Yes, there was someone here. Two someones, in fact. Tiri hadn’t imagined those voices earlier.
Between her and the exit was an open square. Enclosed on all other sides by yet more shelves, it was around fifteen feet across. The area was dotted with stools, though they were mostly buried beneath stacks of books, which overflowed onto the floor so that there was barely space to place one’s feet. In the center of the square was a large wooden table. Unlike every other nearby surface, this was relatively clear, with just a few neat piles of books and a scattering of feather quills and ink bottles.
The entire area was more or less free of dust. Someone uses this place frequently. She felt a surge of anger at the thought, and at the thought of the thousands of neglected tomes she’d passed on her way here. What a waste. Who on earth would hoard such a library for themselves?
She got her answer almost immediately.
“Why in the hells have they gone that way? That wasn’t the plan!”
The voice she’d heard earlier was close; in fact, it was right on the other side of the bookshelf she’d been about to step out from behind. She backtracked as quietly as she could, holding her breath so she could better hear the speaker.
It was Guildmaster Varnell. Who else would it be? she thought bitterly.
“But why?” he was saying now. “It makes no sense. The Core’s history… he should have gone underground. We were perfectly placed to ambush them!”
The strain in the Guildmaster’s voice was unexpected. Tiri had only spoken to the man on two occasions, but both times he’d come across as someone very much in control.
There was a bang, as though he’d just punched something, followed by the sound of books tumbling to the floor. “Ow,” she heard him mutter.
Then the second voice spoke.
“Regrettable, sire. But you know what they say about best-laid plans.”
“What do they say?”
“Well, that they often go awry. Because of mice. Or something.”
“Mice?”
“Indeed.”
“And who says that?”
“Well… them. You know. People.”
There was a pause, and Tiri pictured the Guildmaster shaking his head. “Sublime wisdom, Gardos, as always,” he said dryly.
“You’re welcome. What will you do now?”
“I still need to pin down his location. I’m so close!”
“The Core’s?”
“Well, yes. But I was referring to you-know-who.”
“Ah. Him. You do know that speaking his name doesn’t actually summon him? Well, probably.”
“I prefer not to risk it. Hard enough to hide my true nature without my thrice-damned patron popping up unexpectedly.”
Patron? Varnell is a warlock?!
“So the Core is headed north,” the second voice mused. “Does it know something we don’t?”
“I can only assume.”
“How rude of it.”
“Yes. But more alarming is that it’s heading in the direction I suspect he may be lairing.”
“Oh. Oh dear.”
“Yes.”
“You think he’s calling the Core? Do they have a prior connection?”
“Unsure,” replied Varnell. “I’ll need to contact Grimrock again to see what he knows. In the meantime, continue to observe the human. I’ll pass this new information to my agent in the field. For that, at least, the scrying mirror still serves.”
“That whole ‘Guild bond’ is truly a pesky thing, isn’t it, sire?”
“Indeed. It’s fortunate you can still track the human without it. Whatever magic the Core invoked made it impossible for Limpit to follow.”
Limpit?
She’d never heard that name before, nor those of ‘Grimrock’ or this ‘Gardos’ with whom Varnell was speaking. In fact, the entire conversation was making her mind whirl.
The good thing was that it sounded as though Coll had successfully conveyed Tiri’s warning to the gnome Core, who had since fled in the direction she’d suggested.
The slightly less-good thing was that it also seemed she’d unintentionally sent it straight into danger. Somewhere to the north there apparently dwelt a being—this “patron” of Varnell’s—whom even the Guildmaster was afraid of.
But the north is a big area. Surely the chances of them encountering one another are minimal…
She heard dwindling footsteps, and braved another peek around the bookshelf in time to see the Guildmaster striding toward the stairs, the bottom of his robes sweeping the book-strewn floor with a soft rustling sound.
Tiri’s eyes widened at the sight of the creature scurrying in his wake. It was small and insect-like; its hide was an odd combination of scales and fur, and its sinuous body was segmented and adorned with several pairs of jointed legs. It looked arthropodic but also vaguely saurian—a little like the giant millipede-axolotl hybrid they’d seen down in the tunnels of the gnome Core, though this one more resembled a furry blue-gray centipede.
Varnell paused at the foot of the stairs to allow the creature to catch up. It snaked up his robes, hundreds of spiky little legs working in tandem, and settled atop his shoulders.
The Guildmaster murmured something to the creature, which Tiri assumed to be his familiar. Limpit, perhaps? It clacked its mandibles in response. Then the pair of them ascended the stairs and out of sight.
Somewhere above, a door thudded closed, and a key turned in a lock with heavy finality.
The excitement she’d felt at the sight of a brand-new species was immediately replaced by unease. Not only had Varnell locked her in—he’d locked her in with whomever he’d just been conversing with.
But why? Is this ‘Gardos’ a prisoner?
If that were the case, perhaps she could convince him to help her.
But when the minutes ticked by without even the slightest sound, she frowned. Still, she waited a few more minutes to be sure she was alone. Then she crept forward into the open square.
There was nobody there.
Where she guessed Varnell to have been standing was a plinth. Looking around again to make sure she was alone, Tiri moved closer.
Atop the plinth was a statue; a man’s head, cast in bronze. Unlike the busts that adorned the entrance halls of both the Academy and the Guild, this one did not look like a former member of the adventuring faculty. A pair of twisted horns spiraled up from its temples;
