The Destruction of the Books (39 page)

“Sooner or later, the book would have been found. It was put out there in the world to be found.” Craugh grimaced. “When we learn the truth of everything, we’ll probably come to know that there were several books treated in a similar fashion.”

That possibility hadn’t occurred to Juhg, and now that Craugh presented it, he felt even more vulnerable.

“The gateway spell was disguised as a riddle within a riddle,” Craugh said. “Perhaps a human Grandmagister wouldn’t have been quite as quick to get to the solution, but the evil ones who put this attack together knew that they were dealing with Wick. That they were dealing with a dweller.” His eyes narrowed. “And they knew that they were dealing with me. They knew both of us would be here.”

“How could they know that you would be here?” Juhg asked.

“Think, apprentice. I know you are not that dense.” Craugh gave a small, doubting smile. “Tonight’s events, after all, could not have happened were I not here.”

Understanding built a warm glow inside Juhg. “You destroyed the book’s illusion.”

“Exactly. And were I not here tonight, one of those who had helped lay the magic on the Founding Stone, the gateway spell would have never been triggered.” Sadness touched the wizard’s eyes. “Only after I arrived in that room, as you recall, did the spell become active. You and Wick might have gathered the books they used to knit the spell, but my presence was the catalyst that activated the gate. Our enemies planned well.”

Juhg remembered that.

“We all have a part to play in the blame for this,” Craugh said. “Wick knew that you would be the best person he could go to, in order to best describe what happened.”

“He could write the account,” Juhg protested, “and probably do it more justice than I can.”

“The Gran’magister was pretty busy the last time I saw him,” Raisho volunteered.

“Someday Wick probably will write an accounting of last night as he saw it,” Craugh said. “But for now he knows the risks of presenting his own material as the only explanation for the destruction of this place. Others will seek to write about it, concentrating on their own points of view, of course, but you and Wick and I were the only ones in that room.” He paused and shifted, as if to relieve a pain. “I can tell you now that no man will read anything I’ve written as long as I live.”

The simple declaration challenged Juhg. From his association with the wizard through the Grandmagister, Juhg knew that Craugh—in his own way and pursuing his own interests—was widely read. Wizards owned collections of books. The Grandmagister had even risked his life to steal some of those books upon occasion.

But to read the books that Craugh had collected over the years? Even just to see the titles of those that the wizard had claimed would be an adventure. Reading any of the journals that Craugh wrote, to follow in the wizard’s footsteps across the centuries, could add to the knowledge the Library already had.

Juhg looked at the book in his hands and trembled slightly. He felt certain he couldn’t lay down a straight line or write legibly.

“The people of Greydawn Moors won’t read any record I write,” Juhg stated. Although all of the dweller children were taught to read by Librarians in schools established for that purpose, few adults pursued an interest in reading. Every year, fewer and fewer dwellers came forward to become Librarians. There was a time, according to Library records, when applicants had been turned away. These past few years, especially when the Grandmagister’s penchant for roving to the mainland became noticeable to the public, the Library had taken to accepting the best candidates from a group of substandard applicants.

“The book isn’t for the town populace,” Craugh said. “It’s for those who come after this event.”

Perplexed, Juhg looked at the wizard.

“Later Librarians,” Craugh explained. He shifted slightly in an effort to make himself more comfortable. “They will have more questions than the Librarians who survived the night. Those around you, Juhg, will have already assigned guilt for who was responsible for this. Including those people in the town. Wick wants you to write the truth as best as you can for the ones who will come.” He paused. “If they come.”

“What do you mean?”

Craugh hesitated a little, then obviously made some internal decision. “I mean that this isn’t the end of it, Juhg. The attack tonight was only the beginning. Wick’s enemies, the Library’s enemies, have found this place. After all these centuries, they have found the Vault of All Known Knowledge.”

“Who?” Juhg asked.

“No, apprentice. That story isn’t for me to tell. Taking on another to train in your life’s work is an important and binding decision. I would never interfere between two people who have made that commitment. You must ask your master for the answers to those questions.”

Without another word, Craugh drew a deep breath and was once more asleep.

Juhg stared at the wizard.
What secrets do you have? What do you know?

“Don’t let him rattle ye,” Raisho advised in a hushed voice. “Wizards, why, they’re always forecastin’ doom an’ gloom an’ such. Bad as an old sailor on his last voyage what gets the feelin’ he’s never gonna see his home port that final time.” He picked up another puckerpear. “Just ye do what ye does best, scribbler, an’ I’ll make sure these dwarves don’t go to sleep while they’re supposed to be guardin’ ye an’ the wizard.”

The dwarves made disparaging remarks about Raisho’s parentage, but the young sailor only grinned at them. He hadn’t known his parents, so the accusations meant nothing to him.

Juhg opened the journal to the first page and stared at the impossibly white expanse that looked amber-tinted in the lantern light. He took a deep breath and inhaled the soapy scent of the paper. Whenever he started writing a new book—even his journal of his experiences aboard
Windchaser
—he always got nervous, always grew afraid that his hand and eye and mind wouldn’t work together. Afraid that he would mar the book with indelible scars that other Librarians would ridicule him for, he always hesitated.

So often in his studies, he’d noted that most historians and record-keepers were remembered chiefly for the mistakes they’d made. Sometimes it was a careful turn of phrase or a choice description that lingered in the mind’s eye or rolled off the tongue in a particular way. But those instances were in the minority.

And to write a book that would describe the savagery that had taken place in the Vault of All Known Knowledge? Juhg knew that his name would live on forever in infamy. But he would be there twice because of his part in those actions and because he’d written the book detailing those circumstances.

Silently, Juhg hoped that the Grandmagister simply gave the account he was writing to yet another Librarian to do a finished record. As a resource for the real work that would be written, Juhg’s own efforts would seldom be seen.

“Juhg,” Raisho whispered.

“Yes.” Juhg didn’t dare look at his friend seated beside him.

“Begin.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“It’s a voyage, mate. Nothin’ more. Just somethin’ ye’ve got to see done. Like mendin’ a fishin’ net. Thinkin’ about what ye’ve got to do sometimes makes yer fingers thick an’ dumb. But ye’ve tied knots afore, an’ ye’ve written books. Just start an’ trust yerself.”

Resolutely, drawn by the paper even more than he was pushed by Raisho’s words, Juhg opened the pouch and took out quills, a small knife to sharpen them, and inkwells with different colors of inks.

Raisho picked up his lantern and set it to Juhg’s right so the light played over the page. Juhg folded his knees and balanced the book there as he had so often while accompanying the Grandmagister on one of the quests along the mainland.

Almost unbidden, hypnotized by the need to explore the page to find the images and the words that he would uncover, Juhg filled the quill with black ink and began. The title, usually one of the hardest things he had to think of unless the Grandmagister had already assigned it, came to him immediately.

THE DESTRUCTION OF THE BOOKS

Or an Accounting of the Attack on the Vault of All Known Knowledge

Drawn into the events, Juhg relived them. He began the history where it had started, in Kelloch’s Harbor, with the rumor of the cooper who was fencing stolen goods. He laid out an image of the harbor and the city jammed into the cracks and crevices of the ice-blasted mountains in quick strokes, surprised at how quickly his skills warmed to the task, in spite of everything he’d been through.

“Kelloch’s Harbor,” Raisho commented, peering over Juhg’s shoulder.

Juhg nodded. “Everything began there.” Knowing he would return to the ink drawing at some future time after the lines he’d laid out had time to partially dry, he moved on to the next page, letting the first stand till the ink completely dried. He’d already laid the ink on thin enough that it wouldn’t run.

Time passed as he worked, telling about
Windchaser,
then adding a brief sketch of the ship. Craugh continued to sleep and the dwarves talked in low voices. Juhg was surprised at how quickly and easily his fingers worked, despite the chill that hung in the Library.

“Am I in the book?” Raisho asked.

“Yes.” Taking a moment, Juhg brought to life a rough sketch of the young sailor standing in
Windchaser
’s prow. He put a sword in Raisho’s hand and a cloak billowing around behind him.

“I am handsome, ain’t I?”

Somehow the incongruity of the question against the backdrop of all the horrible things that had happened brought a smile to Juhg’s lips. “And so modest, too.”

“Women don’t like a handsome man what don’t know he’s beautiful,” Raisho said. “Makes him come off all unconfident an’ makes it so they can’t be mad at themselves for likin’ that man but bein’ understandin’ at the same time.”

Juhg ignored the comment and kept working. In no time at all, he was back aboard the goblin ship fighting for his life against the wizard’s snakes.

18

Aftermath

Deep inside the Knucklebones Mountains, parts of the Vault of All Known Knowledge still burned.

Standing on Draden’s Spur, a rocky outcropping that stood taller than the Library and offered a view down onto the edifice built into the mountains, Juhg surveyed the ruins of the Library in disbelief and dismay. Out beyond the cover offered by the rocks, the wind was chilly enough to make someone without outer garments uncomfortable, but where Juhg stood in the full view of the afternoon sun, he was comfortable enough in breeches and shirt.

Most of the main buildings still stood, despite the collapse the eradication of the gateway spell had caused. Sections of those buildings lay in collapsed ruin, while others disappeared through holes that led down to the caves beneath the aboveground buildings.

Behind the main building, where the Library reached its tallest point, a large chasm had opened up and swallowed a chunk of the mountains large enough to shove a ship through. Smoke boiled through that opening incessantly, reminding Juhg of the Smoldering Tar Pits described in
Nerestes and the Penance of Crystal-Tooth,
a lively romance from Hralbomm’s Wing that the Grandmagister had recommended.

Juhg took a deep breath and flexed his hands. After hours of writing and sketching, his fingers felt cramped, like they would never be the same again. He knew from experience that the feeling was only momentary, requiring only a brief respite and a little loosening exercise before he could return to his task.

There are a lot of things,
he told himself,
that won’t be the same again.

Craugh had woken only a short time ago and declared himself fit enough to walk. Juhg, remembering how grievous the wound had been, had felt certain the wizard was overestimating his own recuperative powers. Broken bones and torn flesh did not mend so easily or quickly. Surprisingly, Craugh had made the long, twisting journey up to the main halls of the Library and then out into the courtyard under his own power. Outside the Library and in the keen afternoon light, Juhg had insisted on examining the wound over Craugh’s protests and was surprised to find only advanced scar tissue instead of bruised and recently knitted flesh.

The courtyard remained alive with activity. Librarians under the Grandmagister’s direction worked in shifts above and below ground to haul books from the Library. From Juhg’s perch above them, they looked like ants working at a hill.

Seemingly filled with inexhaustible energy, the Grandmagister ran back and forth among them. He had a plan for the recovery of the Library. Unfortunately, that plan received several setbacks as new levels of loss were uncovered.

But the Grandmagister remained driven.

Dwarves and Librarians descended into the Library, seeking out the rooms that had histories first, and brought volumes out. Librarians verified the editions, catalogued them, and cross-referenced them with previous catalogues.

Catalogues were also made of volumes that were badly damaged, needed reconstruction, or were lost completely. There were a lot of the latter, and those numbers continued to grow with heartbreaking speed against the snail’s crawl of the rescued books. Perhaps the Dread Riders and Grymmlings had died under dwarven axes and elven swords and bows, or been pulled back to wherever they had come from when Craugh had broken the spell at such immense cost, but their legacy of destruction lived on. They had accomplished a large part of what Craugh had stated their agenda had called for.

And Juhg still had no idea of who had created the spell. Or of who might choose to still remain such an enemy of the Vault of All Known Knowledge so many years after the Lord Kharrion’s fall and the end of the Cataclysm. Goblinkin carried hatred from those years, but they lacked the magical power to create such a spell.

Also,
Juhg reminded himself, turning over the most unsettling part of the puzzle,
goblinkin don’t read. Whoever laid this trap knows how to read and is well read.

So where did someone come from who had those things? Reading ability, knowledge of books that had disappeared from sight at the time of the Cataclysm, and magical skill, any of which made for a rare individual indeed.