Lesser Evils

CHAPTER TEN

THE CAVERNS OF XAMMUX

15 FLAMERULE, THE YEAR OF THE DARK CIRCLE (1478 DR)

Dahl laid the last of his components out, trying hard to ignore his audience and the stink of burnt hydra. Two rituals atop each other-a spell to keep the cold out and a spell to make travel through water possible. If he slipped, either one could be weakened and someone could well die.

You wanted responsibility, he reminded himself as he poured sea salt in a circle large enough to hold all eight of them, around several neat piles of powdered metals. “Step inside,” he said, pulling the leaves from a dried stalk of herbs.

“You’re too far from the water,” Tam said. “We’ll suffocate.” Dahl shook his head. “Not necessary. This is a refined version.” He set a vial of fresh water beside the pouches laid out at his feet, and then a very small vial that held a drop of white dragon’s blood. “The older rituals mimicked the original spells-the ones with the gills and such-but this one’s one of Procampur’s experiments. Shouldn’t affect anyone’s ability to breathe normally. Well, I mean,” he added, “apart from being able to breathe water.”

When the leaves had been sprinkled in a cross through the circle and he had everyone facing outward, Dahl took his place in the center. He shut his eyes and held the vial with the dragon’s blood out. Oghma let this work, he thought. He dropped the vial. An icy gale blew up from their feet with a terrible roar that reverberated off the cavern walls. As the wind threw the leaves into the air, the magic that streamed upward found its way into Dahl’s nose and mouth-into each of their noses and mouths, he hoped-and flooded his lungs with a cool, green taste. The wind turned warm, then hot, then faded away and left all eight standing there, looking tumbled and confused.

All of them were staring at Dahl.

He dusted the salt off his jerkin, hefted his haversack onto one shoulder, and trying not to look nervous, stepped into the water.

It was warm as a midsummer mill pond, and he sighed in relief. “Come along,” he said. “It will wear off eventually.”

Dahl had breathed water before, but that didn’t make the experience any less unnerving. It might have felt like breathing strangely cool, strangely humid air, but the pressure of the lake around him was still there, the currents of the water still pulling at him like the wind never could.

It did not surprise him to see Farideh holding her breath-the instinct was hard to fight-but it annoyed him. He’d mentioned that, hadn’t he? He pulled her aside and took several exaggerated breaths. She gave him such a plaintive look as she continued to hold her mouth shut. Dahl rolled his eyes-no, it didn’t feel pleasant, but it wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

Breathe, he mouthed.

She fought it until her air ran out, and she tried to swim for the surface. Dahl caught her arm and held her until she had to take several great, frantic gulps. He mimed again-keep breathing-and headed after the others, his thoughts unkind but wholly deserved.

The ancient door had been pried open, the remainders of the seal knocked away. Mira swept the lake bed, picking out the broken pieces and adding them to a sack. The current flowed into the doorway, pulling Dahl’s feet toward it. Mira considered her collection and pulled the drawstring shut. She pulled a length of thin rope from her sack and tied one end to her belt, then passed the coil to Tam before heading into the tunnel. It left little time for each of them to tie in before following Mira into the dark, and no room at all for discussion.

She was, Dahl thought, as he took the coil from Maspero and knotted the rope to his sword belt, a much more palatable leader than Tam. He passed the end of the rope to Farideh and headed in after her.

And Mira’s enthusiasm made the trek seem less like some ridiculous make-work quest handed down by the Fisher. This mattered, to Mira at least, and if they did not find this wizard’s secret hoard of magic items and scrolls, it would not be for lack of effort from Dahl.

The current picked up. Suddenly it felt like trying not to tumble down a steep hill. The water sucked at his legs and arms and swirled around his head, tossing his hair into his eyes. He tried to move with the current, only to find himself caught. He glanced back to see Farideh edging along with one hand on either side of the tunnel, her brow furrowed in concentration. The current sped up as they passed over a rise, and Dahl stumbled, catching himself on the bare rock, and he jerked against the rope at his back. From the corner of his eye, he could see her speaking, asking if he was all right, but he turned back to the path instead. He was fine, of course.

There was no hint of how much time had passed as far from the sun as they were, and Dahl began to worry. The spell would protect them from the water for only an hour-and there was no sign of any break in the ancient passageway. Only the same, close, endless walls. The same unbroken ceiling.

Another age passed-for all Dahl could be sure of they were traveling on accidental time. Did they know? Had he mentioned the time limit? He must have. But he couldn’t recall.

He pulled on the rope that bound him to Maspero, but the sells-word didn’t turn. Dahl tried to haul himself through the water, but Farideh weighed him back like a stubborn anchor.

Gods damn it. He should have been early into the watercourse, close enough to be able to make them turn back if need be. If only he hadn’t delayed to make sure everyone took to the water properly. He dug his heels in to halt the procession-

The rope jerked at his waist once, and suddenly there was no tension from the front. In the darkness ahead he could not see Maspero, but the end of the rope danced in the current like a lure outlined in the glow of the sunrod.

He hardly had time to curse before the water suddenly surged over another rise pulling his feet out from under him and tossing him down a sluice so steep it broke his grip on the rocky walls and pulled him through the tunnel. Behind him the rope went taut and pulled Farideh along with him. The current snatched the sunrod from his hand.

All instinct, his limbs went wide, clutching at the faces of the watercourse, digging into the stone-but it was all smooth. Then there was a break in the surface of the ceiling, a gap of air where the stone had not worn as smooth and where light pierced the darkness. And a rope dangled down into the water.

There was no room to fail. He caught the rope and as the current tried to pull him away he planted both feet against the wall’s edge, pulling himself up and into the air pocket. The rope still tied to his waist went taut as Farideh’s weight pulled his feet from the wall, and threatened to break his grip on the rope.

Wrapping the rope once around his left arm, he dared let go and plunged his right hand back into the water. Farideh caught hold of his arm and Dahl shoved her up and out of the rushing water, to waiting hands, before hauling himself up and out of the hole beside the tiefling.

“Gods!” her sister cried, at Farideh but also at Dahl. “Are you all right? What happened? Maspero climbed out and you were just gone.”

“Fine,” Dahl said, avoiding the string of questions.

Farideh was still crouched on the ground, her arms shaking. “Thank you,” she panted. “Gods, gods. Thank you.”

Dahl looked back at the shaft and the swirling water below. “Yes.

Well.”

As odd as the water-breathing felt, coming back into the air was stranger-at once he was heavier and the air in his lungs so much thinner. And while the water had still rushed over his skin with definite wetness, the spell had kept everything-clothes, gear, leathers-bone-dry.

Almost everything. Beside him, Farideh squeezed a river from her hair, and Dahl bit back a curse-at least if the ritual had weaknesses, they were minor, but she’d surely point them out, wouldn’t she?

“We have to do that again to leave,” she said, “don’t we?”

“If you’d stop fighting every step and breath, it’s really not that bad,” Dahl said. He straightened. “Some climbing gear for the last bit … Who in all the shattered planes bought that godsforsaken … rope.” He trailed off, his attention fully taken by the cave around them.

The pale stone of the walls glittered wetly in the light of the sunrods, but the floor had been ground flat and smooth. A line of white marked the tool-chipped floor where the river beneath had once flooded nearly up to the threshold of the enormous doors that dominated the space.

Time had ravaged the first set of doors, the ones which marked the caverns’ entrance. Water had hidden the second set, and damaged its seal. The third set of doors looked as if they would have brooked no such interference from the rest of the world. Taller than Dahl by twice over his own height, the massive entry depicted a figure of a man in chased metalwork, an elderly human with a staff and a long beard. His eyes were formed by deep green chunks of jade, and a fat garnet had been set in the pendant he wore around his neck. Draconic runes covered the field of the door, like the delicate claw marks of some erudite and frantic beast.

“This is it,” Mira said. “This is it!” She pointed to the runes. “This says ‘Tarchamus.’ And this one ‘Netheril.’ ” She glanced back at them. “We should take a moment. Get the rituals working, study the structure and check for any lingering spells. It’s best to be sure-”

Maspero strode past her and slammed his shoulder into the door. The stone edifice shuddered and creaked open wide enough for Maspero to shove both hands into the gap and pry the door wide.

“Looks fine,” he said, and he passed through the entry.

Mira went very still, watching Maspero vanish into the darkness beyond. She did not look back at the lot of them. Tam started toward her, frowning, but without so much as a glance, she squared her shoulders and passed into the cave after Maspero. Pernika followed.

Leaving Tam to pointedly not look at Dahl, Brin, or the twins.

“They are stranger,” Havilar whispered, as they eased around the door after Tam, “than you and Mehen.”

“Hush,” Farideh said. “Everyone has arguments.”

The doors covered an unfinished cave that angled down into the earth with no trace of the stream that ran so near to it. Tam and Mira and the mercenaries were nowhere to be seen, but their footfalls echoed up the path.

“What do you think it will look like?” Havilar whispered. “A pile of coins and swords?”

“He was a wizard,” Farideh said. “I suspect it’s more magical things.”

“Arcanist,” Dahl corrected.

“What’s the good of that?” Havilar asked. “I thought the Spellplague broke all the magic from the olden days.”

“It’s … mendable,” Dahl said, even though he was certain she wasn’t speaking to him. “Some of it. A spell becomes a ritual, a magic item can be tapped for residuum. Sometimes they can be adjusted to fit the Weave as it stands. It just takes the right mind.”

“And that’s you?” Brin said. Dahl glowered at him.

“I didn’t say that.”

Havilar snorted. “If we’ve come all this way for a bunch of junk …” She trailed away as they came out of the tunnel, to the overlook where Maspero, Mira, and Tam stood, gazing out at the cavern that held the treasures of Tarchamus.

It could have held a dragon. It could have held ten dragons or even twenty. The dome of the cave sparkled with hundreds of magical lights that lit even the farthest corners. The floor-where it could be seen-had been laid with slabs of limestone, polished smooth, and carved columns held the space between.

And rolling away in wave after wave was a sea of bookshelves.

Tam followed his daughter down the stairway, unable to keep his gaze still. A library. Not a treasure hoard. Not a stash of weapons capable of unmaking the world. Not an open portal to another plane. Scrolls and books.

Scrolls and books that held gods knew what, he reminded himself. A weapon of ancient Netheril could mean the destruction of an entire kingdom. But any one of these books or scrolls could contain the information to craft a thousand weapons, a thousand spells-enough so that no one would have to decide which one kingdom to aim at.

“It has to date from before the fall,” Dahl said, amazed. “It’s … I’ve never seen so many books. This has to be all the knowledge of ancient Netheril.”

Tam regarded him solemnly. “Even what Shade has lost track of.”

“How long do you think we have before we’re tracked here?”

Ahead Mira moved down the path with a breathless wonder, touching the stonework of the shelves, the spines of the codices, her eyes on everything they could spy. The same decoration as the door was repeated in miniature on the ends of the shelves. “Not long enough,” Tam answered. “Hours. Days. We won’t be able to search it all before we’re found.”

“Pity it wasn’t a weapon,” Dahl said.

Tam agreed. A lost weapon could be assessed, dismantled, or dragged away. There was no hope of assessing every piece of writing here, let alone taking it away. What secrets and wonders of that lost world might be waiting in those shadowy shelves?

“I found something!” Havilar called from off to his right, off the path and into the stacks.

Farideh shouted a curse. Tam turned to grab her arm with his unwounded hand as she sprinted toward her sister’s voice, heedless of the possible danger. He missed.

“Damn it. Everyone stay here,” he ordered and ran after the twins, reaching for the holy symbol he wore pinned to his shoulder, his wounded arm cradled to his chest. He hadn’t said to stay to the path-he shouldn’t have had to say it.

At the end of the aisle in a small room carved into the wall of the cave stood a lectern shaped like a stooped gnome, holding up an open book. Havilar picked up the tome. “The runes are all shifty just like-” She broke off, her eyes squeezed shut as if she were flinching from the text.

“Havilar!” Farideh cried. “Karshoj! Put it down!”

Havilar started coughing, and she dropped the book to the ground, just as her sister reached her and grabbed hold of her shoulders. “Havi? Havi?”

Havilar swatted her away. “It’s just dusty.”

Tuor aripotvych, a voice spoke in Tam’s thoughts. Darastrix wux thric? Both twins froze and stared down at the book. Vivex axun?

“Ak-Akison,” Farideh said.

Tam took hold of his holy symbol, edging toward the lectern. “Fari,” he said quietly, “what’s it saying?”

She looked up at him puzzled. “It wants to be sure we’re not dragons.”

“What does?” Mira said from behind him. She stepped out of the shadows, watching the tome. “Blessed Watching Gods. Has anyone touched it?”

“You need to stay back,” Tam told her. “Everyone needs to stay back until we know-”

That isn’t necessary, a disembodied voice, aged and sharp, rang in Tam’s thoughts. I don’t bite. You must pardon my confusion. I heard the girl’s shouts and assumed … but of course Draconic isn’t the proper tongue.

Mira kneeled and gingerly touched the very edge of a page with gloved fingers. “I think I have something for you.” She pulled the atlas from her haversack, and the page from the atlas. The hum intensified.

Oh my, the voice said. Yes. It’s been … My goodness, it’s been longer than I’m sure of. It chuckled, sounding almost uncomfortable. It makes me sound a bit mad, doesn’t it? Would you mind? It belongs in the end.

Mira flipped to the last few pages, handling the rest with evident care. Where the ragged edge of the missing parchment showed itself, she laid the wildly shifting page in place. A sizzling green light etched its way up the tear, and when it faded the parchment was whole and the inks settled into neat lines of Draconic letters.

The voice sighed. I’d forgotten how I’d missed that. You have my thanks. They call me the Book-unimaginative, I know. They always lacked in that area. But you’ll find, I hope, that I’ve earned the moniker. I contain the knowledge of the ages, and what I do not contain, I can direct you to in the shelves.

“What is this place?” Tam asked.

You don’t know? I thought surely … This is the fabled library of Tarchamus the Unyielding. Here lie the secrets of the greatest arcanist of Netheril, for those worthy of them.

“Think your man’s got some competition for that title,” Maspero said.

The voice chuckled, and Tam had the impression of an older man, indulging the foolish insistence of youth. Many would claim to be such.

“Not so many now,” Tam said. “Old Netheril has fallen-”

Yes, yes. Many ages ago now, with only Shade returned from where it fled. And risen again, in the wake of the goddess’s death? The Book chuckled again. “Knowledge of the ages” is a trite saying, but not entirely untrue. Events so great as-the voice hesitated for the barest moment-the Spellplague, reach even down to this depth. And you are not the first to come to Tarchamus’s hoard.

“How many?” Mira asked. “What did they take?”

Nothing but knowledge. And in one case, the Book added, dryly, my page.

“What about the spellbooks?” Mira asked. “Where are they?”

Oh, it said, here and there. The library is arranged chronologically and by topic. If you know the specific spell, I might be able to find it.

“The one which creates the volcano.”

The Book was silent a moment. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.

This was too much-Tam brushed past Mira and scooped the book up in one hand to set it back on the pedestal. It was heavier than it looked, and in his weaker hand it felt as if it might snap his wrist off …

And then suddenly it felt lighter, and his throat itched fiercely with the dust. He cleared it and set the book back on the pedestal, flexing the remains of the cramp from his hand.

“Extraordinary,” Mira murmured.

Maspero snorted. “Plenty of dumb objects out there with a voice.”

She shook her head. “Not so many with a whole library memorized. Not so many that can claim to be aware of the world beyond.” She cast another glance at the Book, as if all she wanted was to sit and study it, then dropped her heavy pack and yanked the mouth open. “Everyone who can, cast your ritual, get your eyes used to Loross, and start taking notes. Our goal is Tarchamus’s spellbooks, or those of his contemporaries.” She took out a stack of slates and started handing them out. “But I want to know what you find and where you find it in the searching.”

“That will take ages,” Tam said. “Lifetimes. We can’t possibly make that much of a dent in it before the Netherese catch up. We ought to seal it properly and-”

“There is no sealing it properly,” she said, pressing a slate into his hands. “Not with Adolican Rhand and whatever might Shade has put behind him at our backs.” She wet her lips. “If he knows enough to have counted those pieces precious, he knows well enough who Tarchamus was.”

“We can’t be sure-”

“He knows,” Farideh said, and Tam was surprised to remember there were six others standing around, listening to him and Mira. The tiefling shifted. “He mentioned. Before. When he was … bragging. He said Tarchamus had blended planar magic with the Weave to destroy a rival.”

Tam’s heart sank. “Then you think he wants the same spells.”

“What else?” Mira asked. “Do you think Shade would put agents into play for old ledgers and collections of folktales? I would give lifetimes,” she said more quietly, “to study this place properly. To find the sorts of secrets an arcanist would hide away-secrets of the gods, the planes, his contemporaries, even the mundane records of Ancient Netheril. The location of the ruins of Tenish, I would give my left hand for. But you are absolutely right: we don’t have time for that now. So we scour the place for the spellbooks, and we don’t come back without reinforcements. Agreed?”

No, Tam thought. We should leave now. This moment. But everything she said made sense. If he refused-

Beg pardon, the Book interrupted, but did you say that there are Netherese after you?

Tam and Mira exchanged a glance. “I think you misheard,” Tam said.

Oh, don’t worry, the Book said. Tarchamus had no love left for Netheril-you’ll not find her secret allies here. There are wards protecting the library from magical intrusion to keep Netheril’s arcanists at bay. And, as you’ve seen, this place is difficult to discover, and more difficult to reach. Consider it a test. One you passed; one few others will. The Book chuckled to itself. And you have me, to give you the lay of the land-so to speak-and to point out the traps.

“Why should a library have traps?” Tam said. Mira frowned.

Tarchamus was very protective of his knowledge, as you can well imagine. Worry not-I know all of them, and most are merely illusions

meant to frighten and harry the weak-willed from this place. I’m sure none of you are such cowards.

“Surely,” Tam murmured. He took Mira by the sleeve and pulled her aside. “This doesn’t sit right. None of it.”

“It’s the lost library of a mad arcanist,” she said lightly. She looked out into the library beyond, a faint smile on her lips. “It shouldn’t sit right.”

“Mira.” He turned her away from the rows of bookshelves. “We are far, far from support and there are Netherese agents following us. We don’t have time to search. We need to seal this place and get out.”

She stepped back, out of easy reach. “I’m not one of your Harpers.”

“Perhaps not. But four of these people answer to me-”

“Do they?” she said. “It seemed before you weren’t all that keen on having subordinates. Don’t like people weighing you down?”

Tam bit his tongue-better not to start an argument with her when she was in a mood like this. “Let me get word to Everlund and Waterdeep then,” he said. “And we are out in three days-no more. There’s nothing here worth dying for.”

“Are you certain?” Mira said. “Perhaps Tarchamus preserved some half-remembered relic of Selune. Some secret weakness of Shar. We have no idea what is hidden in those books.” She handed him a stylus. “Not until we start looking.”

You are subjecting them all to danger, he thought. Indulging Mira too far could mean the deaths of all of them-surely she knew. Surely he wasn’t the one who had to stop things. He watched as Mira gathered the half of them with no eye for Loross, directing them to set up camp at the library’s center. She had every one of their attentions.

Beside him, Farideh stared out at the library, chewing her lower lip in a distracted fashion. As tempted as he was to tell her to ignore Mira and go rest, he bit his tongue. There was no amount of resting that would undo the fact that something terrible had very nearly happened on his watch. He wondered whether it would compound the matter to tell Mehen what had happened, or to leave it secret and let Farideh have her privacy.

“Rhand won’t find us,” Tam said.

“I hope not.” Farideh looked over at him. “Do you wonder,” she asked, “who was here before us? And what knowledge they took?” Her voice became softer, “Why none of you have heard of this place before now?”

The library stretched off into the distance, a labyrinth of shadows and lost knowledge, of secrets, good and evil.