“In situ, the radius of encircling light elves is said to span almost a league. How could their destruction have possibly been instigated by a lesser force that was clearly so vastly outnumbered?”
Hmm.
All right. That was interesting.
Not only were historical instances of night elves venturing to the surface rare enough for a three-toed sloth to count on one hand and still have fingers to spare, the Bone Gorge site was inaccessible and had been for centuries, thanks to its unfortunate location at the heart of what was now the Sythvan Empire. That this writer, deranged as he seemed, knew enough of the site to have either visited it himself or been in contact with someone who had was astounding to say the least.
Why in the stacks is Guildmaster Varnell keeping this hidden down here?
Even as she asked herself the question, her tired mind belatedly made the connection between the “Lord of Light” mentioned in Lila’s journal and this light elf deity’s moniker. That was not something she’d expected to find in an old book by a rambling (and apparently delusional) academic.
But the elven gods died centuries ago—well before Varnell’s time. It can’t be the same Lord of Light. Though this account does refer to his “disappearance” rather than “death”…
Intrigued, she read on.
“To understand the scope of this quandary, we must first consider the writings of Qarinas. In his Essays on the Nature of Existence—"
“Gah! Stay on topic, old man,” muttered Tiri. She rolled her eyes and scanned the rest of the page, but Ar’bek Kitt had apparently forgotten all about the subject of the Bone Gorge’s secrets in favor of a dull philosophical digression.
A few pages later, she too had forgotten her curiosity about long-dead gods and was once more simply searching for something—anything—relevant to the book’s actual title.
What is it with these historians? Bearded old men—and bearded old women, probably—whose inflated sense of importance and love of their own voices had somehow translated to the written word, all the better to torment poor innocent academics centuries later.
The ponderous texts were not the only thing making her irritated. The fact that this treasure trove of knowledge had been sitting unused for so long—directly beneath the feet of those best equipped to utilize it, no less—had been filling her with a growing sense of outrage in the hours since she’d first discovered the place. Its existence was a wonder, and its concealment was a travesty—no, a crime. Knowledge was power; a thing to be shared with the guild, not hoarded, though this library’s jealous guardian clearly felt differently.
As though being master of the northern Adventurers’ Guild wasn’t enough for him.
She flipped to the next page with more force than intended, and the ancient paper announced its objection with a soft tearing sound. She froze in horror.
What am I doing?
Talking to herself? Disrespecting the words of ancient scholars? And now vandalizing priceless Guild property out of nothing more than her own impatience? She shook her head. This behavior wasn’t like her at all.
I blame Benin and Coll.
The pair were definitely a bad influence. Though she could hardly blame them for her current situation given that they were several leagues distant right now. Or at least they should be.
I hope they’re all right.
She felt a pang of guilt. She’d almost forgotten about them and the gnomes in the midst of her investigations into Varnell.
She was still reeling from her earlier revelation. The Guildmaster is a warlock.
Unlike mages, warlocks had no innate spellcasting talent. Tiri knew little about it except that warlocks had to make a pact with a powerful magical being in order to gain their abilities, which were usually granted over time in exchange for fulfilling their patron’s wishes. It sounded to Tiri’s pragmatic mind a lot like the relationship between a cleric and their god, except warlocks had a much more unsavory reputation.
Making pacts with demons will do that.
Shaking her head to clear it, she apologetically stroked the page she’d just torn. Closing the book, she returned it carefully to its shelf and selected another. A little puff of dust accompanied this one as it slid free of its fellows, making Tiri sneeze. Though she knew she was alone down here, she still caught herself glancing around to make sure no one had heard.
Something about this place kept her on edge. Though she’d been coming down here for weeks now, she still felt as though something were watching her—which was, of course, ridiculous. The Librarinth was empty.
Then someone cleared their throat, breaking the dusty silence.
The blood in Tiri’s veins turned to ice.
Someone’s here. What should I do? What should I do?!
She forced herself to keep calm and consider what her friends would do in her situation.
Coll would give away his presence with a nervous fart. Then he’d probably smash the stranger’s head in with his hammer. Benin would set fire to the entire place and run away. Neither was a strategy she particularly wished to emulate.
Lila, though…
“Assess your surroundings,” she pictured the ranger saying. “The only thing more dangerous than inaction is acting blind.”
A quick glance over at Varnell’s study area confirmed that the wall-mounted chemspheres remained unlit, the door at the top of the stair still closed. If she did indeed have company, it hadn’t triggered the chemspheres, which meant it was either microscopically small, or incorporeal.
A ghost?
She silently scoffed at the thought, even as her academic’s mind began formulating questions to ask this hypothetical spirit.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded small, as though the dust and paper around her swallowed all sound.
“Hello?” she said again, louder this time. Her voice rang out across the seemingly empty expanse of the old library.
She waited, feeling more and more foolish with each moment that passed.
Did I imagine it? Her logical mind railed against the idea. I couldn’t have imagined it. But—
“Hello!”
Tiri started violently and spun around. It had sounded as though the voice were right behind her, but there
