by Mel Odom
No one answered.
Varrowyn knew that only a few of his comrades felt as Kummel did. Most accepted their lot to defend the island even though the goblinkin had found out where it was and would work together to destroy it.
“He came out here to tell our story,” Varrowyn said. He reached back and caught Dockett by the shoulder, hauling him forward to stand at his side. The youth flinched but Varrowyn held him protectively. “Ye all heard him say that. An’ he gave Anell his word that he would make certain people remembered him.”
“Won’t do Anell no good,” Kummel argued. “When he’s cold an’ lifeless in the ground—”
“People will still remember him,” Varrowyn cut in. “They will remember what he did here tonight. These Librarians have the power to do that.”
“Pity they ain’t much better fighters.”
“An’ it’s a pity ye can’t write nor read,” Varrowyn said. He raked his gaze across those assembled around him. “Let me tell ye what ye’re fightin’ for here. There was a time when dwarves could read, an’ they could write. I’ve seen some of the stone tablets inside the Library. They wrote of their histories an’ the way they forged metals or mined for gems. Some of ye standin’ here, mayhap ye’ve taken a lesson or three from the Grandmagister or First Librarian Juhg or one of the others what ain’t so selfish with what they know.”
Some of the dwarves had paid closer attention to the books that they guarded, forming, if not friendships, then acquaintanceships among the Librarians.
“We lost all that durin’ the Cataclysm when Lord Kharrion assembled the goblinkin tribes an’ tried to take over everything,” Varrowyn said. “No tellin’ what all was lost because we have no way of knowin’.” He looked back in the direction of the Knucklebones Mountains where the firelight flickered against the dark underbelly of clouds. “An’ we lost more a month ago.”
“We lost a lot of warriors that night,” Kummel said. “An’ in the time that followed. Savin’ books ain’t gonna make up for that.”
“No,” Varrowyn agreed. “But through the Librarians, we’re gonna have histories of what happened. We’re gonna know who stood their ground an’ died there. A thousand years from now, as long as books exist, dwarves will still know about the good that was done here.”
Silence hung over the crowd.
Varrowyn’s voice softened. “We lost Anell tonight. That’s true. But we’re gonna keep him with us. An’ through this young dweller, through his skills as a Librarian, we’re gonna keep Anell with us forever. My children will know of him. An’ their children after them. An’ all the dwarven children yet to come.” He looked around. “That’s what ye warriors are layin’ ver lives down for.”
Kummel hung his head. Tears still ran down his broad face. “There are stories about Anell that must be told,” he whispered. “There are things that must not be forgotten.”
Dockett stepped forward. “I will listen to them, Kummel. And I will record them faithfully. I swear to you that I will not let him be forgotten.”
“I thank ye,” Kummel said. Then he returned to Anell and began preparing him for burial.
After a moment’s hesitation, Dockett sat cross-legged on the ground. He took out a stick of charcoal and drew on the page, quickly blocking out the image of Kummel tending to poor, dead Anell. The other dweller youth joined the first, taking out a bag of inks and quills and burned charcoal sticks, laying them out for his brother.
No, Varrowyn thought with fierce pride as he watched the dweller lad, that one’s pap isn’t gonna lay a hand on him. I’ll not stand for it, I won’t. He turned away and walked back to the ledge to peer out at the black sea.
Farady joined him, lifting his arm to accept Whisperwing again. “You did well back there. The situation could have deteriorated radically.”
“They just forgot, is all. Them’s good warriors. By the Old Ones, ye can’t take that away from ’em. It’s hard bein’ here, knowin’ them goblinkin are gettin’ reinforcements whilst we’re dyin’ with no help in sight. It would have been better had Gran’magister Lamplighter an’ Juhg not been captured as they was. The Gran’magister, he could have helped us hold the line.”
All throughout Greydawn Moors, the story was still told of how dragonets had carried away the Grandmagister and his chosen apprentice from the mystical Shrikra’s Tower the day of the attack. Many feared that the Grandmagister was dead, having already been cut up and tossed into a goblinkin stew.
“Well,” Farady said with soft conviction, “the Grandmagister is not here. We will simply have to make do until his return. This is not over.”
Varrowyn blew out his breath. “I know. But I can’t help thinkin’ maybe it would be better if it was over. One way or the other. Waitin’ wears on a body.”
“‘One way or the other’?” Farady repeated. “I thought you told me we were going to win this.”
“We are.” Varrowyn wiped blood from his face. “Just soon or late is what I was referrin’ to. I just hate all this dyin’ what lies in between.” And in his heart, he was sure they had a lot of that left to face.
1
“They’re Our Monsters!”
One-Eyed Peggie lurched hard over to starboard and a horrendous scraping noise drawn out like a banshee’s wail filled the ship’s waist from prow to stern.
Only quick reflexes, a determination not to mar pages, and years of experience aboard a sailing vessel allowed Juhg to keep the freshly dipped quill from the paper before he could render a mistaken stroke. His other hand slapped at the papers, pinning them in place and managing to hang on to the inkwell.
Then the fear set in as he, like all the dwarves gathered in the galley, waited expectantly for the sound to be repeated. Or for someone to scream that the ship’s hull had been ruptured and she was sinking.
He sat alone at a table in the pirate ship’s galley working on the journal. Lanterns filled the area with golden light. He was the only dweller among the group seated at the tables. Brown breeches and a maroon shirt, his clothing marked him as different from the others as much as his smaller stature. His fair hair and light-complexioned skin spoke of a life spent mostly indoors with some time outside. He was also, despite a month of travel aboard the vessel, cleaner than most of the crew.
One-Eyed Peggie was a pirate ship, one of those given the duty of patrolling the Blood-Soaked Sea so that no ships from the mainland sailed out to discover Greydawn Moors and the Vault of All Known Knowledge hidden there. Juhg had sailed aboard her before, but never with such grim purpose as he did now.
“That weren’t just me, were it?” a dwarven pirate asked in the tense silence that followed the noise. One-Eyed Peggie still rocked as she leveled out again. “I mean, I’ve had a little grog to drink, but I didn’t think I just imagined that kind of cauterwaulin’—”
“We’ve run aground,” another dwarven pirate cried out in a trembling voice. “We’ve been skirtin’ too near the coast. I knew this was gonna happen. There’s too much broken rock and reefs there. The cap’n knew that, too. He knew he orter be more careful.”
“I didn’t think that were just me,” the first one replied. He finished his cup of grog and glanced anxiously around.
“Stow that bilge,” another pirate growled. His name was Starrit and he’d been with One-Eyed Peggie under the old captain as well. Most of his life had been spent tending the pirate ship. “Cap’n Hallekk knows whereat he’s a doin’. I’ll not suffer ye to be a-talkin’ behind his back.”
The accuser glared at the other pirate, but said nothing more.
Captain Hallekk, Juhg knew, had the respect of his crew.
The other pirates got up from their meals, automatically picking up their plates and cups so they wouldn’t slide around unattended if the ship should hit again. Gradually, the ship righted herself, pulled back into position by the ballast she carried.
Juhg allowed himself a deep breath as he waited, as every pirate in the galley did, for the fear-filled cry th
at One-Eyed Peggie had been holed. He’d spent enough time aboard ships while journeying with Grandmagister Lamplighter on errands for the Vault of All Known Knowledge that he felt certain he’d know if the vessel had been damaged and was now taking on water. In years past, he’d gone down in both ships and boats while adventuring with the Grandmagister.
I know this ship, Juhg told himself nervously. I’ve sailed on her many times. If she weren’t all right, I’d know.
In fact, the Grandmagister had gotten shanghaied aboard One-Eyed Peggie all those years ago and set upon the path that had led him to his destiny. Edgewick Lamplighter had learned to wash dishes and peel potatoes in this very galley, something only cooks did at the Vault of All Known Knowledge.
Juhg had seen dozens of drawings and sketches of the galley in the books that the Grandmagister had written that detailed his adventures with the pirates then and later. A lot of time at sea the galley had been a place where councils of war met, where wounds were tended, and where the pirates came for safe harbor during fierce storms or lulls in hot seas.
“Wasn’t a sandbar or a reef,” another pirate said. “Woulda hit again if’n it was.”
“Unless we just got lucky,” said a third.
Without warning, One-Eyed Peggie lurched again, turning even harder to port than she had to starboard. All of the dwarves who had been standing ended up on the floor, squalling and hollering.
“Topside!” a raucous voice screeched from the companionway leading to the deck. “Topside! Topside, ye scurvy dogs! Cap’n’s orders! Squawk!”
In the next instant, one of the ugliest and most malignant birds Juhg had ever seen flapped into the kitchen. The bird was a crimson horned rhowdor, intelligent as any being, some said. Of course, Critter, the bird, maintained that he was more intelligent than most.
The bird’s harsh hatchet face, bearing its cruelly curved beak, looked merciless. The features matched their owner’s disposition perfectly. Bright pink horns, one of them broken off midway, thrust up four inches, each of them curled. He only had one bright emerald eye. The other was covered with a fierce black leather eyepatch that featured a skull made up of shiny brass studs. A gold earring dangled from one feathered eartuft.
With a graceful flap of wings, Critter landed on the table where Juhg worked. That was impressive considering that One-Eyed Peggie still lurched back and forth. The effort was doubly impressive because the rhowdor had only one leg. The other was a wooden fork carefully whittled to size and fitted to his leg stump.
Whatever we hit, Juhg thought as he held on to the table, or Whatever hit us, was huge. The pirate vessel was large and wide-bodied to handle a lot of cargo and men.
“Avast there, ye miserable flea-biters!” Critter screamed, flapping his wings menacingly and limping on the fork as he walked across the table. “Get yer fannies to movin’, ye goldbrickers! Cap’n’s orders! Peggie’s takin’ on water, she is, an’ I’ll have everyone of ye topside fer orders or I’ll keelhauls ye meself!”
The dwarven pirates scrambled up and made for the door immediately. Despite the fact that he was a bird, Critter enjoyed all the rank and privileges of a member of the crew. Currently he served as Third Mate under Captain Hallekk.
Critter turned his one-eyed attention to Juhg. “Squawk! Ye get movin’, too, ye mangy cur!” The rhowdor had few true friends on this ship, but he was a fine Third Mate, proving himself both irascible and unyielding. “Cap’n needs ever’ hand. Ever’ able body he can get. We’re even takin’ dwellers.”
Juhg capped his inkwell, placed his quill into the box of writing instruments he had, closed his book and tied it shut, then shoved everything into the waterproof rucksack hanging from the back of his chair with his traveling cloak. He pulled on the cloak, then hoisted the rucksack over his shoulder.
“Ye think ye remember how to handle yerself?” the rhowdor challenged.
“Yes,” Juhg answered, loath to get into an argument with the meanspirited bird. “It hasn’t been overlong since I was aboard this ship.”
“Then why are ye here a-jabberin’ to me when ye should be topside?”
Exasperated, tense, and fatigued from not sleeping well and worrying about the Grandmagister’s whereabouts for the last month, Juhg stared at the short-tempered and unkind bird. He was tired of getting pushed around. For the last month, Craugh the wizard had kept Juhg with his nose buried in work, penning one book and making copies of it. The wizard had also ducked every question regarding how the Grandmagister had ended up in the hands of their enemies at the battle for Greydawn Moors.
More to the point, Juhg was tired of carrying around the guilt that he was more to blame for the Grandmagister’s predicament than any of the others. Perhaps Edgewick Lamplighter and Craugh had schemed together to put the Grandmagister in a position of vulnerability, but Juhg had cost the Grandmagister his way out by getting captured and needing rescue himself. The Grandmagister hadn’t hesitated and had immediately given Juhg the potion that had gotten him free of the goblinkin ship. One-Eyed Peggie had swooped in and picked him up from the sea almost immediately.
But the Grandmagister had been left trapped with his foes. The three ships had made straightaway for the mainland, toward the South where the goblinkin forces were strongest. Alone and in dangerous waters, One-Eyed Peggie and her crew of dwarven pirates hadn’t been able to effect the Grandmagister’s rescue.
Then again, with Craugh not talking to him much over the past month, Juhg wasn’t even sure that was the plan.
“What are ye a-starin’ at?” the rhowdor demanded.
Juhg didn’t know what to say. The bird didn’t deserve all the rancor he felt compelled to unleash on him.
“Keep it up,” Critter threatened, “just keep it up an’ I’ll peck yer eyes out for ye, I will.”
Ignoring the bird, knowing that he could never win an argument with Critter—or, if he did, that the bird would never admit it—Juhg headed for the door.
One-Eyed Peggie lurched again, and this time the sound of a timber cracking shot through the waist. The report was enough to cause a sailing man’s stomach to knot.
Caught off-balance, Juhg flailed for the table. The table, like the benches around it, was secured to the floor by trunnels. The wooden nails made certain the furniture would not move. He fell across the table hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs.
Critter narrowly avoided being flattened. He ran awkwardly across the table on his mismatched legs, flapping his wings and cursing the whole way. His fork pegleg slipped out from under him suddenly and he fell in a rolling tangle of feathers. Crimson and yellow down puffed out around him. He flared his wings at the last second and took to the air.
The ship lurched back the other way as she was hammered once more. Critter banged into the wall and went down with an undignified plop. He cursed terribly and got himself up once more. He rubbed a wing on his head and his good eye squinted in pain.
“What’s going on?” Juhg demanded as he righted himself. The ship wasn’t striking something. He knew that now. Something was striking the pirate ship.
“Ye’ll find out, dweller.” The rhowdor flapped for the doorway. “Just ye hurry topside. There’s things to be done, an’ scribblin’ in them books ain’t gonna much help keep ol’ Peggie afloat.”
The ship lurched again, twisting violently as she fought the water, the wind, and whatever was hitting her. Critter sailed into a wall, struck his head on a lantern, and cursed in a manner that would have made even the most callous dwarven pirate aboard the ship blush.
With the rucksack hanging over his shoulder, Juhg made his way through the hallway to the ladder leading up to the deck. Dwarven pirates ran through the waist, already carrying out Captain Hallekk’s orders.
Has it come to this, then? Juhg wondered. Have we come all this way only to be sunk in unfriendly waters by the mainland?
He tried to put the bitter and depressing thoughts out of his mind. But he couldn’t. He knew that back in Greyda
wn Moors people died every day while defending their island home and the remnant of the Great Library from the goblinkin ships that remained lurking in the Blood-Soaked Sea.
And all he’d done was make three copies of a book no one might see. If he hadn’t been trapped aboard One-Eyed Peggie and hadn’t felt so responsible for the Grandmagister’s current situation, he wouldn’t have stayed. The feeling of futility filling him was one of the reasons he’d tried to leave the Vault of All Known Knowledge and his life as a First Level Librarian. Only the book he’d found with Ertonomous Dron had pulled him back to the island.
All those lives wasted, Juhg thought bitterly, thinking of the sailors aboard Windchaser who had died to acquire that book, only to deliver a trap into the Library.
It was too much to live with during the time he worked on the books. All while they helplessly pursued the goblinkin ship that had taken the Grandmagister captive during the battle for Greydawn Moors. So far, the three goblinkin ships had remained together, too strong for the dwarven pirates to take, but neither did the goblin captains know that they were followed by the mystic eyeball that gave One-Eyed Peggie her name. The monster’s eyeball, taken by Peggie herself (who had been one-legged), had the power of watching over every sailor who crewed aboardship.
“Are we holed?” Juhg asked one of the passing pirates who hurried toward the hold that led to the cargo area with an armful of tools.
“She’s cracked,” the pirate admitted. He was scarred and thick, a sailing man who’d seen more than his share of rough seas and ill luck. “We’re takin’ on water, but we’ll get her shipshape again soon enough. Long as that beastie don’t find a way to smash us to pieces first.”
“What beast?” Juhg asked. The Blood-Soaked Sea was filled with all manner of creatures.