“Pity it wasn’t a weapon,” Dahl said.
Tam agreed. A lost weapon could be assessed, dismantled, or dragged away. There was no hope of assessing every piece of writing here, let alone taking it away. What secrets and wonders of that lost world might be waiting in those shadowy shelves?
“I found something!” Havilar called from off to his right, off the path and into the stacks.
Farideh shouted a curse. Tam turned to grab her arm with his unwounded hand as she sprinted toward her sister’s voice, heedless of the possible danger. He missed.
“Damn it. Everyone stay here,” he ordered and ran after the twins, reaching for the holy symbol he wore pinned to his shoulder, his wounded arm cradled to his chest. He hadn’t said to stay to the path-he shouldn’t have had to say it.
At the end of the aisle in a small room carved into the wall of the cave stood a lectern shaped like a stooped gnome, holding up an open book. Havilar picked up the tome. “The runes are all shifty just like-” She broke off, her eyes squeezed shut as if she were flinching from the text.
“Havilar!” Farideh cried. “Karshoj! Put it down!”
Havilar started coughing, and she dropped the book to the ground, just as her sister reached her and grabbed hold of her shoulders. “Havi? Havi?”
Havilar swatted her away. “It’s just dusty.”
Tuor aripotvych, a voice spoke in Tam’s thoughts. Darastrix wux thric? Both twins froze and stared down at the book. Vivex axun?
“Ak-Akison,” Farideh said.
Tam took hold of his holy symbol, edging toward the lectern. “Fari,” he said quietly, “what’s it saying?”
She looked up at him puzzled. “It wants to be sure we’re not dragons.”
“What does?” Mira said from behind him. She stepped out of the shadows, watching the tome. “Blessed Watching Gods. Has anyone touched it?”
“You need to stay back,” Tam told her. “Everyone needs to stay back until we know-”
That isn’t necessary, a disembodied voice, aged and sharp, rang in Tam’s thoughts. I don’t bite. You must pardon my confusion. I heard the girl’s shouts and assumed … but of course Draconic isn’t the proper tongue.
Mira kneeled and gingerly touched the very edge of a page with gloved fingers. “I think I have something for you.” She pulled the atlas from her haversack, and the page from the atlas. The hum intensified.
Oh my, the voice said. Yes. It’s been … My goodness, it’s been longer than I’m sure of. It chuckled, sounding almost uncomfortable. It makes me sound a bit mad, doesn’t it? Would you mind? It belongs in the end.
Mira flipped to the last few pages, handling the rest with evident care. Where the ragged edge of the missing parchment showed itself, she laid the wildly shifting page in place. A sizzling green light etched its way up the tear, and when it faded the parchment was whole and the inks settled into neat lines of Draconic letters.
The voice sighed. I’d forgotten how I’d missed that. You have my thanks. They call me the Book-unimaginative, I know. They always lacked in that area. But you’ll find, I hope, that I’ve earned the moniker. I contain the knowledge of the ages, and what I do not contain, I can direct you to in the shelves.
“What is this place?” Tam asked.
You don’t know? I thought surely … This is the fabled library of Tarchamus the Unyielding. Here lie the secrets of the greatest arcanist of Netheril, for those worthy of them.
“Think your man’s got some competition for that title,” Maspero said.
The voice chuckled, and Tam had the impression of an older man, indulging the foolish insistence of youth. Many would claim to be such.
“Not so many now,” Tam said. “Old Netheril has fallen-”
Yes, yes. Many ages ago now, with only Shade returned from where it fled. And risen again, in the wake of the goddess’s death? The Book chuckled again. “Knowledge of the ages” is a trite saying, but not entirely untrue. Events so great as-the voice hesitated for the barest moment-the Spellplague, reach even down to this depth. And you are not the first to come to Tarchamus’s hoard.
“How many?” Mira asked. “What did they take?”
Nothing but knowledge. And in one case, the Book added, dryly, my page.
“What about the spellbooks?” Mira asked. “Where are they?”
Oh, it said, here and there. The library is arranged chronologically and by topic. If you know the specific spell, I might be able to find it.
“The one which creates the volcano.”
The Book was silent a moment. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.
This was too much-Tam brushed past Mira and scooped the book up in one hand to set it back on the pedestal. It was heavier than it looked, and in his weaker hand it felt as if it might snap his wrist off …
And then suddenly it felt lighter, and his throat itched fiercely with the dust. He cleared it and set the book back on the pedestal, flexing the remains of the cramp from his hand.
“Extraordinary,” Mira murmured.
Maspero snorted. “Plenty of dumb objects out there with a voice.”
She shook her head. “Not so many with a whole library memorized. Not so many that can claim to be aware of the world beyond.” She cast another glance at the Book, as if all she wanted was to sit and study it, then dropped her heavy pack and yanked the mouth open. “Everyone who can, cast your ritual, get your eyes used to Loross, and start taking notes. Our goal is Tarchamus’s spellbooks, or those of his contemporaries.” She took out a stack of slates and started handing them out. “But I want to know what you find and where you find it in the searching.”
“That will take ages,” Tam said. “Lifetimes. We can’t possibly make that much of a dent in it before the Netherese catch up. We ought to seal it properly and-”
“There is no sealing it properly,” she said, pressing a slate into his hands. “Not with Adolican Rhand and whatever might Shade has put behind him at our backs.” She wet her lips. “If he knows enough to have counted those pieces precious, he knows well enough who Tarchamus was.”
“We can’t be sure-”
“He knows,” Farideh said, and Tam was surprised to remember there were six others standing around, listening to him and Mira. The tiefling shifted. “He mentioned. Before. When he was … bragging. He said Tarchamus had blended planar magic with the Weave to destroy a rival.”
Tam’s heart sank. “Then you think he wants the same spells.”
“What else?” Mira asked. “Do you think Shade would put agents into play for old ledgers and collections of folktales? I would give lifetimes,” she said more quietly, “to study this place properly. To find the sorts of secrets an arcanist would hide away-secrets of the gods, the planes, his contemporaries, even the mundane records of Ancient Netheril. The location of the ruins of Tenish, I would give my left hand for. But you are absolutely right: we don’t have time for that now. So we scour the place for the spellbooks, and we don’t come back without reinforcements. Agreed?”
No, Tam thought. We should leave now. This moment. But everything she said made sense. If he refused-
Beg pardon, the Book interrupted, but did you say that there are Netherese after you?
Tam and Mira exchanged a glance. “I think you misheard,” Tam said.
Oh, don’t worry, the Book said. Tarchamus had no love left for Netheril-you’ll not find her secret allies here. There are wards protecting the library from magical intrusion to keep Netheril’s arcanists at bay. And, as you’ve seen, this place is difficult to discover, and more difficult to reach. Consider it a test. One you passed; one few others will. The Book chuckled to itself. And you have me, to give you the lay of the land-so to speak-and to point out the traps.