"Why so hasty?” Aeligon asked, still blocking the only exit to the tunnels. “You attack a friend of mine and expect me not to ask questions?"
"Begging your pardon,” Servant began, “but I was not the one who did the attacking. It was your friend who drew blade against me first."
Aeligon shot a piercing glance at Aerinas, who was getting up off the floor. The elf shrugged.
"What do you expect?” Aerinas said defensively. “I saw this...thing...go down Grummen's chimney. I was not about to sit around and do nothing. With everything that has been going on, how can you blame me?"
Aeligon didn't reply, and turned his attention back to Servant. “May I ask what you plan to do now?"
Servant's hands returned to normal, and he stood up straight—uncoiling. “I wish to leave this place with the person whom I came to claim, Wizard.” He turned around and called to Menishka'dun, who promptly came running out of the back room to join Servant. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw Aeligon, who, too, was surprised.
"Menishka'dun?” Aeligon asked accusingly. “Not Grumpkin, then. Hmmm..."
Menishka'dun lowered his head, but kept his eyes fixed on the wizard. “Menishka'dun said first thing that came into me head. Menishka'dun not good at confrontation."
The wizard smiled then.
The four of them stood in awkward silence in the library. Aeligon wouldn't move. Aerinas wanted his sword. Servant wanted to leave with Menishka'dun, bound for Wes'un Mark. But an unseen and unnatural force held them in its grip. They could feel it pulsating, each of them in turn. They began searching for the source—turning first to each other with confused looks, then looking about the room.
Menishka'dun's eyes widened even further. He pointed to a high shelf of the library, nearest the ceiling. “Magic,” was all he uttered, so quietly that they had to ask him again what he said. “Magic.” He said it again louder and continued to point his stubby finger.
They all turned and followed the line he indicated. From where they stood, they couldn't tell what was up there, but the Lyymhorn could sense magic accurately.
"Menishka'dun go fetch magic. Yes, yes! Menishka'dun help warring big peoples."
With that, the tiny creature was hopping over piles of books to reach the ladder. He pushed it along its rolling track, then ascended it two steps at a time, which the others thought was fascinating, considering his small size.
At the top, Menishka'dun paused in front of a row of thick books. The others watched him put the fingers of his left hand on his forehead while he traced his right index finger along the bindings of each book—trying to locate which one was giving off the magic, they believed.
Finally, he threw his hands wildly into the air and spun around excitedly, shouting, “Menishka'dun found it! Menishka'dun finds magic! It be in this book!"
However, Aeligon's mind was already frantic. What if this is the book we came here to find? If this Lyymhorn touches it, not only is he in danger, but the book will vanish to its next resting place! Before he could holler out to the Lyymhorn, Menishka'dun was already caressing the supple leather of the book, which he had to struggle to hold because of its size and weight. The book seemed to glow in response to the Lyymhorn's touch. Menishka'dun appeared to be caught in a trance, his eyes fixed on the book's gleaming cover, rubbing his right hand over it gently.
Aeligon was already shouting and running for the ladder, but Menishka'dun couldn't hear him or the others. Aerinas looked stunned, but Servant merely watched intently.
Menishka'dun beheld the soft sheen and superb gilding of the book, the finest he had ever seen. The intricate pattern engraved into the leather was complicated, with lines and arching runes etched together into a web that sprawled over the entire cover. He recognized some of the engraving, but only a small portion resembling the pattern he was required to draw into the air when he began his Planar teleportation.
Even with all of the magical energy pulsating through his body, his primitive mind realized the book was wreathed in flame, its edges outlined with bright red and orange fire. But his hands weren't burning! How strange, he thought, continuing to stare in awe. He could hear voices screaming at him, but couldn't tell if they were coming from the book itself or from the outside world—the world was temporarily shut out.
Then, subtly, something stirred inside his mind. He felt himself running, chasing the fleeting thought. Persistently, he ran around blackened walls and dove through closing gaps to find it. He was getting closer! Another hole was swirling shut on him, but he reached out and, through the hole, grabbed it tight.
He knew what he was supposed to do now.
Slowly, he began to chant—softly at first, then with more conviction. The book's fiery edges burned hotter and brighter, and the lines of the engraving were outlined in white light. Then, with the final word of the chant and a tap of his finger in the center spot of the engraving, the flame exploded outward, knocking the book free from his hands and he from the top of the ladder.
Menishka'dun was falling again, much like he was when Servant came for him. But this time it wasn't Servant who caught him—it was the wizard man.
Aeligon watched the engraving glow with a shimmering white light, and continued to shout at the entranced Lyymhorn. Aeligon was afraid and could see Nimoni's face in his mind so clearly, for Menishka'dun's face bore the same look hers had. He wanted to reach Menishka'dun, wanted to strip the book from the little one's hands. He didn't know why, but he felt there was only one other who could touch the book and read its secrets—Aerinas. The secret had been his all along, and now they were in danger of losing the book again to someone who wasn't destined to look at its secrets.
He was wrong.
The explosion rocked the library. Servant and Aerinas were lifted off their feet and were each slammed hard into the bookshelves across the room. Hundreds of books were shaken loose from their resting places and began to rain down on them, nearly burying them. One very large book hit Aerinas directly on the head, lacerating him across his forehead and knocking him unconscious. Aeligon almost fell from the ladder when it bent and twisted, but he held fast and caught the tumbling Lyymhorn when he fell. It was a lucky catch. Aeligon had barely managed to reach out and latch onto Menishka'dun's coat.
Once the dust settled, Aeligon got up and looked around the room. It had been completely wrecked. Books were strewn about, Aerinas was hurt and unconscious, Menishka'dun was sobbing, the book was somewhere lost in the rubble, and the pale creature was...gone!
Aeligon was on his feet immediately and rushing out into the tunnel.
But he was too late. He heard the light padding of feet against the stone floor of the tunnel moving away east toward the docks. There was nothing he could do, and he certainly had more important matters to discuss with Menishka'dun.
The book!
The thought had almost completely vanished from the wizard's mind. Where is the book? He began frantically searching the rubble for it, praying silently to Sheevos it had not disappeared like it had in Mynandrias.
Aeligon heard someone moan behind him. He spun on his heels, and saw Menishka'dun rubbing his head gingerly with his two hands. Aeligon stopped his search and went to the Lyymhorn's side.
"Menishka'dun, are you all right?"
"Menishka'dun always all right,” he replied, forcing a smile and rubbing his throbbing head.
"How...how do you feel?” the Healer asked, being practical.
"Menishka'dun feel fine. How wizard man feel?"
Aeligon managed to chuckle at the Lyymhorn's resilience. “Wizard man feeling better, too, except for the pounding in my head."
Menishka'dun bobbed his head up and down, then winced as he realized the pain of rattling the sore brain inside.
"Do you know where the book went, Menishka'dun?” Aeligon asked.
Menishka'dun stopped rubbing the side of his head with his one hand
and pointed. “Over there is burning book."
Aeligon nearly stumbled because he rushed so fast to the spot
Menishka'dun pointed out. And there it was! The book hadn't disappeared; he thought it most certainly would have. The weight of what had happened pressed heavily on the wizard's heart. How could he have been so wrong? What enabled this simple creature to wield the power to break Ashinon's spell?
Those questions would have to wait, because Aeligon, having secured the book like he had hoped they would, had more questions concerning what was inside, now that the outer shell had been cracked and peeled away.
He set the book down next to Menishka'dun, and went to Aerinas’ side.
The elf had a bad cut across his forehead, and Aeligon saw blood on the metal binding of a large book nearby. The wound began to swell, but the bleeding had stopped. The Healer, aptly named, brought a potent salve out of the satchel hidden beneath his robes, and applied it to the wound. Next, he placed his hand on Aerinas’ forehead and closed his eyes, hummed something cryptic, then lifted his hand.
Aerinas’ eyelids began to flutter and his body stirred. Instantly, Aeligon saw the elf in his home back in Anwarna. He remembered the wound Aerinas had suffered from the direwolves. He remembered treating the elf with the same salve he had just used on his forehead. Aeligon smiled, reflecting. It seemed he was destined to be by Aerinas’ side—but for how long?
Aeligon, Aerinas, and Menishka'dun all shuffled back through the tunnel, turning south toward the stairs leading back to Mayor Grummen Lordmont's mansion. The time had come to face the others of the group, and, quite possibly, Grummen Lordmont himself.
Aeligon couldn't believe how fate had worked her mighty hand in bringing them all together in that moment, in bringing them to the doorstep of the book Ashinon had kept hidden for centuries of time. He could hardly wait for Aerinas to heal.
The pages of the book were calling.
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Chapter 11—Descent
Haarath reveled in the warm reception from the people of Resforian. Over the years, Haarath had gone from a tyrannical and deranged wizard, who fell from the graces of the Order of Light, to a celebrated hero of the people. They all thought he was going on a crusade to bring those responsible for their loved ones’ disappearance to justice. The sorcerer's clever deceptions and political strategies had worked—maybe not in the timely fashion he would have preferred, but the ends justified the means.
Even with his celebrity status, Haarath was still a recluse and didn't much like all the attention. So, the day his Drothghight army was unleashed on an unwitting Vaaluna, he dressed in the nondescript attire of a common citizen and wore a hooded cloak to cover his horrible face. He had Benafor with him to aid his navigation through the lesser known parts of Resforian—those which wouldn't draw unwanted attention.
Once they reached the gates, Haarath took one last look at the white walls and flying standards of Resforian, the Floating City, and gave a slight bow of his head. The city had served his purposes over the years quite well, offering a discreet haven for stealthy planning while he delved into the secrets of the Book of Wrantha.
"I am ready to leave, Benafor,” Haarath said coldly. His mercenary was getting the balloon carriage ready for the descent to the mainland.
The main army of Drothghights had already descended to the mainland overnight and was hiding in the shadow of the Farrin Mountains to the west of the floating island. They had dug tunnels from the core of the island to the very bottom where the rock came to a point. Once there, they had used ropes to rappel to the crater created when the island detached from the mainland, and made paths up and out of the hole. It was an arduous process, but was required by Haarath.
He had his perfect army.
"Bah, damned thing,” Benafor cursed, struggling to pull the balloon cart from the main rope track over to the loading dock. He wrestled it free from the tangle, and continued preparations for his master, who grew more impatient now that he had what he had sought for so long.
"Be sure everything is secure, Benafor,” Haarath offered somewhat sarcastically. “I didn't come this far to plummet to my death because of some contraption built by the hands of men. Take the few extra minutes you need. If I have to dispense any of my magic for a safe descent, I will have your head on a pike before the sun sets."
Benafor nodded hurriedly, and went back to work. He hadn't come this far just to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
Once everything was prepared, Benafor took a few more moments to recheck the lines, check the balloon's pressure, and set the release valves for the quickest, but safest, descent.
Haarath climbed aboard the crude device and, when he gave the signal, began his last balloon ride from the floating island he'd claimed so many years ago. He barely remembered what it had felt like back then—his discovery of the Book of Wrantha in Lunathar, his study of the Black Arts, his cunning deceit of his so-called superiors, and, lastly, his exile from the Order.
He smiled when he thought back to the beginning of his plan. So much time had passed since then, and now, there he was, fulfilling his avowed and coveted destiny.
"Have a...safe journey,” Benafor awkwardly offered, waving to Haarath, who simply scowled back at him. Deep down, Benafor knew he had participated in one of the most heinous deeds the world would ever witness. Within his coat pocket his hand wrapped tightly around the bulging pouch of gold coins there. Was it worth it? he asked himself. In time, he knew, he would find his answer. But how much blood would be spilled before he found it? How many sobs from husbandless wives and fatherless children would he have to hear before he confronted the demons? How long would it take for him to deal with the immorality after the gold ran out?
Benafor toyed with the gold pouch a moment longer and thought of his family waiting for him back home in the heart of Resforian. They would understand, wouldn't they? They would forgive me.
Haarath's deception was taking its toll on Benafor's mind too.
Haarath mounted his horse, Drez, when he got to the bottom of the transport. He rode fast across the Farrin Downs toward the foot of the mountains to the west. There, the army of Drothghights, led by Turza, met with the Sorcerer.
Turza had constructed a hut made of wood and stone, taken from the mountain, as Haarath had instructed him. There he waited for his master to arrive.
Haarath entered the hut, quite perturbed.
"The army is restless,” he grumbled, snuffing out all but two of the twenty candles with a wave of his hand. “We don't have much time until dawn."
Turza stood in the center of the single room, adorned in his war armor and decorations. A leather skirt, wrapped about his waist, hung down past his knees, over which hung another skirt of lightweight chain mail to protect his legs. His chest was only partially covered by a single-sided breastplate with the symbol of the Drothghight army: a white bone pierced in the center by a red fang. The bone symbolized their intelligence, the fang, their ferocity. Together, the markings were intended to strike fear into the hearts of opponents. The lead Drothghight's muscular arms weren't covered at all to allow for unhindered movement. The most unique piece of armor he wore was his helmet, a single piece of shaped metal wrapping his facial features tightly in all the vulnerable places, similar to a mask. This would keep his head and face protected while relieving the bulkiness of normal helmets.
Haarath stood before Turza in the dim light, looking him over and nodding his silent approval.
"Well done, Turza. I see you have prepared well for this war."
"I have obeyed your every instruction, Haarath,” Turza replied, staring straight ahead.
"But I have one thing left to do for you before you go,” Haarath said, fixing his eyes on Turza's yellow ones. “Consider it a final gift before you leave for battle, a memento of this occasion. Let it burn into your soul and give you the edge to destroy the enemies of Wrantha."
Turza nodded without apprehension.
"Kneel,” he ordered.
Turz
a slowly bent down, placed both knees solidly on the ground, and lowered his head. Haarath placed his hand on Turza's forehead, which was covered with the metal of his mask helm. The sorcerer closed his eyes, his fingers began to glow, and he mumbled an incantation unintelligible to Turza.
Turza's helm began to glow softly, outlined in a sharp green light. Haarath released his hand, and motioned for the Drothghight to rise.
"Your helm has been enchanted with an Indestruct spell,” Haarath said proudly. “I saved this particular magic for the leader of my army. I don't want anything to stop you. March with me to war now."
Turza, feeling the power and strength surging through him, raised his hands into the air and roared, his leonine call thunderously amplified by the surrounding rocks.
Haarath exited the hut, raised his staff into the air, and shouted, “Vaaluna will lie ruined in our wake! We march to Dunandor! We march to domination!"
The Drothghight army clanked their weapons together in the air, snarling and roaring their battle cries. When they saw their leader emerge from the hut, they went into even more of a frenzy.
"Turza is our god!” Haarath heard several shout in response to Turza's appearance, the green energy of the enchantment still outlining the edges of his mask helm.
Turza turned to Haarath.
"Our first order of business is to enlist the aid of the Cray to the north of here,” the Sorcerer stated. “The army of giants will press against us, and we will need the help of those who know how to fight them. Farrin is not to be taken lightly.
"Then we will sweep east, taking the path that leads between the Cursed Glades and Anwarna to the Bridge of Fwalin. We will cross the Tunin River there, and enter the land of Merchindale near the Hollow Wood. Then, it is only a small distance to the Unodin Pass, the road connecting Merchindale to Dunandor and the underground city we seek."
"What do we seek there?” Turza asked, his voice rough.
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