One bemused eyebrow was all it took for Morlekai to silence the banter, and Malek couldn’t help be impressed. “Come, my friends. We are here as guests. Ancient accords and good taste both would decree that, save witnessing vile transgressions, we give our hosts no cause to regret their invitation.”
Lucienda nodded. “But of course. 'Tis obvious already they have secrets to hide, but so long their interests do not oppose ours, it is of no moment to us.”
Morlekai chuckled. “I certainly hope they have secrets. They are reputed to have one of the most ancient and well cared for collections of tomes to be found anywhere outside the royal archives! Rumor has it they are avid collectors of all sorts of dark secrets and lore, their focus being solely the accrual of knowledge, with little concern in regards to the ethics to which the tome subscribes, nor in how that tome was obtained." Morlekai's eyes glimmered with a fierce hunger, his short silvery hair waving in the wind. "I care not what tomes they possess, nor the means they went about to claim them, so long as they have the knowledge we seek!"
“Hear, Hear!” Alacabar bellowed in fierce agreement. “Oh look, there is the seneschal hurrying over to meet us. Poor fool looks like he’ll freeze to death in this wind. Should have waited for us to get to the door!”
Malek had to agree with his friend. For all that he was impeccably dressed in doublet and tights of dark green, the emaciated man was visibly shivering in the icy wind even as he presented himself before the party of adventurers, bowing well past his waist, a sign of deferential respect.
“Welcome, my lords. Lord Graves bids you a most gracious welcome, and regrets his inability to meet you and thank you in person, as he is presently indisposed. However, he does invite you all to make yourselves at home, and welcomes you to peruse his library for as long as you like, as guests of the manor. I have taken the liberty of preparing a light repast for you all, and of course, sleeping chambers have been prepared for your comfort as well. If you would be so good as to follow me?”
Smiling politely, for all that he shook as the icy wind frantically whipped about his hair, the seneschal led them into the keep proper, and Malek had to give credit where it was due. For all that the outer face of the keep declared itself a grim, unbreachable stronghold, the inside was a striking contrast. Brilliant golden light of arcane origin gave the room a warm glow, the fine tapestries, portraits, and landscapes lining the foyer walls giving all who entered a rather cozy welcome. Malek gave an impressed nod, as arcane enchantments were not for those of limited means, and certainly were a far more reliable source for steady lighting than torches or lamps, with no risk of fire or upkeep needed.
"Come, a table has been laid out in your honor. Please, refresh yourselves, and I shall then have the librarian escort you to the area of her expertise." The thin man gave a nervous smile at that point, and Malek quirked an eyebrow, breathing quick and sharp through his nose. For all that he did his best to project a calm, unruffled demeanor, the man stunk of terror. Curious. He hid it relatively well, all things considered.
“But first, if you would be so kind, good adventurers, I was given to understand that you might have a package for us of some sort?”
Favoring the man with a cool nod, Morlekai gracefully withdrew the wrapped music box. The poor seneschal appeared to shudder with excitement. With trembling hands the man took the wrapped artifact, seeming to all but sag with relief when his careful unwrapping revealed what he had obviously so hoped to see. "Wonderful, sir. Absolutely wonderful."
Malek had been half certain the poor shaking fool would drop the artifact, so much did his hands tremble, and not just with the chill from the bitter winds he had been exposed to.
Taking a deep breath and giving forth a far more genuine smile, the relieved seneschal carefully secured the music box before leading them down an elegantly appointed corridor lined with tapestries and small gilt-laden tables laid out with numerous ornaments of porcelain and glass, objects Malek did his best to avoid bumping into with the Zweihander strapped across his back. He counted himself lucky that his strength, training, and specialized sheath allowed him to carry his weapon of war as comfortably as most could a sidearm, but the slanted sheath did tend to smash into shins and other fragile objects just to his left, if he wasn't careful.
A gentle touch, Malek quickly clamped upon his tightly wound reflexes, seeing it was only Lucienda’s hand upon his armored shoulder, her concerned gray eyes peering solemnly into his own. Her smile was gentle, near instantly soothing the brooding thoughts Malek could feel creeping up on him like a storm. “Is aught well, dear Malek? I fear you’re woolgathering, and we are here at table. Come, let us eat and savor good food and company, shall we?”
Malek nodded, seating himself across from the others, instinctively leaving himself room to leap to a stand with blade unsheathed in an instant, as Eloquin had taught and Morlekai reinforced. He took a deep breath, scenting all the delicious fare set before them, including a grand selection of smoked meats, cheeses, and apples kept fresh in cold storage, no expense being spared for their gustatory satisfaction. Pitchers of cold ale by each of their cups, several wide-eyed maids to the side of their table gazing at them with awe and no small amount of dread, looking ready to jump out of their skins at the drop of a pin.
He gave the smallest nod. No trace of foulness did he detect with his unusually acute nose. He still recalled the first time he had smelled something off at a small ill kept tavern they had once taken quarters at, the heavy weight of nod threatening to have them collapse at their feet, after a particularly harrowing dive into Shadow. When they had been presented with a platter of food by the smelly innkeeper in his food-stained apron, looking so anxious with his gap-toothed smile, Malek had slammed the platter full of poorly cooked meats and moldy bread off the table, threatening to tear the panicked man's head clean off.
When Morlekai had asked what the hell had gotten into him, he declared he could smell the foulness in the fare. His leader’s ire had instantly transformed into a nod of approval, Morlekai informing the innkeeper that they would take his strongest drink and head to their quarters straight away, and if the man wasn’t a fool he would throw out the food that had gone bad.
The slovenly man had been all too happy to appease them, and they had slept deep and long, as did all Delvers recovering from their forays into Shadow, a sleep so deep they were no longer in the mortal realm at all till they wakened once more. And upon their awakening they found themselves whole and hearty, thankful as they always were that none of them had left the mortal coil behind, lost in dreams wondrous and sweet, forever. Yet of the poor innkeeper and his patrons, madness and sorrow had left their mark. Multiple customers had sickened, one even succumbing to rye madness, having killed the innkeeper himself in the throws of delusion before perishing as well.
“Did those fools not know to clean their grain?” Alacabar had muttered angrily of the stricken townsfolk, healers having been brought in but the day before to treat the episodes of panic, madness, severe cramps and rot upon the fingers and toes of stricken individuals. “If those bloody farmers had seen the slightest trace of the foul dark kernels in the barley they sifted, they should have used brine!”
"Brine?" Lucienda had gazed curiously at her fierce companion who once had been of far humbler origins, his mane of flame red hair bobbing in accord.
“Yes. Solution of brine. Soak all the kernels you even suspect might have come from tainted stock. The rotten ones float, the good ones sink. Then you have to rotate the crops for at least two years and plant your seeds at least a finger deep to make sure the rot dies out.”
Morlekai had nodded in quiet agreement, passing his companion’s advice on to the town council in words far calmer than Alacabar’s had been, stopping as well to clap Malek on the back. “You did well, pup,” Morlekai commended. “Nose as fine as any hound’s. Spared us a most horrific week’s worth of dreams, I am sure. For all that our Delver’s strength would have survived the physical strain
, who knows if those dreams would have sent us fleeing into final madness, forever.”
Alacabar and Lucienda had also given their solemn thanks, and despite the grief Malek felt for the townsfolk, he also felt a fierce sense of pride. He had helped his companions and proven himself. They were grateful. He was now truly one of them.
Of course, from that moment on, he had become their official taste tester in any environment of uncertain loyalty. With cooked foods he could detect any trace of foulness or poison with but a smell, a skill the ever curious and probing Morlekai had deliberately put to the test. Liquids were trickier. He had to sip them after stirring or gently shaking the container, but so far Morlekai’s tests had all been passed.
He grinned, which put them all at ease. “This pitcher tastes the best. May I claim it?”
"Of course." Morlekai grinned at their long-running jest. Malek was quite content for everyone to think them eccentric Delvers, and to see Malek himself as little more than a half-tamed boy who had no table decorum at all, then to realize he could scent any poisons. Far better to have the edge and the drop on their enemies, to see the first move coming, and catch their foes off guard. Seizing the Vor in all circumstances, his old arms-master would say.
Of course, the scent hound and wolf jokes did get a bit old, he had to admit.
“My lords and lady? If you are ready, I would be more than happy to escort you to the library.”
This from a soft-spoken young woman dressed in a scholar's robes smiling nervously at them and turning about to lead them deeper into the keep at Morlekai's gesture. Malek couldn't help but notice the odd blond curl slipping free of her bun, eyes of palest blue seeming to take in their group with a single glance. In other circumstances, Malek thought she would look quite beautiful.
They sedately followed, bellies full, minds in delicious anticipation for what wondrous hints they could uncover here to unlock the final puzzle that stood between them and their hard sought prize. Still, Malek found himself slightly troubled. Why did everyone at this manor radiate such palpable fear? He could smell it to varying degrees on all of them.
"Here you are, noble adventurers," the young librarian bowed to them even as she stood beside a well-polished door constructed of solid oak, runes and abstract designs etched upon the frame in its entirety. "We stand before the Graves library. Please, feel free to study to your hearts content. The finest vellum, quills, and ink are laid out for your use, and quarters have been prepared for you to extend your stay for as long as you wish." Her voice dipped to a reverential whisper. "Lord Graves did even instruct me to say you were all each welcome to the loan of one of his tomes for so long as you desired, if you would but mark the title upon this list here, so my lord knows which tomes he may need to purchase anew." She then gestured for them all to enter and make themselves welcome.
Malek blinked, sensing that Lord Graves, to this young woman's mind, was doing them a most singular honor. And it was quite generous indeed, he had to admit. Few nobles who considered themselves scholars or collectors would be willing to surrender their tomes to anyone. At best, they would allow a chosen scribe or representative of a favored college or cause to transcribe passages in their entirety, always giving credit to the originator of the tome in the forward, of course. For a lord to all but give a quartet of valued tomes away was a rare gift indeed, which seemed quite a boon from a lord ruling a demesne locked in perpetual fear.
Malek smirked. Nobleborn himself, he knew all too well the disparaging contempt so many petty lords had toward adventurers, the nastier ones happy to fill their halls with basest slander, desiring fear instead of admiration for the Guild, not wanting their serfs to run off and escape to a better life, even as they envied the Guild's own power.
Even the Lords Council tended to look askance at Delvers, the more amicable among their number dismissing them with friendly condescension as bards or performers of a sort, the colder ones viewing them a direct threat to their power that must be curbed. Yet none of them were fools. Few indeed would risk crossing the Guild directly. Many, in fact, had gone out of their way for a chance to be considered a Friend of the Guild. For as much as they might disparage or condescend the adventuring class to their closest friends, they knew that Delvers counted among their number the most gifted killers in all of Erovering. Men and women warped by odd, dark talents that few souls who had never adventured into madness could hope to match.
Thus most lords did their best to keep their distance from the Guild. Until it was a priceless artifact of dream and legend that they hungered for. A mythical cure, a treasure of music or beauty, an ancient rune said to give life to the most desiccated land. Or simply the right to winter in a lush garden paradise sprung wholecloth from dream in but a handful of nights by one of the most famous Delvers in recent memory. Whatever the source of the whispers and rumors, it was the Adventurers Guild that those same self-important, arrogant, fearful nobles turned to with placating smiles and rich purses full of gold when they sought prizes of a sort no mortal mage could manufacture. Treasures of myth and legend.
A Delver's specialty.
"We are, of course, most grateful to Lord Grave's generosity, and are glad we could gift him with the fruits of our labors sufficient to have earned such high regard from him," Morlekai assured.
The girl ventured a shaky smile, stepping back against the door despite herself. This made Malek grimace. As much as he liked to fool himself otherwise, it wasn't simply cruel rumors that frightened people. If that were the case, he would have hardly needed to cover sword hilt and armaments and work so hard to force a friendly grin upon his features, just so people wouldn't gaze at him like a charging bull whenever he entered a new city. For the very eldritch power that gave one such awful strength and resiliency was almost a palpable force, and one that most mundanes not used to working for adventurers found more than slightly disturbing.
Of course, the treasures they had claimed for themselves did not make things any easier. He caught the girl’s eyes repeatedly locking upon the prizes of battle they had torn free of Shadow; his massive Zweihander blade, Morlekai's brooding falchion, the shimmering armor they all wore, made from the scales of nameless things slain in the darkest bowels of nightmare. Stronger than any steel, the scales sparkled like sapphires in the odd lighting of the hallway. At other times, their armor shimmered wetly of crimson, as if covered with fresh blood. And for all that he knew that his old mentor Rens would be horrified by the artifact's instability, the Delver he had become knew his armor would always stand strong against his enemy's blade, and that was all that mattered. The young librarian seemed entranced by the artifacts they wore for an endless heartbeat before abruptly pulling her gaze away.
“Come now,” Lucienda’s voice gently soothed, “there is nothing to fear. We are all friends, here, granted access to the library by your master. Why don’t you ease the wards and bid us entrance?” Lucienda’s own siren-like magics compelled the librarian to relax, lips tight with anxiety easing into an infatuated smile. She gave a single nod, turning around once more and gesturing to the library below.
“We are here, honored adventurers,” the librarian announced, her voice oddly dreamy and utterly relaxed. “Please, enter within, and study to your heart’s content. Refreshments will be provided at your behest, just eat at a table separate from the books. Thank you.”
Lucienda’s gentle smile firmed ever so slightly, her eyes hardening. “Perhaps you did not understand, child. You needs must lower the wards protecting your master’s fine library, so we may avoid any unpleasantness that might otherwise ensue. For your lord is no fool. There is no way he would leave his most precious items unguarded, and we would hate for his precious property to be harmed as a result of any unpleasant catalyzation. For we, dear child, shall survive, I assure you. Your master’s books, however, may not be so fortunate.”
Malek blinked, impressed with Lucienda’s ability to modulate her voice so as to convey soothing assurance and dire warning s
imultaneously. The girl, however, only blinked in confusion. “Wards, my lady?”
Lucienda's hard gray eyes at once turned to Morlekai's. "You know my history, Morlekai. There is no way any lord of Grave's resources and temperament would allow his scholarly works to be unwarded. All libraries of note are protected at least from fire. And like as not, such chambers, along with the lord's own personal quarters, are warded to alert the guards, should they be breached without the right keys. And steeped as Lord Graves is said to be in arcane knowledge, having managed to slip past the edicts forbidding mages from serving as heads of their noble clans, I would expect his library to be protected by a far more dire hex as well."
Morlekai nodded solemnly, gaze also hard, yet his voice when he spoke to the young woman was gentle. "Were you perhaps given a special key, child, by the head librarian, to open the door with?"
The girl blinked, smiling in suddenly confused embarrassment. "That's right. How did you know? Forgive me, I am new to my post, newly honored with my rank as assistant librarian, and the master of the tomes did instruct me upon many things very quickly. Forgive me lords, and lady, let me see to that right away." From around her neck she pulled out a sapphire inlaid key, and Malek could smell traces of… something that set his hair upright, he could not be certain of what, then it was gone.
He gazed curiously at the door. For all that there was an audible click as it opened quietly on greased hinges, he smelled no trace of that ephemeral tang of magic he had finally learned to sense without the crutch of spells that most mages needed. Merely the faintest whisper of wards long since faded away.
From the looks Lucienda exchanged with Morlekai, they too found the lack of arcane protections troubling. A grimace and a shake confirming their consensus. No magic wards, protections, or spells to be sensed of any kind.
“Curious.” Was all Morlekai said aloud as the assistant librarian quickly bade them enter, making them welcome, utterly unaware, it seemed, that anything of significance had occurred.
Gods of Shadow and Flame Page 31