The Destruction of the Books (34 page)

A moment later, the Grymmling relaxed in death and hung limply from the ceiling. Its crystal knife fell from its limp fingers and shattered against the stone floor below. The yellow eyes narrowed in a vacant stare.

“They can’t come through,” Craugh declared.

Following the voice, Juhg saw the wizard striding toward the group from the left. A spinning green-white light glowed at the tip of his staff. A handful of scared Librarians followed in the wizard’s wake, all of them huddled together.

“This was yer magic then, wizard?” Varrowyn asked, lifting the faceplate of his helm. Blood stained his features, and some of it was his. He blinked his eyes and crimson tears ran down his cheeks.

“Yes,” Craugh answered. He looked worn and haggard. Scratches marred his face. His robes showed burned places, as well as long, bloody rents. Juhg knew immediately that not all of the blood was the wizard’s. The old man simply could not have bled that much and still yet live.

Varrowyn shook his head. “Ye called us out of the battle just as we had ’em right where we wanted ’em.” He sounded gruff and confident.

“Tell your tales in a tavern some other time and be glad you’re there to tell them,” Craugh said. “I saved your lives and I know it.”

Even though Craugh was much more friendly and predisposed to let others live than any other wizard Juhg had met during his adventures with Grandmagister Lamplighter, Craugh possessed no false sense of modesty or even a grain of humility. The old wizard chose his own path long ago at a price that he sometimes alluded to but had never described. He claimed all the glories that came with that choice and his skills.

Varrowyn bristled and took a step forward.

Juhg watched in disbelief, even though he had seen countless times that dwarves loved to fight over anything, and would fight even more quickly over honor and against disrespect. How could the dwarf even think of taking up weapons against the wizard when enemies stood inside the Library destroying everything all of them had sworn to protect?

Grandmagister Lamplighter stepped forward, moving between the dwarf and the wizard. “Varrowyn.”

Reluctantly, the dwarf halted, but only—Juhg sensed—because Varrowyn would have had to walk over the Grandmagister to reach Craugh. All who dwelt within the halls of the Vault of All Known Knowledge respected the Grandmagister.

“We’ve much to do,” the Grandmagister said. “Lives are at stake. I would rather join you for a cup of ale and sing your praises after this bit of business is over than to lament over your shortcomings in your chosen responsibility to protect the Library.”

Angrily, Varrowyn blew out his breath.

Craugh took no pride in his victory. He had simply stated fact.

Cries of pain and anguish sounded distant down the hallway in either direction. The pealing alarm bell kept up its frantic dirge.

“I understand, Grandmagister,” Varrowyn said. “As I give me word all them years ago, I stand ready to serve ye an’ this great Library in whatever way ye see fittin’.”

“The Library—” The Grandmagister’s voice broke, then he began again. “The Library is lost to us. There are too many enemies that have come through the gate and still continue to come through it.”

The sense of loss that screamed through Juhg was unbearable. He had left the Library only months ago, intending to seek out his own life and try to find whoever remained of his family, but he had always known that he would be able to return to the Vault of All Known Knowledge any time he wished. No matter where he had gone or what hardships he would have had to endure, he had known that the Library would be there.

But to lose the Library
— The thought was unthinkable, yet here he was, staring into the face of that grim eventuality.

“Even though we lose the Library,” Grandmagister Lamplighter went on, “I won’t lose any more Librarians than we have to.”

The Grandmagister motioned to the four Librarians cowering behind Craugh’s robes. “Divide up your warriors, Varrowyn. I want them to accompany these Librarians. Your warriors don’t know the Vault as well as the Librarians do.” He looked at the Librarians, addressing them now. “I want every level cleared of Librarians, and I want as many books carried out of this place as we can. Work your way from bottom to top till you reach one of the hallways out of the Library. Take whatever books you can find, but try to pick up the histories first. We have learned more from the histories than we have any other books.”

How many books,
Juhg wondered,
could a Librarian carry? Especially when fleeing for his life?
But he knew the answer was simple: A Librarian would carry all that he could—because the Grandmagister had asked him to.

Varrowyn shook his head and the helm creaked. “Fleein’ fer our lives as ye say we must, Gran’magister, why, burdenin’ them Librarians down ain’t gonna make that none easier, nor them any faster.”

“I didn’t say that it was easy. I only said that it must be done.” The Grandmagister took a breath. “I don’t ask you or your men to carry any books, although the extra hands could surely make a difference.”

Doubt still clouded Varrowyn’s blood-streaked features.

Grandmagister Lamplighter kept speaking before the dwarf could give voice to his thoughts. “Varrowyn, our enemies have struck us a grave and serious blow. Books—wonderful and possibly unique books—that might never be seen again have been destroyed and will continue to be destroyed.” He slowed his voice and made the words deliberate. “I would have as many of those books saved as I can.”

Nodding, Varrowyn said, “It shall be as ye say ’twill, Grandmagister. Ye have me word on that.”

“Thank you, my friend.” The Grandmagister turned again to the Librarians. “I want the others found, and I want them to leave the Library. Have them wait farther down the Knucklebones. At the trading place near the Ogre’s Fingers.”

The trading place was little more than a shack with a straw roof to keep off the sun. Most people in Greydawn Moors didn’t like the idea of trekking up the mountain at the Library because it was hard to show resentment of a place if someone went there. However, a number of merchants and craftsmen from the town, as well as from the ships, regularly came up to the trading area to swap and barter and sell to the Librarians, who did not want to trouble themselves with traveling down the Knucklebones or who had eclectic tastes for foreign goods.

Still others brought pieces of art, sculptures, and paintings for trade. Art from before the Cataclysm was almost as rare as books, but there were new artists—painters, sculptors, and weavers—that were starting new concepts. Grandmagister Lamplighter, unlike any Grandmagister before him, had assigned such studies to First and Second Level Librarians, giving them the task of matching current techniques with those described in books from the pre-Cataclysm days.

Art, Grandmagister Lamplighter had said on numerous occasions, was as important as anything they could study and was a true and revealing language that remained handed down—father to son and mother to daughter—for generation after generation. Several times through the study of those things, the Librarians had been able to identify tribes and clans and houses of trade that had vanished in the turmoil of the Goblin War. On some of his quests, the Grandmagister had gone into those areas and taken oral histories that furthered the knowledge the Library held. Over the years, Grandmagister Lamplighter had transcribed hundreds of books in this manner.

“Hopefully,” the Grandmagister said, “reinforcements will come from Greydawn Moors and from the forest below.”

“The dwarves an’ the elves will come up,” one of Varrowyn’s warriors muttered. “Mayhap the humans who might be lurkin’ about. But ye can bet that won’t none of the dwellers be makin’ that long climb up this mountain tonight.”

Juhg felt ashamed, knowing that the dwarf was speaking the truth. But a dweller acted in the fashion that the Old Ones had made for him: fearful and unwilling to risk his life or limb for anything outside his own survival or—if the aberration were great enough—for greed. Curiosity was also a weakness, but dwellers who heard the alarm bell ringing would know that only Death awaited at the top of the Knucklebones.

If he had not believed in the Library so much more than himself—and come to believe in it even more over the passing years—Grandmagister Lamplighter had often admitted he would have been no better than most of the other dwellers. Juhg had never truly believed that. Grandmagister Lamplighter was destined for greatness. Even Craugh had said that on seldom occasion.

“No,” the Grandmagister agreed without remorse or embarrassment. “Dwellers won’t come to our rescue.”

The dwarf who’d spoken his thoughts looked guilty and didn’t dare meet the Grandmagister’s eye.

“And the help coming from town will more than likely be too late,” the Grandmagister said. “Mayhap the elven warders who live in the forests will reach us first, and perhaps even in time.” He took in a breath and released it. “For now, we save ourselves, and we save everyone else that we can. I want the Librarians out of here, and I want as many of the books taken as we can get our hands on.”

“It will be done as ye say, Grandmagister,” Varrowyn promised.

The Grandmagister turned to the four Librarians hiding behind Craugh and gave them quick instructions. As he listened, Juhg understood that the Grandmagister had divided the Library into quadrants, already taking into account the four best escape routes and making certain every floor received adequate warning.

He dismissed the Librarians and the dwarves and turned to Juhg. “You will come with us.”

Where?
Juhg wanted to ask. But he didn’t. For one fleeting second, he thought the Grandmagister might be listening to his dweller instincts and intended to flee, then he dismissed that. Grandmagister Lamplighter had run from several fights over the years that Juhg had known him, but only when those fights might be properly avoided. A dwarf or possibly a prideful elf, and definitely a human who believed Death could never truly reach out and touch him, would never have survived as long as the Grandmagister unless that dwarf, elf, or human were well and truly blessed by the Old Ones.

Craugh took the lead, holding his staff with its magical light before them.

No, Juhg realized, watching the wizard’s grim face, wherever the Grandmagister was presently headed, things were going to be decidedly dangerous.

*   *   *

“This is a very powerful spell,” Craugh said, holding his staff high some minutes later and staring in perplexion at the three stairways carved out of the mountain before him.

All three of the stairways led up. The magical light chopped into the dense, dank shadows that huddled there, but none of the creatures that roamed the Library seemed to have found their way to those stairwells yet.

“We need to get to the lowest level of the Library,” Craugh said. He held the staff aloft and looked around. “This isn’t the lowest level, is it?”

“No,” Grandmagister Lamplighter said. “Four levels yet remain below us.”

Gesturing to the three stairwells, Craugh said, “Is there another stairwell that will take us down?”

“The ones on the left and in the center go down,” the Grandmagister said.

Craugh looked at him. “Clearly, they go up.”

“For only a short time,” Juhg said, “then they go down again.”

“And the one on the right?”

“It goes up,” the Grandmagister responded.

Craugh grumbled beneath his breath. “A perfectly foolish way to build a structure, if you ask me.”

“The Library wasn’t built in a day,” Grandmagister Lamplighter declared defensively.

“Of course it wasn’t,” Craugh snapped. “It takes real planning to organize this kind of chaos.” He headed for the stairwell on the left.

“Not that way,” Grandmagister Lamplighter and Juhg said at the same time.

Craugh glared at them. “And why not?”

“Because that stairwell doesn’t go four floors down,” the Grandmagister answered.

“It only goes two,” Juhg said.

“And that level doesn’t go any farther?” Craugh asked.

“No,” Juhg replied. “That level lies to the south. The third and fourth levels lie to the north and west.”

“Excavations on the south side below that level hit the water table each time,” the Grandmagister said. “The excavations to the north and west allowed the miners to go more deeply into the earth.”

“This is nonsense,” Craugh said, plunging through the middle stairwell and quickly going down the steps with the staff pointed before him. “You don’t have a Library here, Wick, you’ve got a rather messy clump of rabbit warrens.”

Don’t have a Library hung in the still air of the stairwell.

Glancing back up, Craugh said, “I am sorry, my old friend. I—as I so often do, I’m afraid—spoke without thinking. That was not only ill-mannered of me, but very hurtful, given the present circumstances. Please forgive me.”

Juhg’s astonishment caused him to trip on the stairs. He almost plunged headlong down the twisting steps that dug ever farther into the heart of the Knucklebones Mountains. Never in all of the stories, twice-told tales, or outright lies about Craugh had Juhg ever heard of the old wizard asking for forgiveness or owning up to his ill manners.

Craugh swung his staff and stopped Juhg’s plunge at once while never missing a step himself. The staff held like an iron bar till Juhg once more had his balance, then it was whisked away.

“These are trying times,” Grandmagister Lamplighter said, “and likely even more difficulties lie ahead of us. I know that you will stand with us, Craugh. Your comment is already forgotten.”

“And you, apprentice,” Craugh said in a lowered voice that barely carried over the slapping of their feet against the stone steps, “you’ll forget this conversation entirely, hmmmm?”

The threat wasn’t concealed well and the old wizard’s eye was sharp.

“Yes,” Juhg promised.

Craugh eyed him a moment more, then turned his attention once more to their progress.

They went on, following the twisting and turning path of the stairwell as they descended to the heart of the Knucklebones Mountains.