Chapter 23: Chapter 23 - Below the Library
The sound of soft footsteps roused Hulbard from his slumber. Instinct kicked in and as his eyes cracked open, he lay perfectly still. Keeping his breathing deep and regular, his gaze dropped to the candlelit links in his flail's chain coiled by his side. At the same time, his senses were straining for any hint of where those footsteps had come from. He heard them again somewhere close by and then the gentle, scraping rattle of rocks being shifted.
Hulbard craned his neck with a soft sigh, as if he were shifting in his sleep and peered through his slitted lids to see Quintus standing near the centre of the chamber by the rubble of the balcony he'd brought down. The old man looked like he was idly prodding at the wreckage with a foot.
Opening his eyes with a sigh of relief, Hulbard painstakingly heaved himself back to his feet and began to stretch. His joints creaked and cracked as they begrudgingly loosened. Aches flared across his entire body as he worked some life back into his limbs over several long seconds.
His companions were still sleeping soundly where they'd fallen and he tried to be as quiet as possible while picking his way over Semekt and past Shankhill.
From his time in the wild, Hulbard had learned how to semi-accurately judge how long he'd slept for, and it felt like somewhere close to four hours had passed since he'd closed his eyes, but not much longer. Enough to briefly recharge but not nearly as much as he desperately needed. Rolling his shoulders as he walked, the warrior strode across to the Sorcerer. There was no way the Sorcerer could have missed his approach, but he remained silent. Instead, the old man continued to scrutinise the rubble and his ignorance of Hulbard's presence irked him.
"What are you looking for?" his irritation turned the question into a low growl.
"Move this," Quintus told him instead, gesturing towards a sizable slab of fallen stone.
Fighting the urge to tell the Sorcerer where he could shove that lump of rock, Hulbard instead leaned down and did as he was told. Gripping the chunk of rock in both hands, he hauled it aside with a grating rumble. Beneath, half hidden among the crumbling stone, Hulbard saw the withered hand of the Sorcerer Quintus had dropped to his death.
Resting just a few feet away from those shattered fingers was the thick, leather bound book the man had been holding before the ground beneath his feet had been ripped away.
"There!" Quintus snapped, his eyes alight with greed as he took a step towards it.
"I would strongly advise against that," the voice stopped the Sorcerer dead in his tracks just as he was stooping to pick up the book and they both turned to see the rag clothed figure from before sitting on the lowest steps of the spiral staircase.
Shifted from his place above, the tattered robes he wore hung loose around a skeletal frame with his face cast in deep shadow beneath a dogged hat, obscuring everything of the man beneath.
"And why not?" Quintus asked with narrowed eyes.
"Only a Sorcerer of this Library is fit to wield that book," Rags told him evenly, "As I said before, each book is bound to its wielder. They are what shapes a Sorcerer's Core into a Constellation".
"The Spells within this book are worthless unless connected to a Constellation?" Quintus mused thoughtfully.
The hat of their guide bowed in a shallow nod.
"How do I connect it to my own Core?" he asked quietly.
"You cannot," Rags said gently, "It was made with one Master in mind and cannot be bent to another. Without his, that book is simply a collection of miracles that can never again be manifest".
"And if I were to create my own…?" Quintus left the question hanging.
"With respect, you have not the years left to you," the attendant said just as softly, "Such a thing is beyond my grasp, but it required decades of rigorous study to perfect. With such techniques, we were the envy of the known world, and not without good reason. A legion of Sorcerer's alone had often been enough to quell uprisings before they had a chance to begin. They...we...made quite a sight before Sorcery became our undoing".
"I find it hard to believe I could learn nothing from the spells within this book," Quintus told him, "Or that they could not be adapted to a more contemporary form of Sorcery".
"I would advise against such avarice and arrogance," Rags hunched his shoulders, "Apologies, but see nothing but ruin coming from such an attempt".
"Hulbard," Quintus said decisively, "Pick up that book".
"After hearing that?" Hulbard barked an incredulous laugh, "Fuck off. This is your business, not mine. You pick the damn thing up".
Quintus glanced at him, seemed about to say something and apparently thought better of it, instead pondering the book for a long second. Returning to their makeshift camp, he rummaged through one of his packs before he found what he was looking for; a leather book case. Sparing the warrior a scathing glance as he passed, he lay the open case on the ground next to the book and used a shard of stone to awkwardly lift the artefact into its new container. The cover snapped shut before two metal clasps clicked home, sealing the book within the carrying case. Hefting it, Quintus hooked it onto the back of his belt before looking towards Rags.
Again, he seemed on the verge of saying something but opted to turn to Hulbard instead.
"Wake the others," he commanded, "It's time to move on".
He turned and marched back towards the camp to prepare, leaving Hulbard with Rags near the staircase.
"I wish you well," the guide said quietly, "Especially with that one leading the way".
"He isn't our leader," Hulbard growled, "But thanks. I hope whatever you have going for you works out as well".
"Appreciated," there was a hint of mirth in Rags' dry, crackling voice.
The entrance to the tower's lower levels was an unremarkable archway set almost directly opposite the front doors, nestled into the gloom of an alcove and half hidden from view behind stacks of books laden with dripping candles. A narrow hallway of plain, grey stone led down into the darkness, prompting the company to light two lanterns. Quintus took one and Hulbard the other. Holding it high in his right hand, the warrior kept his shield at the ready in his left, already numbly running through all the horrors that could be lurking ahead and how he would deal with them. With every sense straining and every muscle tense, he led the day down that staircase with the Sorcerer at his shoulder and their companions close behind, freshly awoken from their slumber with varying degrees of protest.
The hallway swallowed the group of adventurers; enveloped them in darkness and surrounded them in a veil of silence save for their rustling clothing and rattling equipment. Even those seemed muted on that staircase, eaten by the distance ahead and behind without any hint of an echo. Everything about the situation set Hulbard's nerves on edge and, after only a moment of trudging down those steps, he was already itching to return to the room above. Here, in the confined space, his mind was beginning to wander, his thoughts indistinct but darting through all the problems with fighting in a place like that. If they even got the chance to fight back, he thought grimly.
Ahead, his lantern played across a corner in the staircase and, when he rounded it, Hulbard was faced with a large room sparsely lit by yet more candles. A large desk of crimson wood sat at its heart on a plush rug, backed by a deep, leather chair. The polished surface of the desk itself was covered in sheafs of yellowing paper alongside neatly arranged inkpots and an assortment of writing implements. This place struck him more as a personal study than another library, with several faded paintings breaking up the usual monotony of bookcases lining the walls.
Peering at the closest of these in the stronger light of his lantern, Huilbard got the impression of green hills rolling across the lower part of the frame with dark clouds gathered above. The bookcases were cluttered with a variety of items ranging from animal bones and skulls to gemstones, ornate little boxes, small statues and metal instruments. An ornate chandelier hung overhead, though none of the candles housed in its spindly arms were lit, leaving the corners of the room cast in shadow.
Walking to the desk, Quintus gave the aged papers haphazardly strewn across its surface a cursory glance while Hulbard marched to another archway set to one side. Peering through the opening, he saw another narrow staircase leading further down. A glance over his shoulder showed the others gathered uneasily near the staircase leading back to the Library above. Trastgor, with sword in hand, was staring around the chamber through slitted eyes. Knox was by his side, curiously panning his gaze over the nearest bookcases, while Shankhill was frowning across at Hulbard, clearly ill at ease. Semekt glowered at his shoulder, impossible to read as always, while Skye watched her Master. All of them looked like they could have used another few hours of sleep, but that was a luxury Quintus hadn't allowed.
The Sorcerer seemed torn between the desires to ransack the chamber and press on, but the latter won out after a moment of fruitlessly poking and prodding at the documents on the desk. They began their descent down the second flight of steps. Here, echoes of their footsteps seemed to roll ahead of them like sentient shadows, conjuring all kinds of images about what might be waiting for them beyond the light of his lantern. They moved slowly, every movement hushed and tense, but it still wasn;t long before they emerged into a small, circular chamber. Two braziers stood cold and dark to either side, artfully wrought into the semblance of writhing serpents. His lantern shone across small rubies and emeralds set into their eye sockets and gaping jaws, but none of them broke the silence to even suggest prying them loose. Ahead, the staircase more than quadrupled in width and, as always, continued down.
Hulbard glanced to Quintus and when the old man nodded, fell into step at his side when he began the descent again. Another forty steps and the lantern's light suddenly illuminated sapphire blue flagstones at the foot of the staircase. Pausing on the last step, he lifted the lantern and quickly panned it left and right. The lance of orange light found nothing solid ahead of them or to either side. They were surrounded by an all encompassing, crushing void of darkness beneath the tower. Quintus took the lead. He stepped cautiously onto the blue slabs with his staff held defensively before him in one hand and his own light source hefted high in the other.
"I...I feel something," Skye whispered slowly in a dazed voice, "I feel sick".
"Shh!" her Master hissed through grit teeth.
A dot of luminous blue light the size of Hulbard's fist blinked into life perhaps thirty feet ahead of them. His lantern swung towards it, but the shifting orange glow did nothing to that unearthly orb. It shifted, swelled, spun and coalesced into the indistinct shape of a figure sitting cross legged on the ground, comprised entirely of a dull, pulsating blue light. That radiance bled away, leaving behind the muted colours of a white robe that would have looked magnificent anywhere else and at any other time. A broad rimmed hat cast the figure's features in shadow, but as they lifted their head, he caught a glimpse of dark eyes beneath. A grey cloth was wound around the lower half of the man's face, obscuring everything beneath.
Although the light receded, this man remained illuminated by a band of it from below and, in one smooth motion, he slid upright and into an extravagant bow. His robes hung loose around his frame, held in check by a belt of gleaming metal plates at his hips. They possessed a tall collar reaching almost to the tips of his ears, while their sleeves flared dramatically around two thin, pale hands. Strips of crimson silk hung from a row of metal spikes sewn into the fabric running from shoulder to shoulder across his shoulder blades at regular intervals and falling to his ribs in sharp contrast to the white backdrop of his clothing.
"Greetings," the voice reverberated in all that emptiness, deep and resonant, cultured and strong despite being masked behind the cloth wound around his face.
"I am Aolithris and I speak for the Master's of this Library. Please, spare the formalities; we already know you as a band of fortune seekers come to ask something of us".
"How do you know why we're here?" Quintus asked and his voice seemed small in all that empty space.
Behind him, Hulbard heard Knox quietly sniffing the air.
"He's not real," the hunter breathed.
"A simple assumption," Aolithris replied and he began to gesture expressively as he continued, "We have not had any visitors to this Library in quite some time. Few indeed would even be capable of reaching us anymore, but why bother to make such a journey if not to speak to us? And why seek an audience if not to ask for something, hm? I, personally, have been watching your every move since you entered our gardens and I witnessed your attempt to reach knowledge beyond your grasp or understanding. A valiant effort, in all honesty, but still centuries short of anything that could ever breach the upper libraries of this tower. I have judged you a strange, but capable band of lost wanderers and I cannot imagine that your only motive for reaching this place was simple, petty thievery. So, spare your host the agony of guesswork. What do you seek from us?"
"We seek the Crystal Star?" Quintus' answer was short and guarded, probing for information.
Aolithris tilted his head to one side and those dark eyes shone.
"Which part?" he asked curiously.
"The King's. We have reason to believe you have no love for Magnus and if you were to provide us a way to the Skullborn Bastion, we would be more than happy to rid Dalághast of him. We would take care of him for you and release you from whatever holds you to this place".
"You would rid Dalághast of him?" it was a soft spoken question in that deep voice.
"Without the Star to sustain him, he will no longer be able to hold you prisoner," Quintus' voice lacked his usual conviction and Hulbard knew the old man was fishing desperately. "We only need passage. We can take care of everything else and the Crystal Star would be our reward".
"This...Star?" the figure breathed in a purr, "What do you know of it? How much did the wretch even now hiding from our judgement keep from you?"
"What wretch?" Quintus asked sharply.
"You know the one," Aolithris told him with the faintest hint of amusement in his voice, "Now answer my question. What is this Star to you?"
"They say a star fell from the sky," Quintus said in a guarded tone, "And that Magnus dug it up. After that, Dalághast disappeared from the face of the known world, so it was always safe to assume that this Star was Sorcerous in nature and he was ill equipped to handle its power".
The man's laughter was haunting; it plucked at Hulbard's nerves like a slowly building migraine, echoing and echoing within all that empty space.
"That's the story they tell?" he chuckled darkly, "How wonderfully amusing, in an abstract sort of way. Fascinating, but not nearly as interesting as the fact that you've come all this way in ignorance of what you truly seek. Tell me Sorcerer, you know where this stone is being kept, but how do you intend to take it?"
"Any way we can," Quintus' voice was only growing more uncertain with every passing exchange, "If we have to kill Magnus, we will. If we can steal it without him noticing, we'll do that. Anything to separate it from him".
The laughter barked this time, rolled and thundered into the abyss surrounding them like the echoes of some far distant, terrible storm.
"Truly, it must be either arrogance or ignorance beyond my wildest dreams that brought you to Dalághast in the first place," the Sorcerer laughed brightly, "Much less to this Library. But true, you have my sincerest thanks. It has been a long time since I've had cause to laugh and it is wonderful to experience it again. But, to continue this fanciful idea of yours; you believe that we will open a way for you to Magnus' stronghold? That this is all you need to reach your destination?"
A nasty, patronising chuckle followed the question.
"And why would we do that?" Aolithris continued smoothly before Quintus could reply, "So that you could 'free us from our bonds'? Is that it?"
Quintus opened his mouth, but it was clear he was struggling to find the right words, so Hulbard took a step forward.
"We were under the impression that Magnus had imprisoned you," he said simply, "And that by defeating him, we would be doing you a favour. Are we wrong?"
"I am afraid so," Aolithris spoke quietly, "I fear that whoever gave you that impression either lied or terribly misjudged the situation. Magnus is to be pitied and we do not hate the pitiable. He is a misguided fool, but a dangerous one all the same. He is connected to the great roots that have spread their power throughout every inch of this city and, though they have now begun to recede, one great limb is still linked to this Library, sealing us here despite our greatest efforts".
"We seek an escape from this place for one purpose alone and that is to sit the throne ourselves. We will bend those roots to our will, and you cannot aid us in this endeavour. You cannot free us because you cannot separate Magnus from his stone and we have spent decades attempting to circumvent that simple truth, but those roots run deep in Dalaghast".
"Then open the way," Hulbard affected a careless shrug, "And watch us prove you wrong".
"I would," Aolithris raised his shoulders in a fanciful shrug, "But I am not alone in my decision".
"So you're not going to help us?" Hulbard asked.
"I am afraid not," the Sorcerer bowed his head.
"Fine by me," Knox muttered, "Let's get out of here".
"Show me these chains," Quintus said firmly now, finding his voice once more, "There have been considerable advancements in Sorcery since this city was lost. I may have a way to unlock them".
"Very well," Aolithris said amiably, "I am happy to give you a glimpse of your ignorance, of how far you are from understanding, before we exact payment for what you did to my *our!* tower".
The misplaced word was spoken at the same time as the one before but in a bark of multiple, echoing voices at once. It sounded like a dozen tones melded into one and it grated across Hulbard's nerves like a bared blade. Aolithris spread his arms wide.
"Behold!" he called, "The chains of our damnation".
The glowing circle beneath his feet suddenly expanded. It rushed across the chamber in a blinding wave and washed over them in a flood of iridescent light. Hulbard dropped his lantern and flung an arm up to protect himself before the aura passed. What came next happened in a matter of mere heartbeats; they were suddenly standing in a study without end. There were books everywhere, the entire scene lit by a sourceless blue glow.
Bookcases of crimson wood soared skywards and between them, set against the opposite wall, he saw a vast, alabaster statue sitting cross legged on the floor. It wore only a loin cloth and its slender hips rose to a cadaverously thin torso surmounted by a set of twisted, bulging shoulder blades. Three long, spindly arms extended from each and these were folded across its narrow chest. Above, a slender neck rose to a featureless, blank face. Easily fifty feet in height, even sitting, it towered over the chamber.
Hulbard saw those long fingers, each as long as he was tall, uncurl. All six arms unfolded and stabbed forward and were brought up in unison above Aolithris as manacles around their wrists dragged great silver chains taut with a cacophonous clang. They trailed from the manacles to great rings bolted into the stone wall behindthe figure. As that great crashing rattle boomed and rolled into the vastness of the chamber, Hulbard stood still, utterly stunned and frozen in place.
His wide eyes distantly caught the glimmer of something embedded in the monsters chest and only dully registered faint aspects of his surroundings, like a vast slab of crystal poised above his head amongst a tangle of metal chains, but all conscious thought was blasted from his mind by the sheer, inhuman enormity of the creature before him now. In the space of a few heartbeats, he'd been rendered immobile. The sight of the monster annihilated every thought, left him with just the sheer, animal instinct to run.
The entire scene left him reeling, even before a vertical slit appeared down the centre of that blank face and split wide open to reveal an iris of a dozen shifting colours melding together into one vast orb.
"If we could not break these chains," that chorus of voices wove together into one hymn, "What makes you believe that you might? No, you will serve another purpose now. You are in our domain now and you shall not escape".
Hulbard stumbled back a step as those words crashed over him, too stupefied to even begin to think of a response. An arrow slid into the figure's chest, just above the crystal shard, little more than a thrown needle to a grown man.
"A fool's mistake," the collection of Master's spoke as one, "And we do not suffer fools".
One of those huge hands gestured towards them and Hulbard half turned to see Knox already reaching for another arrow, his bow lifted and features twisted into a focused frown. He saw a circle of blue light bloom on the floor behind the hunter, but before he could utter a word, a lance of sleek ice erupted forth from that pale pool of radiant light. It skewered Knox through the lower back and erupted through his stomach with a sickening slurping sound. Bathed in crimson blood, the shard of ice pierced his body as cleanly as any spear ever could have.
He jerked and would have stumbled had he not been pinned in place as his legs tried to give way. Knox snarled before his body went rigid, his eyes opening wide and his teeth snapping shut. A gurgling growl burst from his lips, spraying spittle, as the bow slipped from his fingers and he grasped uselessly at the ice.
"F-f-fuck," he shuddered.
Hulbard's right arm came up by instinct, golden lightning already darting between the prongs covering his wrist as boundless rage coursed through his entire body. A blur of movement and Aolrithis spun nimbly into view. A hand snapped out, caught Hulbard's bracer and forced it towards the ground. The bolt of lightning snapped into the stone between their feet with the teeth itching crackle of discharged energy. The Sorcerer should have been reduced to ash by the heat of the blast, a haze of displaced air blasting outwards from the pair.
Hulbard tried to yank his arm free but the Sorcerer's grip was iron. Instinct kicked in and he lunged forward to butt the man in the face, but a pale hand slapped into the faceplate of his helm before he could connect. Light bloomed, violently snapping his head back and Hulbard's guts lurched as the ground suddenly vanished beneath his feet. With a surreal sense of dazed weightlessness, he began to fall. Head over heel, he tumbled into darkness, hands snatching at empty air and breath catching in his throat. His sight cleared just in time to catch a glimpse of the ground before he slammed into it. The pain of his impact was strangely muted and, with a vicious snarl, he surged back upright. His hands came up, ready to fend off whatever he could, but Hulbard froze as he stared at their pale, calloused flesh. They were bare.
Hulbard looked down through his misting breath to see his citrine armour gone. As if in a dream, he looked upwards to see a single pinprick of light gleaming far above. It shone down on him to create a soft, shimmering aura around his feet. He winched and whirled as Aolithris spoke, his voice whispering from all around him at once, but found nothing in that circle with him.
"This…" the Sorcerer said softly, "Is where you will be broken open upon an altar of suffering. I will rend your sanity to pieces and cast you into the very depths of raging madness to forever wander, lost and forgotten. I will inherit the shell that remains afterwards. I may not leave this dungeon but the shell of your flesh can travel freely wherever it wants. I will use it to drag Magnus from his throne and break him apart".
"Show yourself!" Hulbard bellowed at the top of his lungs into the void, "Face me!"
"Your mind is already mine," the voice hissed in his ear and he spun to see a figure behind him.
Hulbard froze as he was met by an all too familiar face. His brother, Yantis, stared back at him with those dark eyes Hulbard had come to know so well, his lips twisted into that old, cynical smirk that had always rattled his nerves for so many years. His mind screamed that it wasn't real, that it couldn't be, but the effect of seeing him again after so long still left Hulbard feeling suddenly terribly numb.
"My best work," the younger man said, lifting a hand to admire the citrine gemstones embedded into the suit of armour he wore, "And all that makes you what you are, brother. Shall we see what you can do without it?"
Hulbard opened his mouth, but there was nothing he could say. A thousand thoughts flooded his mind at once, waged war with a multitude of conflicting emotions and, in the end, all he could do was stand and stare.
Yantis reached down to his side and, with a sickeningly familiar rasp, he drew Stormlord, the original sword paired with the suit of armour he'd once crafted and now wore. It was a hand and a half sword with a crossguard of gold fashioned into the semblance of a dragon with flared wings. The sight of that blade made Hulbard's breath catch in his throat as fear blasted all thought from his mind, sent him stumbling back a faltering step. It was the same blade he'd lost, the same steel that had left its mark across his own cheek and taken a piece of his ear before shattering into a thousand pieces against the face of his shield.
"Come, brother," that hideously familiar smile flashed in the gloom, "Let's see what you are beneath my armour".
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
atlaswrites01
atlaswrites01 In this chapter, our heroes come face to face with the master of the Library.
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