by Mel Odom
“I know about the Quartz Sea.” A troubled look settled onto the Grandmagister’s brow.
“We’ve never talked about this tale,” Craugh said. “I didn’t know if you were aware of the legend.”
“I am,” the Grandmagister said. “And I’m convinced that’s all it is: a legend.”
“Hmmpph,” Craugh snorted. “It’s only a legend till it crawls out of the night or the shadows and bites you on your nether regions.”
“There’s nothing crawling out of the Quartz Sea,” the Grandmagister insisted. “That place is dead.”
“Have you seen the Valley of Broken Bones that lies in the foothills of the Mountains of Despair near the Quartz Sea?” Craugh asked.
“No.”
“Then would it surprise you to learn that the valley is now covered in verdant growth and game is in goodly supply?”
The Grandmagister looked up. “Yes. Yes, that would surprise me. The Quartz Sea was one of the worst damaged areas during the war. One of the worst damaged that the Unity of dwarves, humans, and elves caused, at any rate. From the descriptions I’d read of the place, nothing would ever grow there again.”
“They said the same thing of Teldane’s Bounty,” Craugh replied. “You saw for yourself all those years ago when you were sold in the slave auction at Hanged Elf’s Point that regrowth was taking place there.”
“As well as the massing of the goblinkin,” Juhg said, remembering the Grandmagister’s account of those times.
“That was because of the slave market,” the Grandmagister said, dismissing the similarity. “And because of the protection Fomhyn Mhout and his Purple Cloaks provided in the area.”
“While Fomhyn Mhout researched the dark magicks he pursued,” Craugh agreed. “We almost didn’t catch that.”
“We didn’t,” the Grandmagister said. “Brant did.”
“They say the Gut-Twisting Catacombs still lie beneath the Quartz Sea and that dead creatures roam the tunnels,” Craugh stated in a quiet voice. “No one of the Unity has ever seen the place.”
“No, and no one ever will. The wizards of the Unity sealed the place off, remember?”
“Things that have been sealed,” Craugh said, “have a way of coming unsealed.” He pointed his pipe at the book on the table. “Just as you intend to ferret out the secrets of that book.”
Grandmagister Lamplighter thumbed the book Juhg had taken from Blowfly again. Juhg couldn’t clearly identify the Grandmagister’s motivation as interest or irritation.
“No book has ever defied me before,” the Grandmagister said.
Juhg knew the claim was not false, nor born of pride or self-aggrandizement. Grandmagister Lamplighter had become the wisest of all the Grandmagisters who had ever served at the Vault of All Known Knowledge. Of course, no Grandmagister before him had ever possessed as keen an understanding of all that the Library held, or had traveled—and traveled extensively at that—throughout the mainland.
“Nor will this tome stand long in your way,” Craugh said.
The wizard’s apparent belief in the Grandmagister made Juhg feel proud of his mentor’s accomplishments. Grandmagister Lamplighter had labored hard during his tenure of service to the Vault of All Known Knowledge. Over the years, Juhg had also been surprised to see Craugh—for all his wizardly accomplishments—defer to the knowledge that the Grandmagister possessed on occasion. Of course, the information and learning the Grandmagister kept in his mind had served to save them all a number of times throughout their adventures.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear this was written in no language that was known to men, elves, or dwarves before Lord Kharrion massed the goblinkin and attacked the world.”
Sharp interest flashed in Craugh’s green-as-frog-skin eyes. “If this isn’t one of those languages, Wick, then what are you saying it is?”
“A new language.” The Grandmagister’s pipestem chased a line of writing across the page. He tapped the page with authority. “I know that’s what this must be. I can feel it in my nose.” He tapped his nose.
“How can that be?”
“Someone,” the Grandmagister said in a low voice as he focused on the writing, “invented it.”
“Invented a language?” Juhg couldn’t believe what the Grandmagister said. And he couldn’t believe how casually the Grandmagister advanced the possibility.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Believe it or not, First Level Librarian,” the Grandmagister said dryly, “there was a time when no language at all existed. At one point, all the languages had to be invented. Otherwise dwarves would have continued to draw on cavern walls, elves would have continued to shape trees to tell stories, and humans—well, humans would have forgotten much more than they ever learned.”
Juhg’s mind boggled at the concept. A new language. The possibility fired him with excitement, but at the same time filled him with dread.
“Nor were those languages all invented at the same time,” the Grandmagister continued. “They emerged over the centuries as people traveled farther from home and traded more, as they needed them. A means had to be created to keep track of things. Where goods could be bought, when they could be found there, who gave the best prices, when was the best time to travel according to the weather and the markets at the other end of the voyage. That sort of thing.”
Juhg knew that. The birth of the languages lesson had been one of the first the Grandmagister had taught him. That had been back during the time when he hadn’t believed that the Grandmagister could truly read. At first he felt that the Grandmagister believed he’d forgotten even those simple lessons, then he realized that the Grandmagister was only talking out loud, seeking to convince himself in his line of pondering.
“Lord Kharrion sought to push the world back to those primitive days,” Grandmagister Lamplighter said, lost in the memories of the battle he still fought to keep ignorance from claiming all the lands, “to strip our knowledge from us, and to force us to live once again in caves and be afraid of natural things instead of understanding them.” He paused.
The words sounded ominous to Juhg’s ears in the quiet of the eatery.
“The Goblin Lord very nearly did that thing,” the Grandmagister said. “To know how close Lord Kharrion came, all you have to do is look to the mainland, where stories of books and people being able to read are considered myths at best and bad luck to mention at worst, if not outright foolishness that will incite tragedy.”
“But with all the languages that have been used, with all those that have already been invented,” Juhg said, “why invent another?” During their travels, he’d often acted as the Grandmagister’s sounding board. He fell into the routine naturally.
“To keep secrets,” Craugh said, stepping into the conversation and addressing the Grandmagister. “Wizards are rife with secrets while seeking to pillage the secrets of others.”
Grandmagister Lamplighter gazed at the wizard. “And you, old friend, do you share those feelings?”
A cold smile twisted Craugh’s thin lips. “Upon occasion, Grandmagister, I have been known to succumb to those siren calls. The mysteries of the world, how they work and why they work, call out constantly to the likes of me.”
“You’re a meddler,” the Grandmagister accused, and the declaration was only half in jest. The matter was an old but good-natured argument between them. “You can’t be satisfied with just knowing. You have to test things and alter things as well.”
“How else is one to truly know something,” Craugh countered, “without testing and altering?”
“Acceptance,” the Grandmagister replied. “One can learn acceptance.”
“Hmmmph.” Craugh snorted his obvious displeasure with that suggestion.
“But this is a wizard’s book,” Juhg pointed out, wanting to draw the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Wizards know languages. It doesn’t make sense that Ertonomous Dron would invent a language simply for his own use.”
“No,” Craugh disagreed. “I must beg a difference of opinion, my old friend. Many of the forces that wizards invoke lie in the first language the Old Ones gave those who would borrow magick from the land and the oceans and the heavens. Even those goblinkin sorcerers that practice the dark magicks drawn from fire use that language. You can’t change that fact.”
“You’re both assuming that the book is the wizard’s,” the Grandmagister said. “That could be a mistaken perception. It’s possible that it was not Ertonomous Dron’s book.”
Juhg blinked, thinking about that. He’d recognized no wizard’s sigil or mark anywhere in the book. And those would have looked no differently than any owner’s mark. No claiming design existed.
“Dracol’s Principles of Logic,” the Grandmagister reminded. “Juhg, you should remember that. The Laws of Assumption?”
“‘Clearly state only the known,’” Juhg said. “‘Clearly state the questions that are to be answered. And remember that logic, like a river, doesn’t have to flow straight and true; only get to where it’s going.’”
“But it will never double back on itself or contradict itself,” the Grandmagister added.
Juhg nodded.
“The wizard had possession of the book,” Craugh said. “That’s a fact.”
“Yes. Although a case might be made, under the circumstances, for the book having possessed him.” Grandmagister Lamplighter nodded. “Why did Ertonomous Dron have possession of this book? Or vice versa?” He lifted the volume with his fingers.
“It wasn’t by accident,” Juhg said, carefully adding a known fact. “He took pains to guard it.”
“Or,” Craugh said, “at least to protect himself from it. Which makes a case for it being something that he didn’t wish to have around and was possibly afraid of.”
The Grandmagister picked the book up. “It doesn’t appear dangerous.”
“Neither does a threet fingerling,” Craugh said. “But if you get stung by one during spawning season, you’re a dead man.”
Threets, Juhg knew, were vicious predators that hatched in the bodies of corpses. They were most dangerous when they were newborns, fingerlings.
“I’ll take your word for that,” the Grandmagister said, “and be glad that I’ve never seen a threet, fingerling or full-grown.”
“A birthing of a swarm of threet fingerlings,” Craugh said in a tight voice choked with memory, “is something that is not easily forgotten.”
“Ertonomous Dron traveled with goblinkin,” Juhg said.
“Why?” the Grandmagister asked.
“I will state that it wasn’t by choice,” Craugh said. “Even the most evil wizard will not travel with goblinkin if he has a choice.”
“Fomhyn Mhout allied himself with goblinkin in Hanged Elf’s Point,” the Grandmagister reminded.
“Mhout used the goblinkin who infested the city only as a barrier to keep his enemies away from his fortress,” Craugh stated.
“We’ll agree to disagree over that one,” the Grandmagister said.
The wizard nodded. “So why travel with the goblinkin with the book?”
“Because the book had to be transported,” Juhg said.
“Why not just transportation for the wizard?” the Grandmagister asked.
“If Ertonomous Dron wanted transportation only for himself,” Juhg said, warming to the mental work at hand, “he would have traveled on his own. More than likely without the goblinkin escort.”
“Perhaps not,” Craugh said.
“He might not have had a choice,” the Grandmagister pointed out. “The book could have held them all in thrall.”
“All right.” Juhg nodded. “But Ertonomous Dron wouldn’t have traveled with the book if he feared for its safekeeping.”
“What would he have done with it?”
“Stored it,” Juhg answered. “Put it in some wizardly secret hiding place that only he knew of.”
“Such places have been found,” the Grandmagister said. During the years, he had found a few of those places scattered across the mainland.
“Yes, but not easily. And the book was more exposed during travel than it would have been in hiding.” Juhg thought for a moment. “Kannithon’s The Slight of Sleight: A Beginner’s Guide to Pick-Pocketing.”
Craugh looked at the Grandmagister. “You have a book like that on the required reading lists for Librarians?”
“Only for some First Level Librarians,” the Grandmagister admitted. “I found the work a fascinating study. A tremendous supplement to Yahweg’s A Warrior’s Art of Defending Others, and How to Take Their Lives in the Event You Are Not Paid So That Your Reputation Grows. Kannithon held to a basic premise of exposing a target, whether it was an object or a human being, then acting. Many successful assassins used his book.”
“You make that sound like a good thing.”
“Kannithon was a master at his craft. His skill was an art, and the book was a treasure trove of information not only about assassination, but about the times and the cities in which he lived. There were several cities and countries, and all are elegantly brought to life in his words. Though, of course, the dark alleys and seedy bars and docks are by far the most covered.”
“Remind me to take a look at the lists you are putting out these days,” Craugh commented.
“The point is,” Juhg said, “that Kannithon felt a moving target was a more vulnerable one. So the question now is whether Ertonomous Dron moved the book because he chose to—or because he was afraid not to.”
“Meaning that the book was of worth to him,” Craugh said. “And that others were after the book.”
“Yes.” Juhg nodded. “And that it was no longer safe where it—or where he—was.”
“Possibly.” The wizard drew on his pipe in quiet contemplation.
“There is a definite way to quickly find out if this book is magical in nature,” the Grandmagister said in a soft voice. His finger idly played with the stitched binding that held the book together.
Craugh looked at him.
Without another word, the Grandmagister pushed the book across the table to the wizard.
A sour expression filled Craugh’s face. “You know how much I hate messing about with another wizard’s magicks. I’ve told you that on any number of occasions.”
Grandmagister Lamplighter nodded solemnly. “As I recall, you always say that only the worst kinds of things can happen.”
“Tampering with another wizard’s spells is not a simple thing, nor a safe thing.”
The Grandmagister sighed and said, “You’re right, of course. I’ll take this book back to the Vault of All Known Knowledge. We’ll puzzle over it for years, seeking answers when there might not even be a need for them. Or, quite possibly, missing the window of opportunity our having it might give use.”
“Not a need for this book?” Craugh echoed.
Grandmagister Lamplighter looked at the wizard. “It could be a cookbook.”
“A cookbook?” Craugh snorted his disbelief. “And it guarded by goblinkin and a wizard?”
“A very important cookbook,” the Grandmagister agreed.
“By the hoary beards of the Old Ones, you’re baiting me, Grandmagister,” Craugh said.
Grandmagister Lamplighter steepled his fingers. “Is it working?”
Craugh fumed and puffed on his pipe in stony silence.
“Seventeen sailors from Windchaser gave their lives to get this book this far,” Grandmagister Lamplighter said. “First Level Librarian Juhg almost lost his life getting this book.”
Craugh glanced askance at Juhg.
Juhg nodded. “It’s true. The book was well protected.”
Craugh was silent for a moment. Juhg took his lead from the Grandmagister, who sat silent and still.
“Oh, all right,” Craugh grumbled. He stretched out a hand and murmure
d a few words in a sibilant language that Juhg was surprised he did know. Craugh held his palm over the book. Tentative blue sparks dropped like snowflakes from his hand to touch the book.
Almost immediately, a roiling gout of red flame flashed up from the book, growing large enough to cover the table in less than a heartbeat.
Juhg felt the heat of the fireball as it rushed upward and was sure that he was going to die.
12
The Trap Is Sprung!
Before he could move to even attempt to save himself, Juhg saw Craugh lean toward the fireball. Firelight carved the wizard’s face clean to the bone. At least, that was the way it seemed at that instant. Actually, the harsh red color of the fire drained Craugh’s skin of color, matching it to the flames themselves till it seemed they met and meshed.
Craugh thrust his hand into the fire. A frenzy of harsh, sibilant language fell from his lips. As Juhg watched, astonished, the flames receded from the wizard’s flesh. Wondrously, Craugh’s skin wasn’t burned and blistered as Juhg had expected.
The flames surged again, though, only this time they butted up against a bowl of force Craugh had evidently conjured up with his magic. The flames licked the sides of the invisible container that the wizard had conjured up.
“Get back,” Craugh advised. “I don’t know if I can contain the energy that’s been unleashed here.”
Juhg sprang from his chair and moved back several feet, instinctively going to the Grandmagister’s side so that he might protect him. If that is even possible, Juhg thought, watching the whirling flames inside Craugh’s invisible vessel grow more frenzied and brighter. Even ten feet from the table and the book now, Juhg still felt the heat of the spell rush over him.
Heated winds somehow escaped the prison of force that Craugh had woven around the spell. The wizard’s hat blew off, but almost lackadaisically he caught it on the end of his staff. His gray hair blew back in the fury of the power being expended, and his clothing plastered against his front as though he stood in a gale storm.
Grandmagister Lamplighter gazed helplessly upon his friend. Concern etched his features.