Bixby kept up her pace of securing the material into hampers. “I think part of his reasoning is that it’s better for us to have these than our enemies. What an advantage over the council to know more about our visitors than they do!”
Bixby pushed between the dragon and Cantor as she tidied more bound documents away in another hamper. Apparently, they weren’t working fast enough for her.
She thrust her chin toward the tallest bookcase. “I never did get that entire high shelf read. The smaller books came down easily, but I couldn’t budge that big, thick monster. It’s stuck to the ledge. I couldn’t get situated to apply enough leverage.” Her head swung back and forth as she looked at her companions. “Maybe one of you could get that last book down.”
Cantor left off straightening parchments. Rubbing his palms on his tunic, he approached the ladder leading to the top shelf of a bookcase that almost reached the ceiling. It was twice his height.
“Bridger, come hold the ladder steady,” he called as he put his foot on the first rung.
The dragon trotted across the room and grasped the wooden slats with his massive clawed hands. “Got it.”
Cantor scrambled up to the top and reached for the volume. He clutched the back binding and pulled. The book didn’t budge. He leaned so he could move his body around the ladder and closer to the shelf. “It doesn’t look like it’s glued down. No sign of moisture that could have caused the edge of the leather binding and the pages to stick.”
Bixby had come to stand beside Bridger, her head tilted back so she could see, her hands perched on her hips.
Cantor winked at her. “You aren’t a wimp after all.” He laughed at the face she pulled.
Cantor tugged again, and the bookcase tilted forward. “Whoa!” He shoved the shelves back against the wall. “Bridger, maybe you should put your shoulder against the bookcase and let Bixby steady the ladder.”
Bixby laughed. “You’re going to trust your safety to the wimp?”
“Yes, but if I fall, you get out of the way. I’d flatten you. And you’d have to get a new wardrobe. Those clothes wouldn’t do for a two-dimensional figure.” He reached for the book again. “Are you two ready?”
They chorused an affirmative.
“On the count of three. One . . . two . . . three!”
The ladder and the bookcase swayed but didn’t fall. Cantor held the book up in triumph.
He began his descent but stopped midway. In the distance, a mighty wind rushed through the tunnels. He looked at the tables. None of the papers stirred. The stillness before the storm?
Bridger tilted his head. “I don’t like the sound of that. Hurry, Cantor. Get down.”
Cantor agreed. He needed to get down fast. Roosting near the ceiling on an ancient ladder was not the right place to meet whatever approached.
He scuttled down to the floor, wrapped an arm around Bixby, and guided her to a huge table next to a wall. Bridger kept pace with them, pausing only long enough to grab the hampers they had been filling, and all three slid underneath the massive wooden slab.
The clamor escalated. Individual disturbances punctuated the steady rush. Things broke with sharp snaps. Objects slammed into other objects. Crashes, clattering, and solid thuds increased in number and volume. Augmenting that cacophony, the squealing wrench of things pulled apart added a high-pitched din. Still, nothing in the room stirred. At odds with the sound of a raging wind, none of the papers moved.
Bixby squirmed in the circle of Cantor’s arm. She twisted her head so her mouth hovered inches from his ear. “Where’s Dukmee?”
“I don’t know.”
Bridger turned to face them and extended his wings as a shield. He transformed his body into a barrier curved over the front of them like a stone shell.
Dukmee’s flushed face appeared around the edge of the shield. Cantor and Bixby scooted over as he squeezed in.
Bixby leaned across Cantor to take Dukmee’s arm. “You’re breathing hard. Did you come far?”
He shook his head. In a loud, clear voice, he announced, “You’ve torn open a ward.”
Cantor nodded. “We pried a book off a shelf.”
“This is going to be interesting.” Dukmee’s face glowed with excitement.
Howls joined the tumult of the blustery wind. Cantor pulled the trembling Bixby closer as the snapping of jaws and deep-throated growls invaded the bookroom. He reached for his sword.
Dukmee put his hand on Cantor’s. “No need. It is all sound, no substance.”
“Then why are you hiding with us?”
Dukmee’s lips stretched into a wide grin. His eyebrows arched. “Better safe than sorry. I’m quite sure this racket is all bluster. But twice in my long life, I’ve been wrong. A third miscalculation is overdue.”
Booted feet in military cadence joined the din of wind and beasts. If those hiding under the table believed their ears, an army approached, aggressive and prepared for battle.
“I think this is the end of it,” yelled Dukmee. “Cover your ears.”
Cantor and Bixby obeyed. Even with his ears protected, Cantor winced in discomfort as the decibel level increased.
Bridger in his shield form rattled. The onslaught of reverberation caused the floor to shake, and the dragon shimmied forward and then back. The roar culminated in an explosion.
As if a switch had been thrown, the raucous racket ceased. Cantor lowered his hands. Bixby, sheltered in the curve of his chest and lap, uncovered her ears as well.
Dukmee inched toward the opening between Bridger and the table leg. “Let’s see what the ward has brought us.”
“Aha!” he said as soon as his head was around the obstruction. He wiggled free. “Bridger, thank you for your protection. You can become your delightful self once more.”
As the stone barricade shifted into a dragon again, Bixby and Cantor came out from under the table. Not until they were up did they notice the object of Dukmee’s amused gaze.
By the door to the sleeping corridor, a young man in loose white clothing stood looking them over.
Cantor’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword. “Who are you?” He stepped forward, maneuvering himself between the stranger and his friends as he took the young man’s measure. Smallish, athletic, pale skin, sharp facial features, long hair caught in a leather strap at the base of his neck. No weapons. A friendly expression.
The stranger’s gray eyes sparkled, and the protrusion on his skinny neck bobbed as he spoke. “My name is Neekoh. I assume you have come to rescue my master, Chomountain, the right hand of Primen.”
SIDE TRIP?
Bixby’s eyes traveled from Dukmee to Cantor to Bridger, who now held Jesha, and back to Dukmee. Decisions for the group naturally came under his jurisdiction, though she wasn’t always sure why.
She eased her small form behind Cantor and drew out her crown hamper. In a moment, she’d switched her organizing crown for a small tiara with tiny points tipped with light refracting crystals. She stepped out, ready to read this stranger’s aura.
Neekoh stood with a detached but pleasant expression on his face. His relaxed attitude of extreme good nature seemed out of place given the effect his announcement had on the rest of the group. Could he have played a role in the capture and detention of the powerful Chomountain? Or if he was, indeed, on the side of the righteous, what role did he play in safeguarding the right hand of Primen?
Bixby concentrated, determined to make an accurate assessment of Neekoh’s character. The man shivered with excitement and anticipation. No dark lines of malice lodged among the pleasing colors. No twisted or repetitive strands mixed in with the strands of curiosity, hospitality, and compassion. So, Neekoh harbored no duplicity. He appeared to be a nice young man with a tint of loneliness, a strong dose of duty, and a muddled jumble of confusion.
The man of mystery’s straight stance seemed to be his natural posture. One hand clasped the other and rested at his midriff without actually touching his belt. His eyes sparkled
and every so often his nose twitched. On the whole, his demeanor reminded Bixby of a friendly field mouse.
She approached Dukmee’s mind to report her observations, but Dukmee told her to hush. He probably was making his own assessments. Bixby mentally shrugged aside his easy dismissal and returned to studying Neekoh.
On closer inspection, she realized smudges of dust and various stains marred his white attire. Someone had untidily mended tears here and there in his clothing. The thread, in pale yellow or tan or even blue, did not match the white material. The cloth at his knees and elbows was threadbare. Frayed neck, cuffs, and hems indicated long wear.
Yet Neekoh stood with self-confidence, his shabby appearance unacknowledged. Bixby had seen finely dressed messengers in a similar pose, waiting to deliver their missives to the king.
Intrigued, Bixby wanted to sit the young man down with tea and cake and pry information from him. She knew her curiosity would have to wait, however, until Dukmee gave her permission to become acquainted with Chomountain’s champion.
Almost on cue, the mage again took the lead. He stepped closer, successfully putting himself between their visitor and skeptical Cantor, who fingered the hilt of his sword in a way that made her nervous.
“It’s all right, Cantor. Relax. I’ve read his aura and he’s basically a normal person with no hints of sinister intent, but a bit lonely and confused.”
“Well, we’ve all been lonely and confused from time to time.”
“That’s right, so quit looking like you’re going to tackle him.”
She heard his gentle laughter from his mind to hers. She saw his shoulder muscles loosen up.
Dukmee took his ceremonial pose, with arms crossed and hands tucked into his large sleeves. “Where is Chomountain?”
Neekoh’s face brightened with interest. “In a valley on the other side of the mountain.”
“This mountain?”
Neekoh frowned and looked around the disordered library. “Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve been in this room. But I do believe this is the library of the Lymes’ legend, isn’t it?” He glanced around at the others nodding. “Well then, yes, Chomountain is imprisoned on the other side of this mountain.”
Cantor took a step to the side, which allowed him to look straight at the young man. “How can the right hand of Primen be imprisoned?”
“On the one hand, it would be difficult, on the other, quite easy. I’m incapable of using either hand in such matters and had nothing to do with it.”
Cantor’s lips tightened. “Speak plain.”
“Chomountain doesn’t remember that he’s Chomountain. Therefore, he cannot do any of the things you would expect him to do.”
Bixby fidgeted, alarmed. Who could hold enough power to strip Chomountain of his memory? Certainly no one in the guild was capable. And, since this happened many generations ago, no guild member was sufficiently ancient.
Bixby peeked around Dukmee and caught Neekoh’s eye. “Have you always been Chomountain’s servant?”
Neekoh inclined his head. “My entire life has been in preparation for serving the right hand of Primen. My father and grandfather and my grandfather’s grandfather — all the firstborn males in my family have been so honored for years without number. However, we are not servants, but guardians until someone frees Chomountain.”
Cantor edged closer to Neekoh. “Who in this illustrious ancestry was the last to see Chomountain?”
“I believe the first Neekoh was the last Neekoh to actually see Chomountain.”
Bixby tilted her head, listening to an odd sound. A door squeaked on its hinges. Clicking indicated the latch had slipped into place. The unmistakable scrape of a key in a lock followed.
Bixby looked to her companions. “What was that?”
Dukmee hurried to the table and picked up the heavy book that had safeguarded the ward.
“The ward you tore open is itself protected by wards. With the initial dismemberment, other precautions were activated. These wards are in place to turn back whoever ventured this far.”
His voice trailed off as he thumbed through the pages of the book. “Just as I thought, a ward book,” he muttered. He pulled out glasses and perched them on his nose. “Very thorough. Whoever wrote this knew far more than the average mage.”
He placed the open book on the table and skimmed through the pages. Bixby and Cantor came to stand on either side of him, while Bridger positioned himself between their visitor and the door.
The mor dragon stretched his neck to see over the three lined up against the table. “It’s the old tongue again, isn’t it?”
“Most certainly,” said Dukmee. “A bit of a bother.”
Bixby grasped the side of the table as another series of sounds interrupted their search through the large book. Something heavy rasped against something else. The noise ceased and the rattle of heavy chains ended the episode.
“Aren’t these just sounds?” asked Bridger. “Nothing is really happening, right? Like the wind and brute animals . . . all fury and no substance.”
Dukmee shut the book with a snap. “We’ve got to get out of here. We’re hearing the sounds of closing wards. We need to be out before all the exits are blocked.”
Bixby placed a hand on his arm. If she hadn’t touched him, she wouldn’t have realized how perilous the mage considered their situation, but the muscles under her hand bunched with coiled action.
“But if it’s just racket, nothing is being sealed.”
“I believe this to be true. However” — the corner of his mouth twitched — “remind me to tell you about those two times I was wrong. I think I’d rather be overcautious at the moment.”
He turned to the others. “Let’s go! The most direct route out of this mountain! Grab the hampers that are packed. We may not get a chance to come back.”
Neekoh leapt into action, gathering hampers and shoving them into the folds of his clothing. When the table was empty, he went to another. The others worked as diligently. Soon the five had cleared all the surfaces. Neekoh ran to the door. “Follow me! I know the best way.”
Bridger scooped up Jesha and ran through the door leading to the more excavated tunnels. Bixby tossed a look over her shoulder to the two men. “Let’s go!”
Cantor shook his head. “How do we know he knows where to go?”
Dukmee hefted the ward book into his arms. “Apparently, he’s lived down here all his life.”
“He might be part of a trap, a conspirator with the guild.”
A great grumble shuddered through the rocks. A spattering of dust and tiny particles cascaded onto their heads.
Bixby shook her skirts to dislodge the crumbs of the cave ceiling. “This doesn’t look like the noise is just bluster.”
Dukmee took Bixby’s arm and guided her toward the door. “Even if the locks are a decoy, the reverberations of noise could destroy the honeycomb of caves and passages. We’d best leave.”
“I don’t trust this protector.” Cantor shook his head and combed fingers through his gritty hair.
Bixby left Dukmee and ran back to grab the front of Cantor’s tunic. “Come on! Remember I checked his aura, and he’s fine. He doesn’t have evil intentions.”
Bridger appeared in the door. “Are you coming?”
Accompanied by rumbles, grinding, and miscellaneous pops, Bixby and Cantor ran after Bridger.
Whoever had set up the library with lights and the Orreries Chamber with lasting power had also provided illumination for the halls. At times, the glow came from phosphorescent rocks. Certain stretches had contraptions that hummed but also emitted a steady, radiant beam. Dukmee had expressed the desire to take one down and examine it, but Bixby doubted they’d have the time now.
The shaking walls didn’t interrupt the supply of light. For that, Bixby was grateful. She’d packed her caged globe hat in her camping hamper, but she had no idea where she’d put it. Where inside of her clothing had she attached that container?
Bridger stopped abruptly, and Bixby ran into him, finding herself standing on his tail and plastered uncomfortably against his spiny back. Cantor did a better job of coming to a halt. He bumped into Bixby, but it was a gentle bump.
They peered around the dragon to see Dukmee standing under a light, holding the ward book at chin level and scanning the pages with haste. Bixby realized if she had been the one holding the book and searching for clues, her aura would have been frantic. Dukmee’s remained calm but hurried. Even patterns undulating with precision.
She often wished the auras came with music. The colored lines fluctuated with a beat. Sometimes she likened it to the pulse of a heartbeat one could feel in a person’s neck or wrist. A quick country dance would match Dukmee’s present aura.
“What are you looking for?” asked Cantor.
“A stopgap. Something to slow down or halt the guarding wards.” He bent his nose to the pages again. “I’ve found the right section, but I’m having to translate as I read. And I’m reading while I run. These are not optimal conditions for finding, learning, and applying new skills.”
Neekoh arrived, having doubled back to find them. “It’s only a little more than a mile. We have to hurry.”
He took off again without waiting to see if they would join him.
“Let’s go.” Bridger plunged down the pathway.
Bixby trotted in front of the two men. None of them panted. But Bixby sniffed.
“Cold?” asked Dukmee.
“No, sensing. The air smells damp to me.”
Dukmee held the book open, reading and running. He glanced up. “Could be an underground river, stream, pond, or spring.”
Cantor sniffed. “You’re right. Wet. Hopefully this water won’t cause a delay. I think we’re going down, not up. Shouldn’t we be going up to exit the mountain?”