The Quest for the Trilogy: Boneslicer; Seaspray; Deathwhisper (22 page)

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Authors: Mel Odom

BOOK: The Quest for the Trilogy: Boneslicer; Seaspray; Deathwhisper
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“I am,” Wick answered.
I will be
.
“Will ye be wantin' to go back to Greydawn Moors, then?”
“I'd be safer there,” Wick said, hoping the old pirate captain would understand.
“Aye.” Farok nodded. “Ye would be. An' it's a more fittin' place for ye than out here on the sea or on the mainland.”
Somehow, though, even though Farok said that, Wick still felt guilty.
“I'm gonna see them we rescued to home first,” Farok said. “They's closer an' we could use a few supplies afore we cross the Blood-Soaked Sea again. All these
extra mouths we took on to feed ain't doin' our supplies any good.” He clapped Wick on the shoulder. “Just let me know what ye've a mind to do.”
“I will. Thank you.”
 
 
Hours later, Wick sat up in the crow's nest with a fresh journal, the one he'd taken notes in, and his writing supplies. After the time he'd spent in the Cinder Clouds Islands, he enjoyed the simple and familiar task of rendering his notes into properly stated text.
He used one of the codes he'd invented to record his adventures and the events that had propelled him into them. Even as he reworked the argument in Paunsel's Tavern, beginning with how Paunsel had dragged him away from the adventure of Taurak Bleiyz, a vague wave of discontent filled Wick.
He hated unfinished things.
Since he'd been back on
One-Eyed Peggie
, he'd tried to focus on the book. He hadn't even been able to get the intrepid dweller hero across the spiderweb spanning the Rushing River high in the Death Thorn Forest. Swinging Toadthumper with Taurak just hadn't seemed … right.
So many things about the Battle of Fell's Keep remained undone.
It's not yours to do
, Wick told himself.
You're a Librarian, not some larger-than-life dweller hero from a romance on the shelves of Hralbomm's Wing.
He watched the sun slowly sinking into the west, painting the sky fiery orange and red above the silvery water.
You don't even
want
to be a hero
.
Still, he knew that Taurak Bleiyz would have been able to slip unnoticed into Wharf Rat's Warren and spy on a thieves' guild.
And that was what Craugh was proposing. It was the only strategy that made sense.
It's also the strategy that could get you strung up from a net for the birds to eat
, Wick reminded himself.
Or tossed to the sharks.
He looked down at the page he'd been working on. It was an image of the Battle of Fell's Keep, pulled from the few pictures he'd seen drawn of it and from the descriptions he'd read. His picture centered on Master Oskarr standing atop a boulder in the heart of the Painted Canyon, swinging Boneslicer at goblinkin and the trolls that accompanied them.
Master Oskarr gave his life
, Wick thought sadly,
maybe not then, but eventually all the same. And he was branded a traitor for that
. The realization didn't set easily with the little Librarian. He'd seen in Bulokk how those hurts from the past could still wound.
How long will they continue to do so
?
In the end, Wick knew he had no choice. What if he went back to Greydawn Moors, to the Vault of All Known Knowledge, and couldn't find peace to do his work or enjoy a good book?
It could happen. It was happening now. He could only imagine Grandmagister Frollo haranguing him for his absence, then for his inattention to the tasks before him. If he couldn't find it within himself to finish the Taurak Bleiyz adventure, how could he ever return home?
When it was almost dark, Wick packed the two journals away. He was too unsettled to work anymore, and it was even more unsettling realizing he knew what he had to do about it. He folded up his writing supplies and made his way down the rigging.
Critter and Rohoh were involved in some argument on one of the 'yards. It was evident from the ungainly way they were swinging upside down from their claws that they'd been raiding Slops's cooking brandy.
Once he reached the deck, Wick made his way to Craugh's room. Before he even knocked on the door, the wizard called, “Enter.”
Sighing, Wick thought,
I hate when he does that
. Craugh had a habit of laying wards on the doors of rooms where he slept.
Inside the small room, Craugh sat cross-legged on the narrow bed.
“Why did you get a bed?” Wick asked, thinking of the hammock he'd been sleeping in. He'd never visited Craugh's room.
“Because I asked,” Craugh answered. He closed the book he'd been reading and tried to hide it from sight.
Before he could stop himself, driven by curiosity, Wick grabbed the book. Craugh didn't let it go. Green sparks leapt from the wizard's baleful gaze. Wick saw the title anyway. He released the book.
Craugh tucked it into his traveler's pack. “Well?”
“That book was one I wrote,” Wick said in surprise.
“You gave it to me.”
“I know. As a gift.” Wick shook his head. “I didn't think you'd still have it.”
“I just found it in my pack,” Craugh said. “Obviously I forgot to remove it.”
Wick knew that wasn't true. The book had shown a lot of careful attention, but it also looked decidedly well read. Like a favorite book should. Wick had written it about his adventures with Craugh down in the Seltonian Bogs when they'd gone in search of Ralkir's hidden library.
“Was there something you wanted?” Craugh demanded.
Wick squinted up at him. “Some days, Craugh, you're a miserable excuse for a person.”
Craugh glared at him.
“If it wasn't for the whole toad thing you do,” Wick said, “I think more people would tell you that.”
“Hmmmph,” Craugh responded. “And more people would be toads.”
“You know why I'm here, don't you?”
To his credit, Craugh didn't gloat.
“I can't leave this unfinished,” Wick said, realizing the wizard was going to make him say it.
“I know,” Craugh said.
“There are too many questions that need to be answered. And I've started taking some of them personally. During the last few days, I've gotten to know Bulokk. He's a good person. He shouldn't have to suffer under the weight of the accusation of Master Oskarr.”
“I agree.”
Wick regarded Craugh suspiciously. “But there's more to this, isn't there?”
“Yes.”
Wick waited, then sighed as he gave up. “You're not going to tell me, are you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I know too much to be neutral the way a good investigator should be. I have too many preformed suspicions.”
“Do you know who hired the Razor's Kiss?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then why should I go there?”
“Because we need proof before I start making accusations.”
“I could get killed in Wharf Rat's Warren.”
“I sincerely hope not. But it is a distinct possibility. I never said any of this was going to be easy.”
At least that
, Wick thought,
is the truth
.
I
look back on this document after so many years have elapsed and it seems like only yesterday. The task that Craugh and Cap'n Farok set before me on that day was far more perilous than even they believed.
Well, I think that Craugh knew more than he was telling. He usually does.
As you can plainly see from this note, I lived through it all. But many didn't. And even now if all the truths come spilling out that we left hidden, more people will die.
“Secrets are such hard things to manage when you're not the only one who knows.” Of course, as any Librarian worth his salt would recognize, that's a quote from Gart Makmornan's
Cashing in on Secrets: A History of Blackmail in the Higher Elven Courts
.
In all, there are three of these books, these journals of my travels during this time of trouble. I have divided them up to forestall any inadvertent discovery of them before their time. Timing is, as they say, everything. And it was never truer than now. The trouble I was witness to, the discovery of Lord Kharrion's Wrath so long after the Cataclysm, was not ended. I knew that when I walked out of the Forest of Fangs and Shadows.
But it was finished enough for the time. The danger was put aside.
The second book details what happened to me during my travails at Wharf Rat's Warren, of how I tracked down the Razor's Kiss, Ryman Bey, and the person who hired them to search for Master Blacksmith Oskarr's battle-axe, Boneslicer.
That journal, as with the third, will not be found with this one. Only one person knows where this journal may be found. And I will teach
only one other Librarian
—
an apprentice I know whose heart and mind I can trust
—
the trick of the code I have used to record this narrative.
Only you, my apprentice, know the code to these books. And I will have taught you the way to find them. But know that the secrets they guard are dangerous things. I cannot impress that strongly enough upon you.
To find the second book, you must first find Ordal the Minstrel, who is as eternal as the wind. When you find him, ask him, “What rides in on four legs, stands on two legs, and stumbles away on three legs?”
Ordal doesn't know anything of the book that has been hidden, but his answer will give you a clue as to where you should look for the second book.
May your journey be successful, apprentice, and may your search be compelled out of curiosity rather than need.
 
Sincerely,
Edgewick Lamplighter
Grandmagister
Vault of All Known Knowledge
Greydawn Moors
W
orn and bleary-eyed from working by lantern light aboard
Moonsdreamer
, Juhg pushed up from the small table in the cabin Raisho had given him. He'd been sitting so long that his sea legs had evidently swum without him because he found the ship's deck seemed to be tilting beneath him.
Suddenly aware of the hunger that consumed him, Juhg lurched out into the corridor and made his way up onto the deck. He was surprised to find that it was night and that
Moonsdreamer
was rolling in the clutches of a storm.
He'd been so consumed by Grandmagister Lamplighter's narrative that he hadn't even noticed the storm's descent on the ship.
Fierce rain raked the deck, deep enough to slosh small tides back and forth as the ship rocked. Lightning blazed across the sky, burning through the dark masses of clouds swirling overhead. The hollow booms were so close and so loud they shivered through
Moonsdreamer
.
Looking back at the stern, Juhg found Raisho standing near the pilot. When a storm was on, there was nowhere else Raisho would be.
“When did this start?” Juhg asked his friend as he joined him.
Raisho stood dressed in a dark cloak, his face concealed in the shadows except for when the lightning struck. “Right before dusk. We're hours into it now.” He squinted and turned his face up against the rain. “Thought it'd be played out by now, but it just keeps comin'.” He shook his head and looked back at
Juhg. “Don't care none for this storm, I tell you. It's got a bad feel 'bout it. Like it ain't natural.”
Juhg remembered the bog beasts they'd fought back in Shark's Maw Cove. Someone had sent those creatures. Could a storm have been sent as well?
A wave caught
Moonsdreamer
broadside and twisted her. The helmsman struggled to hold onto the large wheel. Crossing over to the man, Raisho threw his strength into the task as well.
Stumbling, Juhg managed to grab onto the railing and keep his feet. But only just.
“Been thinkin' maybe we should 'ead into port somewhere,” Raisho shouted. “But didn't know which way we should make for.”
“Calmpoint,” Juhg said.
Raisho looked at him. “Ye finished translatin' that book?”
Juhg nodded. “I did.”
“Does Craugh know?”
“I just came up,” Juhg said. “I thought he'd be up here.”
Shaking his head, Raisho said, “I haven't seen 'im since before the storm 'it.”
Juhg didn't much care for the coincidence of the two events. “Make for Calmpoint.”
“What are we gonna find there?”
“Not at Calmpoint,” Juhg said. “We'll have to go up Steadfast River to Deldal's Mills.”
“Why?”
“There are three books in all,” Juhg said. “The book that Craugh brought me told me how to find the second.”
“Where's the third?”
“I don't know. Perhaps the second book will tell us that.”
Another wave slammed
Moonsdreamer
. Raisho fought with the wheel as a deluge of water slapped over him. The helmsman lost his footing and started to slip away. Moving with surprising quickness, Raisho managed to grab the younger sailor and haul him to safety with one hand.
Then Raisho lifted his voice and started calling out orders to bring the ship around on the correct bearing.
Feeling a little panicky but trusting his friend's instincts when it came to sailing, Juhg went belowdecks. He lurched through the companionway using his hands. The lanterns swung and batted against the walls, the flames flickering from the abuse.
At Craugh's door, Juhg knocked and waited. When there was no response, he knocked again, louder this time. “Craugh!”
No response.
Opening the door, Juhg stepped inside. Darkness filled the small room. A coppery scent was on the air, and it seemed disturbingly familiar.
Juhg stepped back into the companionway and took down one of the lanterns. He returned to the room.
Craugh wasn't there. But the coppery stink came from the pool of blood on the floor. Beside it, using the same blood, someone had written BEWARE.
Standing there in the room, feeling Craugh's absence, Juhg knew that even out on the Blood-Soaked Sea they weren't out of reach of the mysterious enemy who pursued them.

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