Every head shifts toward the knight, who has gone back to polishing his armor. The old man runs his fingers through his white hair and winces as he yanks on a collection of knots. Finished with his work and hoisting his weapon over his shoulder, Sir Harbiss walks around the nearest hill to think in solitude.
5
Vile bounces off the whirling snowstorm that runs along a mile of the border between the Frost Barrens and the Crysvale Tundra. The figurine flails his clicking limbs wildly as Nimby hurries to catch him, but the halfling abruptly stops to fix his sleeve. With a crunch, the once proud warrior lands in the icy dirt and one of his arms snaps in half. The broken piece is jagged and the fingers continue to move as if still connected to the rest of the body. Picking up the severed limb, Vile tries to reattach it and eventually gets frustrated enough to bang the part against a small rock. The weakened waterstone cracks down a seam and is on the verge of shattering completely until Quail carefully picks the tiny warrior up. Ignoring the curses and complaints, the mapper takes out a tube of glue from his pocket and does his best to repair the damage.
“Let me do that,” the Lich requests with a wave of his hand. The figurine floats into the air and becomes whole again, but remains hovering above the others. “It might be best that we keep you safe up there. Don’t want your son claiming to see a small opening in an attempt to destroy you again. Isn’t killing him once enough?”
“I really did see an opening,” Nimby insists, pointing at the snowstorm. A strong wind erupts from the barrier and a fresh coating of flakes is left on the ground. “Vile seemed like the best choice to go because the rest of us couldn’t fit. If it closed on an arm or leg then we’d be in worse shape than him. Look, guys, we’ve been poking at this place for two days. The map won’t let us go around and we can’t get through. Something has to be done since the champions will be heading into the final battle soon.”
“If they’re foolish enough to fight before hearing from us then they deserve to die,” Vile retorts as the magical bubble floats closer to the storm. He braces himself when the Lich attempts to levitate him above the barrier, but a powerful wind rockets him back to the ground. “You empty-headed worm! Have you ever run into a barrier spell that allows one to climb over it? The ancients always put in defenses to prevent such actions. You are the caster here and you forget a basic fact that even a warrior knows.”
“That is not always the case,” the necrocaster snaps, flicking his finger at the toy. The animated skeleton of a rat emerges from the dirt and darts into the nearest hole, which abruptly belches a small geyser of bone. “It appears this goes underground too. That is not as common as the sky adjustment, which means we are looking at a very intricate barrier spell. I would go so far as to suggest god level, which means even a channeler like Trinity would be unable to force her way through.”
Nimby pulls out a wooden yo-yo to keep his hands busy with tricks while he says, “Great to know that we’d be just as helpless with her here. She trusted us to continue and we can’t even get through our first challenge. There has to be a trick to this. What do you think, Quail? Guess he’s in his own world again.”
Lost in his own thoughts, Quail walks next to the barrier and tries to look through the storm in case this is an illusion. His head aches from the strain, forcing him to take a seat and stare at the cascading white flakes. Shifting his foot, the chaos elf disturbs a bone that is poking out of the dirt. Expecting a clue, he is disappointed to find that it is nothing more than the remains of a deer. Quail tosses the femur at the snowstorm and watches it burst into shards that disappear among the flakes. With no other ideas, he quietly throws more of the bones at the barrier and watches to see if any of the pieces get through. Having only the skull left, he gives up on his attempts and tenderly buries the final part.
“I’m out of ideas,” Quail sheepishly admits while opening the map. He holds it in various positions, sniffs at the marked spot, and does whatever he can think of to unearth a clue. “The path ends at this spot and all I have is a single line. It says we have to pass through the storm to continue. That’s not helpful at all. I’ve tried rearranging the message both by words and letters, but nothing makes sense. All of my tools have failed too. Maybe there’s a clue hidden around here and we haven’t found it yet.”
“I repeat that we’ve been searching for two days!” Nimby shouts before trying to hit the storm with his yo-yo. The toy bounces off the flakes and wraps around his neck until the solid piece smacks him in the nose. “Guess I deserve that for what I did to my old man. Look, maybe this has to do with knowing what’s on the other side. We’re heading into the Library of Gar, right? He’s the God of Knowledge, so the way inside might be to share something that he doesn’t know.”
“The Knowledge Lord knows all,” Vile interjects, his voice full of derision. Joining Quail, the warrior examines the map even though the images still swirl and disappear whenever he looks at them. “Well, he doesn’t actually know everything. He catalogs all, but his followers say he refuses to access his bard’s memory. To Gar, that would break the Law of Influence since the only reason to think of knowledge is to use it. To be honest, I never understood how such a powerful being could be so . . . useless. At least he teaches his people good manners and how to be respectful.”
“All very interesting and pointless,” the Lich yawns as he turns Nimby around. Putting out his arms and raising his head, the necrocaster clears his nonexistent throat to stop himself from chuckling at his own joke. “May we please pass through to your library, Knowledge Lord? We would appreciate some time to look through your books and scrolls. If the information to continue our quest is inside then we will be forever thankful.”
To the group’s surprise, the snowstorm stops and appears to fold within itself to create a path. Even though the ground is a combination of crunchy hoarfrost and sheer ice, yellow flowers bloom in the sunlight and show the way toward a building. A short flight of rounded steps leads to a large portico where the cantilever is held up by columns that resemble neatly stacked books. Chairs have been arranged to allow visitors and followers to read, each circle under a white crystal that makes sure the light is always perfect. Statues of famous scholars adorn the corners of every floor, except for the roof where a lone figure of marble stands with her face aimed at the ground. Shadows can be seen in the windows and two priests stand on a high balcony to watch the travelers. The pair’s hands glow, which shows that they are ready to cast a stupefying beam if trouble starts.
“I am taking full credit for this and a horrible curse will be placed on anyone who reveals that it was an accident,” the Lich hisses at his companions. The skeletal hand abruptly points at Nimby, who smacks it back down. “There are plenty of things I can cast that will affect you and not me. Does anybody hear rumbling?”
General Vile jumps to the ground and presses his head against the earth, his senses not as keen as they were in life. “It sounds like an army is coming. This dead soil doesn’t help me discern location and distance, but the vibrations remind me of a march. Perhaps those people who executed Queen Trinity have decided to come after us. Seems the most obvious answer since she hasn’t returned to us.”
“I’ll take a look while you three run for the library,” Quail states, hopping onto a boulder and extending his spyglass. Scanning the horizon, he slowly lowers the device at the sight of the approaching army. “Would you believe me if I said it’s the group we ran into and her majesty is at the head of them? All of you have worked with Queen Trinity before. Is this surprising to any of you or am I the only one confused here?”
Standing on the path, the others shrug before hurrying toward the library and leaving Quail to face the army alone. Unsure if he should go to meet Trinity or remain on the boulder, the mapper awkwardly turns in a circle several times. He winces from a pinch in his neck and thinks he sees a brown dart fall onto the ground, but the mysterious object is gone before he can be sure it truly existed. Scratching his head, Quail
decides to sit and wait for the intimidating force to finish walking. He can hear distant shouts and whistles from the library, the followers of Gar worried that they are about to be attacked. Not wanting to cause trouble, the chaos elf closes his eyes and attempts a prayer to the Knowledge Lord. Focused on his words and falling into a trance, he does not notice when Trinity puts him over her shoulder and continues leading the way through the open storm. By the time Quail stirs, they are at the other end of the path and a flustered high priest is rushing down the stairs.
“This is unacceptable!” the gangly man shouts, waving his hands over his head. The doors to the library slam closed and seal, the noise making the black-haired priest turn slightly pale. “My name is Lynius and I am the chief caretaker of this holy site. We are a place of neutrality and peace. There is no reason to attack us. Only those who seek knowledge may enter with permission.”
“By the gods, I’m so sorry about this,” Quail blurts out, kneeling before the stunned holy man. He turns as if to ask Trinity a question and then looks back at the Garian, the mapper no longer certain of who he should speak to first. “This is all happening so quickly. Myself, the halfling, and the miniature golem are the ones who opened the pathway. Our companion, Queen Trinity of Shayd, reunited with us before we could pass and it seems she has gathered an army since we parted ways two days ago. I swear on Ambrosine’s beauty and compassion that we aren’t here to attack. We’re following this map and it led us here. Take a look at it and you’ll see that I’m telling the truth. Wait, you guys are big on manners. You have my deepest apologies if we crossed any lines.”
“I believe you, but know that one should try not to apologize as an afterthought,” Lynius says, amused by the young chaos elf. Taking the offered map, his hazel eyes immediately go wide and he runs a hand over the parchment. “This is an incredible find. I can sense the magic that is waiting to be unlocked as you continue. It appears that to deny you entry would end your pursuit of knowledge. Yet, I can also tell that only five of you began this path together. Those who joined later do not have permission to enter. My apologies if this upsets you, but that is what I am reading from the map. Do you disagree?”
Quail nervously looks at Trinity, who politely nods for him to continue. “I came to the same conclusion when I first read it. Only those who began the path can continue to follow it. Yet, I do think these people should be allowed to wait for us to leave. Would it be okay for them to rest here? That is as long as you have the space.”
“I will discuss it with the others.”
“Thank you, your holiness.”
“Give me a few minutes and I will return with your guide.”
Lynius hands the map back and bows his head before signaling for the other priests to open the door. He is met on the stairs by nine Garians in similar robes of white with trimming that resembles leather book bindings. Sneaking out from behind the council, younger priests and priestesses line up on the portico, their hands clasped in front of them. The guides patiently wait for their teachers to make a decision, all of them staring nervously at the army. With a rumble, the snowstorm closes and forces those standing on the path to enter the library grounds. The warriors remain standing in ranks even after the travelers are called forward by Lynius, who is holding the hand of an excitable elf. The young woman is bouncing on her toes and repeatedly whispering to the older priest, her sapphire eyes shimmering in the light.
“So, are you going to explain why you went from prisoner to General?” Nimby asks Trinity, his curiosity getting the best of him. The pair try to trail behind, but the others slow down in order to hear the answer too. “I mean, they wanted to execute you. You obviously didn’t kill any of them. Are they under a spell?”
“I’d rather not get into it right now,” the channeler replies, speeding up to get ahead of her friends. She can sense their disappointment and is about to respond when she is tackled by the guide. “What in the-”
“Real, live chaos elves! My name is Altia and I’m so honored to meet you,” the red-haired elf declares, moving on to get a closer look at Quail’s face. She rubs his pointy ears and is happy to find that it creates the same knee-quivering pleasure that she expected. “I’ve always been fascinated by the fallen elves. Your people are the closest species to the Hejinn, so you might hold information about them. Yet, we know very little about your culture, history, and if there are any differences between you and other elf species. Of course, I mean other than the skin color and hair that is a little rougher than mine.”
“I thought Gar’s followers had manners,” Trinity mutters as Lynius helps her up.
“Altia is new to our order and has yet to learn self-control.”
“Why did you pick her as a guide then?”
“Would you rather I had ignored her and she found her own way to meet you?”
“Good point. Lead the way, young lady.”
Hearing Trinity speak directly to her, Altia whirls around and squeals with unrestrained childish delight. Gripping Quail by the wrist, she hurries to catch the channeler’s elbow and practically drags them up the stairs. The other guides pretend to be embarrassed by covering their faces, but their laughter is loud enough to be heard. Without warning, Altia rushes back out of the library and leaps down the stairs. Feeling sorry for leaving Nimby behind, she bows at his feet for the count of ten. Satisfied with her silent apology, the smiling elf puts the halfling under her arm and hurries back to the chaos elves.
*****
“I know you’re busy, but I have a few more questions,” Altia says after being quiet for fifteen minutes. Hopping her chair closer to Trinity, she leans forward and licks her lips in anticipation. “Your people still have some of the demon taint that created the Hejinn. Does this mean you have a natural gravitation toward causing mischief or being evil? Are there members of your society who feel more demon than elf? Now, I know that there isn’t any sunlight on Shayd. Doesn’t that mean you should have trouble seeing when you’re off the continent? Are there other sources of light that prevent this weakness from appearing? If Quail and I had a baby, what would it be like? Is it true that there are millions of chaos elves hiding throughout the other continents? Also, rumor has it that you led a large army into the Stone Asp Mountains and disappeared. What were you looking for and what happened to the others?”
“I don’t know how to answer all of those,” Trinity admits while moving Quail’s chair with her foot. Placing the mapper between herself and the talkative guide, she goes back to a dusty tome that has no valuable information. “None of these have what we’re looking for. It’s possible that the curse eliminated written records of the Baron too. The few that survived were either too vague to be of help or preserved by Isaiah and his predecessors. It would be too dangerous to leave something in a library that so many mortals visit. Are you sure there’s nothing else on pre-Cataclysm warlords or infamous warriors of history?”
The elf holds up her hand to show the travelers a silver ring that connects to a matching bracelet with a silk mesh. “All guides have these relics, which allow us to recall the contents of the library. At least until we memorize the catalog. I’ve searched every possible topic that this Baron would show up in. The further I push, the more my head hurts, so there might be a magical block on that knowledge. Give me a few minutes to try again and I’ll see if I can get around it.”
“Think I need to stretch my legs,” Nimby announces from behind two stacks of books. His feet and calves tingle as he stands, so he uses the nearest bookcase to stay upright. “Doesn’t hurt to wander around since we can’t leave without making that map happy. I promise to keep my sticky fingers to myself. I’ll keep a look out for my old man too. Not sure if you noticed, but he disappeared thirty minutes ago. Guess he’d had enough of your new friend. Be back when I get lonely, bored, or find anything.”
The halfling flips a coin to randomly choose a direction and sighs before heading through the stacks to his right. Walking along the railing, he is
amazed at how many levels exist within such an unassuming building. The bottom of the central staircase is covered in shadows due to there being no torches below what he estimates is the sixteenth floor. Looking up, he sees that there is a layer of wooden beams and panels several flights up. A wooden door with a book-shaped knocker and two large locks sits at the top of the stairs, making it clear that visitors are not allowed beyond that point. Uninterested in causing any trouble, Nimby does his best to avoid the priests, but the robed figures are around every turn. Those who are not entranced by a book give him very little attention, but the reactions are nothing more than nods and curt, simple greetings. Moving away from the middle of the library, the thief is relieved to find that there is less foot traffic. The smell reminds him of various caster towers that he has robbed, the muskiness of old tomes and faint aroma of smoke filling his nostrils.
Playing with his yo-yo, Nimby makes his way to what he believes is the corner of the library. Using it as a starting point, he follows the wall and scans the titles to get an idea of what section he is in. A spike of impatience hits his mind and he swings his homemade toy away from his skeletal hand before it can snap the rope. Wanting the Lich to calm down, he punches the floor with enough force to crack his boney fingers. The bronze ring releases a few sparks, which causes an alarm to start low and disappear once the danger is gone. Returning to the front of the row, Nimby catches Lynius turning away from the area and going back to the central desk. The thief lets his curiosity get the best of him and scrapes the metal jewelry against the stone floor until he creates another batch of sparks. Before the alarm can finish, he crouches and peeks around the corner to watch the high priest rush towards him.
Path of the Traitors Page 11