsam myself, pushed in a direction over which I had no control. Just a few days ago we'd been thriving, rebuilding, even expanding. Now we were in danger of being washed away—if this 'Guildmaster' didn't get to us first.
Running away didn't sit right with me, partly because it did sit right with me. Stubbornness aside, all my natural instincts were screaming at me to flee. And I didn't trust those instincts.
Though most of my memories of my former life were a blank slate, everything I did remember suggested I had not been a particularly good person. Grimrock had attempted to appeal to my dark elf nature, after all, and if he'd seen me as a potential ally, what sort of monster must I have once been?
As though he sensed my doubts—which, as a sprite, he probably did—Bekkit spoke up once more.
"Your reluctance to leave is understandable. You have defended this place from enemies and made it your home. But your gnomes are no match for the forces of nature."
Three of my warriors had waded into the stream to drag away a large branch, which had washed up against the bridge, damming the water upstream. Already the tannery was ankle-deep in silty water. Goldie the tanner and Shuck the armorer were hauling as many hides as they could rescue toward the higher ground of the village. Several villagers rushed over to help.
As soon as I saw their predicament I sent a message to Gneil, who immediately ordered more warriors to help clear the blockage. They eventually managed to tie a rope around the branch—which was more of a log by gnomish standards—and drag it onto the shore.
The river could run freely once more. The water began to slowly drain from the tannery, but the sudden tide had upended most of the drying racks, and the skins stretched out on them were ruined.
For the first time, I truly recognized that we were about to lose everything. A wave of emotion hit me so hard that if I'd had a body I'd have needed to sit down.
We worked so hard!
Warm tendrils of sympathy and shared sorrow embraced me. Ket understood exactly, and she didn't need to speak for me to know that she was here for me every step of the way. That gave me the strength to do what I now knew needed to be done.
"You're right. Running away is our only option."
I sensed joy, mingled with relief.
Huh. Bekkit and I do share a bond. The rogue emotions were hastily quashed, but I'd definitely felt them.
Why is he so keen for us to leave?
"It pleases me that we have both arrived at the same conclusion," said Bekkit smoothly. "Though try not to think of it as running away. This will be a tactical retreat, not a panicked flight—but only if we act now."
Ket scoffed. "You say that like it's as simple as activating an ability."
"It is, my young friend. It is."
"What? I don't have anything like that!" None of the skills I'd gained would be remotely useful in such an endeavor. At best, I'd be able to use Divine Inspiration or Possession to show Gneil what must be done and trust him to convey the entire process accurately to the rest of the tribe.
"I told you, Corey, he's full of lies."
"Let me explain," said Bekkit. "In order to unlock it, you must first have your denizens construct an ark."
"An ark?" Ket sounded puzzled. "You mean like a big boat?"
"No, that's not what—"
"Ah. Because of the flooding." I nodded. "I see."
"It's not a boat!" said Bekkit loudly. "It's a reliquary."
"A what?"
"A box."
"A box?"
"A holy box."
"Hmm. And building it will unlock an ability that just… commands all the gnomes to pack up and leave?"
"Yes. If you'll grant me access to your Augmentary—"
"What?!" Ket screeched. "He's not going to do that!"
"—I can share with you the blueprint for the ark," he finished.
"No!"
"What's the big deal, Ket?" I asked. "It's not like he can do any harm with it."
"No, but... it's just... an Augmentary is between a Core and his sprite. You don't share it with just anyone."
Her furious glow had dimmed, as though she were embarrassed.
"Well, it seems I have two sprites now." When her glow dimmed even further, I hastened to add, "But you're still my favorite! You'll always be my favorite."
Bekkit grumbled a little at that. Ket ruffled her wings, muttering something about checking on Shanky, and flew off toward the barracks.
Great, I offended both of them at the same time. This is going to be so much fun.
A moment later, silvery words materialized before me.
Augmentary access requested ("BEKKIT"). Approve access? Y/N
I hesitated. On one hand, it did seem somewhat hasty to be giving complete access to a stranger. On the other hand, time was truly of the essence here, and refusing Bekkit's help could prove disastrous.
I selected 'Y' before I could second-guess myself any further.
"Excellent. May I?"
I grunted permission for him to go ahead. Within seconds, a blueprint materialized in front of me.
Blueprint received! "ARK"
Add to construction tab/blueprints? Y/N
Once I'd selected “Y,” I was able to view the blueprint in full.
The ark really was just a box, albeit a fancy one. I seriously doubted that the version the gnomes produced would be anything near as grand, but hopefully it would still serve its purpose.
"I've adjusted the dimensions slightly to account for the gnomes' smaller stature. If completed to these specifications, the ark should be around seven inches long, five wide, and six high including the lid. Construction should take no more than a few hours, especially if you assign carpenters as well as builders. That gives you some time to decide on our destination."
"Why are you helping us?" I asked him. He seemed taken aback by the abruptness of the question. "I mean, I'm not ungrateful. I'm just not sure why you're doing it."
"Why would I not? Yours is a noble goal. Furthermore, I am apparently part of your domain now. Since I cannot leave, why not make myself useful?"
"Why not indeed?"
I selected the ark for construction, then assigned two builders and two carpenters to the task. As I watched them trot off to the lumberyard, I pondered the sprite's words.
Bekkit's swift acceptance of his new situation, not to mention his willingness to help, was a stark contrast to my own attitude when I'd first awoken as the gnomes' god. It would have been humbling—if it weren’t so suspicious.
What's his game? Why is he really helping us?
The sprite might seem like a perfectly reasonable being, but no one was that benevolent. Besides, he'd betrayed Ket. To Grimrock, no less. He might profess to be helping the gnomes now, but he was also indirectly responsible for the terrible situation they'd been in when I first arrived.
No, Bekkit, I thought. I'll accept your help, but I don't trust you any further than Ket can throw you. I'll be watching you.
Bekkit continued to expound upon the merits of the ark, heedless of my wandering attention. Nor did he notice Ris'kin down in the lumberyard. She was standing, arms folded, watching every movement of the gnomes as they began hewing wood and measuring planks for the ark. When she caught my train of thought, she glanced up at Bekkit, narrowing her eyes and making the same two-fingered gesture she'd made at Benin earlier.
I smiled.
We'll be watching you.
Nineteen
Professor Knox
Tiri
After a day of research, Tiri was preparing to head out to meet Coll and Benin when she caught snatches of a conversation through an open window.
"... some of the sloppiest sigilwork I've ever seen. Poor Professor Holloway must be rolling in
her grave right now."
"I'm surprised there was enough of her left to bury," muttered the student, clearly unhappy with the reprimand. "They say her quarters were burned to ash so fine you could pass it through a silk cloth."
"Insolent child! Professor Holloway was one of the finest high mages this Guild has ever seen, even if she was a pyromancer. Now repeat these sigils again twenty times. If I find even a single line out of place..."
The fresh air outside was revitalizing after sleepless hours among dusty books, but still Tiri struggled to focus, racking her brains to recall why the name "Holloway" sounded so familiar. She'd walked twice around the grounds before it hit her.
She fumbled in her satchel for the piece of paper from atop the bundle taken from Lila's room, but she already knew she was right.
Mhegana Holloway was one of twenty or so names on a list, written in Lila's handwriting. Tiri scanned it again, and sure enough, there it was, just a couple of entries from the bottom. Somewhat ominously, Holloway's name had been struck through with a single horizontal line, as had the other names on the list, with the exception of the last two.
Now she stood in a moonlit corridor in an isolated wing of the fifth floor. The plaque on the door in front of her read "Professor H. Knox."
Harald Knox—the second-to-last name on Lila's list.
Tiri's knock seemed to echo down the empty hallway as though her knuckles were battering rams. She managed not to flinch.
How would Harald Knox react to this midnight intrusion? It was hard to imagine her reception being favorable, especially when she inevitably had to explain the flimsy pretext on which she was here. “Sorry, Professor, but my friend wrote your name on a list and nearly everyone else on it is dead. Any idea why?”
But she'd rather breach protocol and incur the professor's potential ire than risk coming in the daytime when her inquiries were more likely to arouse suspicion from watchful eyes.
She knocked again, more firmly this time. "Professor Knox?"
