“Ugh!” Dianthe exclaimed, stepping back and pinching her nose shut. A foul stink like rotten meat wafted to Sienne’s nostrils, and she imitated Dianthe’s gesture. “That’s far too ripe for something that’s been locked away for thirty years.”
“What is it?” Kalanath asked, prodding the chest with the tip of his steel-shod staff.
Dianthe leaned over, her nose still plugged, and shook her head. “I can’t tell. I think it might have been a trap. But it doesn’t look like the contents of the trunk are damaged, so I’m not sure what the point was. Take a look. I’ll be more careful opening the other one.”
Sienne walked over to the wall and examined the lines of script. They’d been painted on rather than written in chalk or ink, and in places the letters were too blurry to make out. Alaric came to stand beside her. “What does it say?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Sienne said. “It’s gibberish. Maybe it’s a code? Or it could be a necromantic ritual, except all the ones I know about use actual Fellic words.”
“This appears to be a list,” Perrin said. He stood a short distance away, looking at another patch of writing. Sienne and Alaric went to join him. “A list of ingredients. Varnwort is not on it, before you ask.”
Alaric let out a sigh. “I didn’t expect this to be easy, but I still hoped—”
“Me too,” Sienne said.
“Come and look at the books,” Kalanath said.
The trunk was, in fact, full of books, jumbled together in no particular order. Kalanath handed them out to the others while Dianthe circled the second trunk, muttering to herself. Alaric whistled. “Necromancy books.”
“And a journal,” Perrin said, flipping the pages of one of the smaller books. “Whoever it was kept detailed notes.”
Sienne shivered. “It’s really cold in here. Let’s take everything up to the library. There’s better light there.”
Alaric began stacking books in the crook of his arm. “Dianthe, what’s in the other trunk?”
“I don’t know. I’m afraid to open it. There’s something off about the latch that I think is another trap—a nastier one.” She shivered. “Sienne, can you give me a little more light over here?”
Something slammed nearby, making Sienne jump. A patter of sharp thumps followed. The room grew marginally darker. “What was that?”
Kalanath crossed to the ladder. “The hole is covered. Something fell over it.”
Alaric set down his armful of books. “I’ll get it open.”
The short stack of books shifted, then tumbled over, spilling across the floor. As Alaric crouched to pick them up, they rose into the air, circling him like a pack of wary dogs. “Sienne, stop that!”
“I’m not doing it!” Sienne exclaimed.
One of the books flew at Alaric’s face. He batted it away as two more dove in after it. Sienne’s armload of books darted away to join their mates, and the air was suddenly full of flying books, wildly careening in all directions. Sienne covered her head with her arms and cried out as a large book cracked her on the back of the skull, making her vision go blurry briefly. She ducked away from another assault and ran for the ladder. A bookcase had fallen face-first diagonally across the hole, dumping a bunch of books down it. They showed no signs of movement. That was something.
She turned to tell Alaric to get the bookcase out of the way, and froze. Behind Alaric, emerging from the second trunk, was a wispy, nearly invisible figure of a child about seven years old. It wore an old-fashioned night shirt that floated around it as if blown by an intangible breeze. The contours of its body shimmered, here one moment, gone the next, giving it the appearance of a sketch by an artist who couldn’t make up her mind what to draw next. Its small face was drawn up in a silent wail, and its hands scrubbed invisible tears out of its eyes.
“Alaric, look out!” Sienne screamed. Alaric looked up, then turned, and the child grasped his shoulders and wailed. This time it was audible. The shriek filled the chamber, sending the flying books to the floor and making Sienne clutch her hands over her ears in a futile attempt to block it out. She could barely hear, over the sound of the wail, the exclamations of her friends. Alaric flailed at the thing, unable to get a grip on it even though it held him solidly in both small hands.
Kalanath stepped forward and swung his staff at the child’s body. It passed through, making the form ripple with its motion but otherwise having no effect. At the same time, Dianthe drew her sword and thrust at it, but was forced to pull up sharply when she met no resistance and nearly skewered Alaric. Her eyes watering, Sienne snatched up her spellbook where it hung in its harness at her side and brought it up and open to force.
The child wailed again, and Sienne gritted her teeth and wiped tears out of her eyes. Taking two long strides to the side for a clearer shot, she read off the evocation force, feeling it burn like acid inside her mouth. As the last syllables left her lips, a bolt of magical energy blasted away from her at the creature. It struck the thing in the side. This time, its wail was one of pain and fury. It released Alaric and flew straight for Sienne.
Stone of Inheritance Page 31