"What door?" the impatient headmaster asked again.
"It was here," Cadderly insisted with as much conviction as he could muster. He moved closer to the wall and felt it. That, too, proved futile. "I remember. .." Cadderly started to protest. He felt an arm reach under his shoulder.
"You have been hurt in the head," Danica said quietly. "Confusion is not unexpected after such a blow, nor usually lasting," she added quickly to comfort him.
"No, no," Cadderly protested, but he let Danica lead him out.
"What door?" the flustered Avery asked a third time.
"He has hurt his head," Danica interjected.
"I thought ..." Cadderly began. "It must have been a dream―" he looked at Avery directly "―but what a strange dream."
Rufo's sigh was audible. "He is not hurt too badly?" the tall man asked embarrassedly when curious expressions turned toward him.
"Not too badly," replied Danica, the tone of her voice indicating her suspicions.
Cadderly hardly noticed, too engrossed was he with trying to remember. "What would be below here?" he asked on impulse.
"Nothing to concern you," Avery replied sharply.
Skeletons walked intangibly through Cadderly's subconscious again. "Crypts?" he asked.
"Nothing to concern you!" Avery answered sternly. "I grow tired of your curiosity, brother."
Cadderly, too, was annoyed, not enjoying the puzzles within his own mind. Avery's glare was uncompromising, but Cadderly was too upset to be scared off. "Sssh!" he hissed sarcastically, putting a finger to his pursed lips. "You would not want Deneir, whose edict is the seeking of knowledge, to hear you say that."
Avery's face turned so red that Cadderly almost expected it to burst. "Go and see the healers " the headmaster growled at Cadderly, "then come back to see me. I have a thousand tasks prepared for you." He spun about and stormed away, Rufo close on his heels, though all the way to the stairs, Rufo kept glancing back over his shoulder.
Danica gave Cadderly a forceful nudge―and a painful one against his sorely bruised ribs. "You never know when to hold your tongue," she scolded. "If you keep talking so to Headmaster Avery, we will never find the opportunity to see each other!" With her torch in one hand and her other wrapped about Cadderly's back, she pulled him roughly toward the distant stairs.
Cadderly looked down at her, thinking that he owed her an apology, but he saw that Danica was biting back laughter and he realized that she hadn't truly disapproved of his sarcasm.
* * * * *
Barjin watched the steady stream of reddish smoke rise from the opened flask and slip into cracks in the ceiling, making its way up into the library above. The evil priest still had several ceremonies to perform to complete the formal ritual, as agreed upon back in Castle Trinity, but these were merely a formality. The Most Fatal Horror had been released, and the chaos curse was under way.
It would take longer to exact a toll here, Barjin knew, than it had with Haverly back at Castle Trinity. According to Aballister, Haverly had taken a concentrated dose right in the face. Producing the elixir was far too expensive to duplicate those effects on enemy after enemy, thus the mixture in the ever-smoking bottle had been greatly diluted. The priests here would absorb the elixir gradually, each hour bringing them closer to the edge of doom. Barjin held no reservations, though. He believed in the powers of the elixir, in the powers of his goddess―particularly with himself serving as her agent.
"Let us see how these pious fools behave when their truest emotions are revealed," he snickered to Mullivy. The zombie did not respond, of course. He just stood very still, unblinking and unmoving. Barjin gave him a sour look and turned his gaze back to the ever-smoking bottle.
"The next days will be the most dangerous," he whispered to himself. "Beyond that, the priests will have no power to stand against me." He looked back to Mullivy and grinned wickedly.
"'We will be ready," Barjin promised. He already had animated dozens of skeletons and had enacted further spells upon Mullivy's corpse to strengthen it. And, of course, there was Khalif, Barjin's prized soldier, awaiting the priest's command from the sarcophagus just outside the altar room door.
Barjin meant to add new and more horrible monsters to his growing army. First, he would uncover the necromancer's stone and see what undead allies it might bring in. Then, taking Aballister's advice, he would open a gate to the least of the lower planes, summoning minor monsters to serve as advisers and scouts for his expanding evil network.
"Let the foolish priests come after us," Barjin said, taking an ancient and evil tome, a book of sorcery and necromancy, out of the folds of his robes. "Let them see the horror that has befallen them!"
Oddities
Cadderly sat before his open window, watching the dawn and feeding Percival cacasa-nut-and-butter biscuits. The Shining Plains lived up to their name this morning, with dew-speckled grass catching the morning sunlight and throwing it back to the sky in a dazzling dance. The sun climbed higher and the line of brightness moved up into the foothills of the Snowflake Mountains. Pockets of darkness, valleys, dotted the region and a wispy mist rose to the south, from the valley of the Impresk River, feeding the wide lake to the east.
"Ow!" Cadderly cried, pulling his hand away from the hungry squirrel. Percival had gotten a bit too eager, nipping through the biscuit and into Cadderly's palm. Cadderly pinched the wound between his thumb and forefinger to stem the blood flow.
Busily licking the last of the cacasa-nut from his paws, Percival hardly seemed to notice Cadderly's discomfort.
"It is my own fault, I suppose," Cadderly admitted. "I cannot expect you to behave rationally when there is cacasa-nut and butter to be won!"
Percival's tail twitched excitedly, but that was the only indication Cadderly had that the squirrel was even listening. The young man turned his attention again to the world outside. The daylight had reached the library, and though Cadderly had to squint against its fresh brightness, it felt warm and wonderful upon his face.
"It will be another beautiful day," he remarked, and even as he spoke the words, he realized that he probably would spend the whole of it in the dark and dreary wine cellar, or in some other hole that Headmaster Avery found for him.
"Perhaps I can trick him into letting me tend the grounds this morning," Cadderly said to the squirrel. "I could help old Mullivy."
Percival chattered excitedly at the mention of the groundskeeper.
"I know," Cadderly offered comfortingly. "You do not like Mullivy." Cadderly shrugged and smiled, remembering the time he had seen the crooked old groundskeeper waving a rake and spitting threats at the tree that Percival and other squirrels were sitting in, complaining about the mess of acorn husks all over his freshly raked ground.
"Here you go, Percival," Cadderly said, pushing the rest of the biscuit to the windowsill. "I have many things to attend to before Avery catches up with me." He left Percival sitting on the sill, and the squirrel went on munching and crunching and licking his paws, and basking in the warm daylight, apparently having already dismissed any uneasiness at the mention of Mullivy.
* * * * *
"Ye're bats!" Ivan yelled. "Ye can't be one of them!"
"Doo-dad!" Pikel replied indignantly.
"Ye think they'd have ye?" Ivan roared. "Tell him, boy!" he cried at Cadderly, who had just entered the kitchen. "Tell the fool that dwarves can't be druids!"
"You want to be a druid?" Cadderly asked with interest.
"Oo oi!" piped a happy Pikel. "Doo-dad!"
Ivan had heard enough. He hoisted a frying pan-dumping its half-cooked eggs on the floor―and heaved it at his brother. Pikel wasn't quick enough to get out of the way of the missile, but he managed to bow into it, taking the blow on the top of his head and suffering no serious damage.
Still fuming, Ivan reached for another pan, but Cadderly grabbed his arm to stop him. "Wait!" Cadderly pleaded.
Ivan paused for just a moment, even whistled to show his patience, t
hen cried, "Long enough!" and pushed Cadderly to the floor. The dwarf hoisted the pan and charged, but Pikel, now similarly armed, was ready for him.
Cadderly had read many tales of valor describing the ring of iron on iron, but he had never imagined the sound attributed to two dwarves sparring with frying pans.
Ivan got the first strike in, a wicked smash to Pikel's forearm. Pikel grunted and retaliated, slamming his pan straight down on top of Ivan's head.
Ivan backed up a step, trying to stop his eyes from spinning. He looked to the side, to a littered table, and was struck with a sudden inspiration, no doubt from the head blow. Pikel returned his smile. "Pots?" Ivan asked.
Pikel nodded eagerly and the two rushed to the table to find one that fit properly. Food went flying everywhere, followed by pots that had proven too small or too big. Then Ivan and Pikel faced off again, wielding their trusty pans and helmeted in the cookware of last night's stew.
Cadderly watched it all in blank amazement, not quite certain of how to take the actions. It seemed a comedy at times, but the growing welts and bruises on Ivan and Pikel's arms and faces told a different tale. Cadderly had seen the brothers argue before, and certainly he had come to expect all sorts of strange things from dwarves, but this was too wild, even for Ivan and Pikel.
"Stop it!" Cadderly yelled at them. Pikel's answer came in the form of a hurled cleaver that narrowly missed Cadderly's head and buried itself an inch deep in the oaken door beside him. Cadderly stared in disbelief at the deadly instrument, still shuddering from the force of Pikel's throw, and knew that something was terribly wrong here, and terribly dangerous.
The young priest didn't give up, though. He just redirected his efforts. "I know a better way to fight!" he cried, moving cautiously toward the dwarves.
"Eh?" asked Pikel.
"Better way?" Ivan added. "For fighting?"
Ivan seemed already convinced―Pikel was winning the cookware battle―but Pikel only used Ivan's ensuing hesitation to press him even harder. Pikel's pan hummed as it dove in at a wide arc, smashing Ivan's elbow and knocking the yellow-bearded dwarf off balance. Pikel recognized his clear advantage. His wicked pan went up high again for a follow-up strike.
"Druids do not fight with metal weapons!" Cadderly yelled.
"Oo," Pikel said, halting in midswing. The brothers looked at each other, shrugged once, and tossed their pots and pans to the ground.
Cadderly had to think quickly. He brushed off a section of the long table. "Sit here," he instructed Ivan, pulling up a stool. "And you over here," he said to Pikel, indicating a second seat across from Ivan.
"Put the elbows of your right arms on the table," Cadderly explained.
"Arm-pulling?" Ivan scoffed incredulously. "Get me back me pan!"
"No!" Cadderly shouted. "No. This is a better way, a true test of strength."
"Bah!" snorted Ivan. "I'll clobber him!"
"Oh?" said Pikel.
They clasped hands roughly and started pulling before Cadderly could give any signal, or even line them up. He considered them for a moment, wanting to stay and see things through to conclusion, but the brothers were evenly matched, Cadderly realized, and their contest might last a while. Cadderly heard other priests shuffling by outside the open kitchen door; it was time for the midday canticle. Whatever the emergency, Cadderly simply could not be late for the required ceremony again. He watched the struggle a moment longer, to ensure that the dwarves were fully engaged, then shook his head in confusion and walked away. He had known Ivan and Pikel for more than a decade, since his childhood days, and had never seen either one of them lift a fist at the other. If that had not been bad enough, the cleaver, still wobbling in the door, vividly proved that something was terribly out of sorts.
* * * * *
Brother Chaunticleer's voice rang out with its usual quality, filling the great hall with perfect notes and filling the gathering of priests and scholars with sincere pleasure, but those most observant among the group, Cadderly included, glanced around at the crowd's reaction, as if they noticed something missing in Chaunticleer's delivery. The key was perfect and the words correct, but there seemed to be a lacking in the strength of the song.
Chaunticleer didn't notice them. He performed as always, the same songs he had sung at midday for several years. This time, though, unlike any of the others, Chaunticleer was indeed distracted. His thoughts drifted down to the rivers in the mountain foothills, still swollen from the winter melt and teeming with trout and silver perch. It had always been said that fishing was second only to singing in Brother Chaunticleer's heart. The priest was learning now that the perceived order of his desires might not be so correct.
Then it happened.
Brother Chaunticleer forgot the words.
He stood at the podium of the great hall, perplexed, as undeniable images of rushing water and leaping fish added to his confusion and put the song farther from his thoughts.
Whispers sprang up throughout the hall; mouths dropped open in disbelief. Dean Thobicus, never an excitable man, calmly moved up toward the podium. "Do go on. Brother Chaunticleer," he said softly, soothingly.
Chaunticleer could not continue. The song of Deneir was no match for the joyful sound of leaping trout.
The whispers turned to quiet giggles. Dean Thobicus waited a few moments, then whispered into Headmaster Avery's ear, and Avery, obviously more shaken than his superior, dismissed the gathering. He turned back to question Chaunticleer, but the singing priest was already gone, running for his hook and line.
* * * * *
Cadderly used the confusion in the great hall to get out from under Avery's watchful eye. He had spent a dreary morning scrubbing floors, but had completed the tasks and was free, at least until Avery found him idle and issued new orders. Avery was busy now, trying to figure out what had happened to Brother Chaunticleer. If Cadderly correctly understood the gravity of Chaunticleer's misfortunes, the headmaster would be busy with him for some time. Chaunticleer was considered among the most devout priests in the order of Deneir, and his highest duty, his only real priority, was the midday canticle.
Cadderly, too, was concerned by the events at the ceremony, especially after his visit with the dwarves that morning. More disturbing than Chaunticleer's problems with the songs, Danica had not been at the canticle. She was not associated with either the Oghman or Deneir sects and therefore not required to attend, but she rarely missed the event, and never before without telling Cadderly that she would not attend.
Even more disquieting, Kierkan Rufo had not been in attendance.
Since the main library was on the first floor and not far from the great hall, Cadderly decided to begin his search there. He skipped along briskly, his pace quickening as his suspicions continued to gnaw at him. A moaning sound from a side corridor stopped him abruptly.
Cadderly peeked around the comer to see Kierkan Rufo coming down the stairs, leaning heavily on the wall. Rufo seemed barely coherent; his face was covered in blood and he nearly toppled with each step.
"What happened?" Cadderly asked, rushing to help the man.
A wild light came into Rufo's eyes and he slapped Cadderly's reaching hands away. The action cost the disoriented man his balance and he tumbled down the last few steps to the floor.
The manner in which Rufo fell revealed much to Cadderly. Rufo had reached out to catch himself with one arm, the same arm he had used to slap at Cadderly, but his other arm remained limp at his side, useless.
"Where is she?" Cadderly demanded, suddenly very afraid. He grabbed Rufo by the collar, despite the man's protests, and pulled him to his feet, viewing up close the damage to his face. Blood continued to flow from Rufo's obviously broken nose, and one of his eyes was swollen and purple and nearly closed. The man had numerous other bruises, and the way he flinched when Cadderly straightened him indicated other wounds in his abdomen or just a little bit lower.
"Where is she?" Cadderly said again.
Rufo gritted
his teeth and turned away.
Cadderly forcibly turned him back. "What is wrong with you?" he demanded.
Rufo spat in his face.
Cadderly resisted the urge to strike out. There had always been tension in his friendship with Rufo, an element of rivalry that had only heightened when Danica came to the library. Cadderly, usually getting the upper hand with Danica and the headmasters, realized that he often upset Rufo, but never before had the tall man shown him any open hostility.
"If you hurt Danica, I will come back to find you," Cadderly warned, though he thought that highly improbable. He let go of Rufo's wet tunic and ran up the stairs.
Rufo's blood trail led him to the south wing of the third floor, the library's guest quarters. Despite his urgency, Cadderly stopped his tracking as he neared Histra's room, for he heard cries emanating from within. At first Cadderly thought the priestess of Sune to be in peril, but as he reached for the door handle, he recognized the sounds as something other than pain.
Down the hall he rushed, too worried to be embarrassed. The blood trail led to Danica's door, as he had feared it would. He knocked loudly on the door and called out, "Danica?"
No answer.
Cadderly banged more urgently. "Danica?" he yelled. "Are you in there?"
Still no answer.
Cadderly lowered his shoulder and easily plowed through the unlocked door.
Danica stood perfectly still in the middle of the small room on the thick carpet she used for exercising. She held her open hands out in front of her, a meditative pose, and she did not even acknowledge that someone had entered the room. Her concentration was straight ahead, on a solid block of stone supported between two sawhorses.
"Danica?" Cadderly asked again. "Are you all right?" He moved over to her tentatively.
Danica turned her head, and her blank stare fell over him. "Of course," she said. "Why would I not be?"
Her blond locks were matted with sweat and her hands were caked in drying blood.