Nightfall
Shayleigh squatted atop the roof of the low structure behind the Edificant Library, eyeing the large, square building with mounting suspicion. She could tell that the fire had been fairly concentrated, as she would expect in a structure made mostly of stone, but it wasn't so much the fire that now worried the elf maiden. Two things struck her as more than a little odd. The first was the simple lack of activity around the library. Winter was on the wane and the trails were open, yet Shayleigh saw no priests milling about the place, stretching their weary limbs in the warming sunshine.
Even more curious, Shayleigh could not understand why all the windows were boarded over, especially after the fire - to her thinking, the library should have been thrown open wide to allow the smoke to filter out and fresh air to blow in. As it was, the Edificant Library was far from an airy place, but with the windows blocked, at least the ones on this side of the structure, the smoky air inside must be nearly overwhelming.
Percival, hopping along the branches of the nearest tree, did not provide much comfort. The squirrel was still obviously agitated - so wild, in fact, that Shayleigh feared he might have contracted some disease. He ran down right near her - she thought for a moment he was going to crash against her arm.
"What is it?" she said softly, trying to calm the squirrel as he hopped a circular dance on the branch.
Percival hopped down to the mausoleum roof, did that spinning dance again, chattering loudly, as if in protest, then leaped high, back to the low branch and sat facing the mausoleum squarely, still chattering.
Shayleigh ran a delicate hand through her golden hair, not beginning to understand what all of this was about.
Percival repeated the action, and this time, the squirrel's dance atop the low structure's roof was one of frenzy. He went flying back to the branch, again sitting facing the mausoleum directly, again sputtering protests.
Shayleigh realized that the squirrel was watching the low building, not watching her or the library.
"In here?" she asked, pointing straight down to the mausoleum roof. "Is something in here?"
Percival did a somersault on the branch, and his shriek sent shivers along the elf s spine.
Shayleigh stood up straight and stared down at the twig-covered slate roof. She knew enough about the customs of the humans to understand that this was a burial house, but that fact alone should not bother a squirrel, even one such as Percival, who seemed to have more understanding than a squirrel should.
"Something is in there, Percival?" she asked again. "Something bad?"
Again the white squirrel went into its frantic dance, chattering wildly.
Shayleigh crept to the front edge of the mausoleum and peeked over. There was one window, dusty and dirty, and the door was closed - but the elf maiden's keen vision showed her how clean the edges of that doorjamb were, showed that the door had been opened recently.
Shayleigh looked all around at the small field and the library's back grounds. With no one in sight, she gripped the edge of the mausoleum and gracefully rolled over, putting her feet near the ground, and hopped down.
Percival was on the roof then, near her and making more noise than the elf wanted to hear.
"Do be quiet!" Shayleigh scolded, her voice a harsh whisper. Percival sat very still and silent, his little nose twitching.
Shayleigh could see nothing moving beyond the dirty window. She fell into a deep trance and forced her eyes into the night vision of elves, where they could view things in the infrared spectrum, seeing heat and not reflected light.
From this perspective, too, the place seemed empty.
Shayleigh took little comfort in that as she let her eyes slip back into the normal spectrum of light and moved for the door. This was a crypt, after all, and any monsters inside might well be undead. Dead creatures were cold; they gave off no body heat.
Shayleigh winced at the creak of the old door as it rolled on its rusty hinges. Dim twilight filtered into the place, barely illuminating it. Shayleigh and her kin in Shilmista lived more under the stars than the sun, though, and she didn't need much light She kept her eyes focused in the normal spectrum and silently entered, leaving Percival, who was chattering again despite her scolding, on the lip of the roof above the open door.
The mausoleum seemed empty, but the hairs on the nape of Shayleigh's neck told her otherwise. She slipped her longbow off her shoulder, as much to have something to prod about with as to have a weapon in hand, and moved in farther. She looked back to the door with nearly every step and noticed Percival perched nervously on the outside sill of the window, staring in with bulging eyes. The sight of the concerned animal almost made her laugh despite her trepidations.
She passed the first of the stone slabs, noticed then that there was more than a little blood - fairly fresh, it seemed - on the floor, along with a tattered burial shroud. The elf maiden shook her head at the continuing riddle. She slipped past the second slab, and looked at the far wall, the wall to the left of the door, lined by marked stones that she knew were grave markers.
Something - something out of place - about the far stone, the stone in the corner near the back wall of the mausoleum, caught her attention.
Shayleigh eyed it curiously for a moment, trying to discern what it was.
It was hanging crooked just a bit. Shayleigh nodded and slid a cautious step closer.
The stone flew off the wall, and the elf maiden leaped back. Out came a fat corpse, a bloated and rotting thing, to fall in a heap at the base of the wall. Shayleigh had barely registered the gruesome scene when another form leaped out of the open crypt, springing with InCredible agility to stand atop the slab nearest the wall, barely a dozen feet from the startled elf.
Dean Thobicus!
Shayleigh recognized him despite the fact that half his skin had somehow melted away, and the remaining pieces were blistered and torn. She recognized the dean, and understood that he had become something terrible, something powerful.
The elf maiden continued to backpedal, thinking to cross the last slab between her and the door, use the final pillar as a block behind her, then turn and bolt. The day was long, but she knew that the light, any light, would be her ally against this one.
Thobicus crouched, animal-like, on the slab; Shayleigh, her muscles tense, expected him to spring at her. He just stared without blinking, without breathing, and she could not figure out the source of that stare. Was it hunger or fear? Was he a malicious monster or a pitiful thing?
She came beside the last slab, felt the pillar behind her shoulder. Her foot slid back and subtly turned.
The elf exploded into motion, darting behind the pillar, but the move had been anticipated and the heavy door swung closed with a tremendous crash.
Shayleigh skidded to a stop, saw Percival doing frantic somersaults on the windowsill. She felt the coldness of the dead man's approach at her back and knew then the truth, the foul demeanor of this undead monster. She spun about and went into a defensive crouch, backpedal-ing as Thobicus slowly stalked in.
"The door will not open," the vampire explained, and Shayleigh didn't doubt the claim. "There is no escape."
Shayleigh's violet eyes darted back and forth, searching the room. But the building was solid, with only a single window (leaded glass, which she could never get through in time) and the single door.
The vampire opened his mouth wide, proudly displaying his fangs. "Now I will have a queen," Thobicus said, "as Rufo has Danica."
The last statement hit Shayleigh hard, both for the proclamation of wretched Kierkan Rufo's return and the fact that he apparently had Danica in his clutches.
She looked to the door, and to Percival in the window, searching, searching, but she could not deny the truth of Thobicus's next statement.
"There is no escape."
By the time they stopped running, the library was barely visible, back along the winding trail and beyond many sheltering trees. Cadderly stood bent at the waist, gasping for breath, and not just for sheer physical exertion. What had happened to his library? his thoughts screamed at him. What had happened to the order that had guided him through all the years of his life?
Pikel, bleeding from several wounds, hopped about the small clearing frantically, several times even rebounding off the boulders lining the place on the south (which did not help his injuries), and sputtering, "Oo oi!" over and over, Ivan just stood solemnly, staring back at the one visible top corner of the library, shaking his shaggy head.
Cadderly couldn't think straight, and Pikel's frenzy wasn't helping him any. On more than one occasion, the young priest's concentration narrowed on the problem at hand, seeking a solution, but then Cadderly would be brushed by Pikel, or loudly interrupted by an emphatic "Oo oi!" v
Cadderly stood straight and eyed the green-bearded dwarf directly, and was about to scold Pikel, when he heard clearly the song of Deneir. It swept him away like he was a twig that had fallen into a swift stream. It didn't ask if he wanted to go along; it just took him in the current, gaining speed, gaining momentum, and all the young priest could do was hold on.
After a few moments, Cadderly found some control of his spiraling thoughts and he willingly steered himself to the middle of the stream, to the strongest notes of the song. He hadn't heard the melody this clearly since Castle Trinity, since he had destroyed his own father, Aballister, by sundering the ground beneath the evil wizard's feet It sounded sweet, so very sweet, and relieved Cadderly of the grief for the library and his fears for the future. He was purely with Deneir now, basking in the most perfect music.
Corridors began to open wide to him, tributaries of the main river. Cadderly thought of the Tome of Universal Harmony, the most holy book of Deneir, the book inscribed with the very words of this song, though they were translated things. In the song, there were only notes, pure, perfect, but these notes corresponded exactly to the written text, the human translation of Deneir's music. Cadderly knew this - Pertelope had known this - but they were the only two. Even Dean TTiobicus, head of the order, had no idea of the way this music played. Thobicus could recite the words of the song, but the notes were far beyond his comprehension.
To Cadderly, it was as simple as turning pages, as following the flow of the river, and he went down one of those offered tributaries now, to the sphere of healing, and pulled spells of mending from the waters.