Ho there, son!
They’ve begun building the statue of me. They’ve got it under a sheet in the middle of the plaza, but they’ve let me see the progress. It’s finely made, although I do find it a tad embarrassing.
Enjoy the Library of Artak! You know I’m not much of a reader, but I hope your orc friend finds it riveting. I’ve heard its halls are a wonder to behold.
How was Blight’s Respite? I hope you didn’t spend too much time there. There isn’t much to enjoy in Fairdell anyway, aside from the oceanside city of Sunsbirth, but I think it’s a bit out of your way.
Be safe! You’re nearly there! Hope you’re home before the Harvest Festival!
-Sir Dashing
Hey dad,
Blight’s Respite was wild. I used my magic to stop an assassination and the governor gave me some mage robes as a reward. I can’t wait to show it to you.
The Library of Artak has been taken over by bandits. But we’re going to try to chase them out and return it to the Wordkeepers. I’ll let you know how it goes.
The next city is Skyhole, then we’ll reach the Temple of the Amulet! It’s crazy to think we’re almost there! Hopefully the journey back home is faster.
Love you, dad. I’ll write you when we reach Skyhole.
-DJ
As DJ handed the note to the druid, he thought about that last paragraph he wrote. They were almost to the Temple of the Amulet—the objective of their journey. The symbol that would prove he was truly worthy of his knightly position.
The knighting ceremony felt like a lifetime ago. How many months had it been? So much had happened between Beregond and Artak. Broken Lovers Pass, the House of Phillip, the Nether Regions, among so many other things.
The DJ back in Beregond never could have imagined the things he would experience in the coming months. The jeering boys and ignorant townspeople would definitely be surprised to hear them. But than again, maybe they wouldn’t care. They never paid him much heed anyway.
DJ imagined the Amulet of the Goddess in his hands. Proof that he was worthy of knightdom. He had imagined it many times before, but for some reason, the current image in his mind felt less… shiny than it did before. What did feel shiny were the people he had met and the places he had seen—the forests, Pebble and Brooks, Kathryn the Kind, shoot, even Sir Percival Buttons.
He noticed that as his experience grew, a hunger inside him shrunk. The realization hit DJ like a hammer, and it caused him to stop in his tracks.
Wait, he thought. Do I… not care about the Amulet anymore?
He pushed the thought aside and resumed his journey to a nearby inn. The sun was setting over the mountain, casting a wide shadow over Artak. The cool of night settled on the valley, and with it, the gentle chirping of crickets replaced the shuffling of busy villagers.
Everyone was waiting for him back in the room. They asked DJ if he got his letter written. He said yes. They asked him how Sir Dashing was. He said good. They asked him if everything was okay. He said everything was fine. So they went to work.
For the next hour, they devised a plan. DJ and the gang brought up new ideas and poked holes in them, leading to several moments of frustration and discovery, until finally, they landed on a plan that they felt confident about.
That plan would take time and money, so everyone in the party took jobs around town. Francis worked as a bouncer at one of the seedier taverns. DJ volunteered to shovel manure and feed chickens at a nearby farm. Riley assisted a local blacksmith. And Steve summoned his inner bard to play spoons in the middle of Artak’s main crossing. Amazingly, Steve made more money than anyone else.
With each passing day, they earned more than they needed to pay for the nightly room, food, and DJ’s necessary baths. And when they could afford it, they gathered supplies: rope, ingredients for potions, and cloth, among other things. Steve turned the room’s night stand into a makeshift alchemy table, combining the ingredients to make potions. The concoctions smelled downright putrid, so they had to open a window to let the room air out.
As they were having supper in the tavern one evening, they were surprised to be approached by a Wordkeeper. The dwarf bowed deeply, almost letting his beard touch the ground. Then he said, “The Grand Wordkeeper wishes to speak with you.”
Everyone quickly finished their meal and followed the Wordkeeper to the Temple.
The Grand Wordkeeper was sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard, back straight, hands on his lap. His gray beard was nearly long enough to touch his waist. His thick face and tiny eyes pressed into a smile, and he bowed as his visitors approached.
“Good evening, travelers,” he said. “I am Halguut, Grand Wordkeeper of Artak.”
Everyone introduced themselves. Then Francis said, “Halguut? Named after the Father of All Dwarves?”
“The very same,” Halguut said. “You’re well-learned, my orc friend. Peculiar for your kind. Come. Walk with me.”
He got up from his bench and the group began to stroll around the edge of the courtyard with him. All around them, other Wordkeepers tended to flowers and shrubs. As the party walked with Halguut, other Wordkeepers stared. DJ caught a few nervous glances and whispers. He wondered if there was a spell that could let him eavesdrop on them.
“We may be better talking inside the Temple, Grand Wordkeeper,” Francis suggested as they went. His voice lowered. “We’re going to liberate the Library. We’ve made a plan. But I’d be hesitant to share it out in the open, for fear of listening ears.”
Halguut waved his hand. “We cannot enter the Temple at this time. We aren’t ready to host you.” He smiled. “But I am eager to hear this plan of yours.”
Francis shook his head. “This isn’t the proper place.”
“Very well.” Halguut’s smile fell into a frown. Whatever grandfatherly warmth he had dissolved to coldness. “My brothers at the gate told you days ago about our feelings regarding the Library.”
“I know, Grand Wordkeeper,” Francis replied, “but we have—”
“If you have any shred of respect for the Library,” Halguut said, “you’ll drop this matter immediately. They’ve threatened to burn it all if we retaliate, Francis the Orc. Are you willing to destroy that sacred place of learning from your own recklessness and indignation?”
Francis was taken aback by Halguut’s sharpness. He cleared his throat. “The plan will work. There is no cause for alarm. The Library will be returned to you.”
“Tell me this plan, then, that you’re so certain about.”
Francis looked all around. “Grand Wordkeeper, these words aren’t safe in the open. You’ll simply have to trust us. But I assure you, the Library will be back in your hands in—”
“And I assure that you are making a terrible mistake,” Halguut said. He stopped and shook his head. “My foolish friends, I admire your fervor toward the Library, but the risk far outweighs the reward. Let the Nightwolves have their place, no matter how unpleasant it might be.”
Francis’s eyebrows bent and his hands flexed. “How can you say that? After taking an oath to protect it until your dying breath?”
“Protecting it is what I’m trying to do now!” Halguut nearly shouted. He let out a heaving breath to relax himself. “You’ve convinced me that you’re too dangerous to keep here. Leave the village by sunrise. I cannot risk the Library’s wellbeing to a pack of foolhardy adventurers.” A pause and a scowl. “I trust that you can see yourself off the premises.”
Francis’s jaw dangled, then he clamped it, nodded, and squared his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Grand Wordkeeper.” He bowed. “Good night to you.”
The orc turned and stomped away. His friends followed. DJ looked over his shoulders to see more Wordkeepers whispering to each other and retreating inside the Temple. When they left the courtyard, Riley was the first to speak.
“Sheesh, who pissed in grandpa’s oats?” she said. “He knows we’re just trying to help.”
“He does,” Francis growled. “But he’s shortsighted. He doesn’t want to see the Library destroyed. I understand, but keeping a sacred place like that sealed for profit is… blasphemous.”
“So,” DJ said timidly, “Did you still want to carry out the plan?”
Francis gave him a look. “Do you?”
Everyone gave their affirmative.
DJ said, “Halguut wants us gone by tomorrow morning, though. So we would have to do it tonight. Do you think we’re ready?”
“I’m ready,” Riley said.
“As am I,” Francis replied.
Steve nodded vigorously.
“Steve, are the potions done curing?” DJ asked.
The friar nodded again, twice as fast.
“Then it looks like we have no reason to wait,” DJ said. “Steve, say a prayer for us.”
Silently, Steve swished his hands and bowed his head. They reached the inn and climbed the stairs to their room. When they entered, they acted quickly. DJ threw on his mage robes. Everyone else packed light, leaving behind anything that could make noise. Daggers instead of swords. No packs. Everything would be left in the room and locked up.
There were two potions curing on the nightstand: a Magic Expansion Potion, and a Sleep Potion. Steve and DJ were careful to buy ingredients from the apothecary separately as to not arouse suspicion, and they hoped that the smell wasn’t pungent enough to waft into the other rooms.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
DJ took a sip from the Magic Expansion Potion and passed the rest to Steve. The dark green liquid tasted like pulpy, spoiled tomatoes that made him wince, but between his mage robes and the potion, he felt his magical abilities extended even further. Steve finished off the potion, smacked his lips, and shook his head disgustedly.
Next, DJ held the Sleep Potion—a midnight blue liquid that none of them would taste—and separated it into four small bottles. He handed a bottle to each person. Then everyone made sure they were equipped with several lengths of rope and short measures of cloth.
They looked like a group of bandits ready to commit a burglary, which wasn’t far from the truth.
DJ huffed. “Everyone ready?”
Everyone nodded.
“Here we go, then,” DJ said. “Riley with me. Francis with Steve. Invisi-pallyum.”
Both DJ and Steve cast Evercloak over their respective partners. The team faded into invisibility. DJ felt a little dizzy, but not sick. With the Magic Expansion Potion, the Evercloak spells should last much longer than usual.
The crew filed out of the room and DJ lingered behind to lock the door. He had to feel out the lock and the key to make sure it fit—working with his hands was much harder when he couldn’t see them. But DJ locked the door and crept down the hallway with the others.
He bumped into Riley.
“Hey!” she whispered.
“Sorry,” he returned.
The quiet shuffle of their feet traveled through the inn and across the village. In the moonlight, DJ thought he could see their barely-visible bootprints in the dirt. They moved as switftly as silence would allow. And before long, they were at the Library doors.
Before them, the guards shifted as they looked upon the village. DJ swallowed as he felt their gaze go through him. With his hand, he reached out to the side to feel for one of his friends. Riley found him first. She squeezed his shoulder, and he squeezed hers back. That was the first signal. DJ pulled out the Sleep Potion, uncorked the bottle, and soaked the rag with it.
The guards were just a few steps away. DJ tried to calm his breathing. But he and his friends were operating so close to them, any little sound could alert them. It made his heart thump heavily. He tried not to picture the Library in flames.
“Do you hear something?” one of the guards said.
DJ froze.
“No,” another guard replied. “You’ve had the jitters ever since your girlfriend left you, Reggie.”
“Yeah buddy, are you doing okay?” a third guard said. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Reggie said, but a tremble of hurt passed through his lip. “She was a nag anyway, you know, she would—” Reggie gasped, then cut himself off with his own sobs.
Under the cover of Reggie’s blubbering, DJ put away the empty bottle and readied the rag.
One of the guards patted Reggie’s back. “Hey buddy, just let it out. It’s okay to feel sad. You’re going through a lot.”
“Yeah pal,” another guard said. “I’d cry too if I were you. It doesn’t make you less of a man.”
Reggie kept blubbering, trying to form words. DJ almost felt bad for breaking this beautiful moment.
Almost.
DJ felt Riley squeeze his shoulder—the second signal. He held his breath. Everyone lunged forward and jammed their potion-soggy rags into the guard’s mouths. The guards panicked and struggled against the invisible forces, but as soon as the wet rags touched their tongues, the Sleep Potion took effect. Eyes rolled back. Bodies went slack. The guards collapsed into a puddle, breathing peacefully.
Everyone struggled to bind and gag the guards with invisible hands, rope and cloth, but they managed. Francis found the gate key on one of them.
Riley whispered near DJ. “Do you think Reggie deserved it? Or was his ex just the worst?”
“I don’t think that matters right now, Riley.”
“Alright everyone,” Francis said. “We act quickly. Free the books!”
“Free the books!” Everyone whisper-yelled. Steve covered his own mouth to keep himself quiet.
The gate key levitated in Francis’s invisible hand. It unlocked the doors, then the four of them pushed the stone slabs open. What they found inside filled DJ with wonder and awe.
A tall tunnel that stretched for a thousand paces, breaking into rooms and hallways. Vaulted ceilings fifty feet high. Along that ceiling, chandeliers hung made of perfectly cut gems. Great statues were carved from the wall as if they leaped out from the stone—bears, lions, wolves, even dragons. And, of course, rows upon rows of books, complete with rolling ladders reaching to the ceiling.
Now DJ understood why Francis was so eager to visit this place. But there was no time for gawking. Before them was a dozen Nightwolves, dressed in mismatched armor, carrying weapons of all kinds. DJ felt their penetrating gazes. He swallowed and hoped that his gulp wasn’t too loud.
The next phase of the plan had to work, but it all rested on the shoulders of Friar Steve.
“Nightwolves!” Steve put a rasp in his voice and shouted to fill the heavens. His voice blasted like a foghorn. “I am the ghost of the First Wordkeeper, Artak! You have desecrated this sacred place, so I have come to exact my revenge!”
The faces of the Nightwolves turned worried. They gathered in knots, trembling and pointing their weapons. As Steve shouted ghostly threats, DJ and the others crept forward, still invisible, potion rags poised.
“What is this trickery?” a Nightwolf cried with a shaky voice. “Show yourself! You are no spirit!”
“Am I not?” Steve’s voice erupted again. “Stand and tremble, then! But one by one, you shall feel my cold, ghostly hand!”
DJ was upon a Nightwolf. He shoved his invisible rag into their mouth. They tensed, horror-stricken, resisted… and fell asleep. The Nightwolf’s chest rose and fell with calm breaths, but to everyone watching, the ghost of Artak had made good on its threat.
A shriek flew from the lips of a Nightwolf. Frightened whispers bounced off the bookcases. Swords and spears quivered in hands white-knuckled with terror.
Riley dropped another Nightwolf. More screams from the others.
“Flee!” Steve’s voice filled the Library. “Flee for your lives, bitter creatures! Poor, unlearned wretches! Claim your lives before I do! Fleeee!”
That did it. The remaining Nightwolves threw down their weapons and made a mad sprint for the entrance. DJ had to throw himself against a bookcase to avoid getting trampled. Their terrified footsteps faded into the night, and the Library was left quiet, except for the gentle snores from those that were knocked asleep.
However, one Nightwolf remained standing. She stayed back, arms folded, scowling and stony-eyed. She had a matching set of iron armor, complete with bracers and scaled boots. Any trace of hair was shaved clean from her head—perfectly bald. And her left eyebrow was pierced.
No one said anything. Not even Steve carried on his charade.
“Very clever,” the last Nightwolf said. “They told me I should be expecting someone. Unfortunately for you, I’m not as easily fooled as my men.” She sighed defeatedly. “Follow me. We’ll talk in my study. But close the doors.”
If anyone from the party could see each other, they would have given each other confused stares. They felt their way to each other until they whispered in a huddle.
“Do we follow her?” Riley said.
“Could be a trap,” Francis said.
“What does she mean she was expecting us?” DJ asked.
“Very curious indeed!” Steve yelled.
Everyone shushed him.
“She appears to be the last one,” Francis said. “Between the four of us, I believe we can handle her if she tries anything. Unless more Nightwolves are waiting for us in her study.”
As if hearing their whispers, she called from the distance. “It’s only me! I just want to talk. No attempt will be made to harm you. I swear that on the grave of my husband.”
After brief deliberation, everyone decided to follow. As they marched down the hallway, they began to materialize. Their invisibility wore off just as they found the door where the Nightwolf turned in.
Inside was a den with a long table, plenty of chairs for reading, and more bookcases. The woman sat comfortably in an armchair with her legs crossed, pouring herself a glass of wine. She looked up as the party entered, but didn’t move from her chair.
“Evercloak spell?” she asked. “Clever. You two must be powerful mages. I’m Beatrice, leader of the Nightwolves. Have a seat.”
Everyone sat across from her. Francis stared daggers, clutching his fists on his lap. Beatrice took a long drink of her wine and pointed at him.
“The orc,” she said. “You’re the one that wanted to come here so badly, right?”
“What’s it to you?” Francis spoke through his teeth.
“Well, you aren’t going to like what I have to say.” Beatrice set down her wine and rubbed her face. “I shouldn’t even be telling you this. I made a pact. But that Halguut has been so insufferable lately that I’m about to take my crew and get out of here. This isn’t worth the trouble.”
Francis went from steely resentment to troubled confusion.
“The truth is,” she said, “we didn’t take over the Library. We were hired. We’re mercenaries, not bandits. Halguut and the Wordkeepers saw a chance to capitalize on the Library, so they contacted us. We’ve been holed up in here ever since, charging people entry and splitting the earnings with the Wordkeepers fifty-fifty.”
“That’s a lie,” Francis said firmly. “Wordkeepers take oaths to protect the Library of Artak. They would never hold it for profit.”
“Yet, here we are.” Beatrice took another sip of wine. “You know, it seemed like a prime contract at first. But as it turns out, every so often some idealistic do-gooder comes around and tries to liberate this place. One of my guys got stabbed last month.” She rolled her eyes and took another sip. “They didn’t let you in their Temple, did they? The Wordkeepers.”
“Nope!” Steve replied.
“That’s because they’ve got things they don’t want you to see,” Beatrice raised her pierced eyebrow. “Saunas, hot tubs, all sorts of toys. Would raise suspicion, given they’re only supposed to subsist on donations and the Goddess’s grace.” That made her laugh a little. She focused her gaze on Francis. “Look orc, I’m sorry about all this. But the thing about oaths… they get broken. Those white-robed dwarves with sticks up their asses are no more immune to riches than the next sellsword. All it took was one generation who were willing to sell their oaths, and I got stuck cleaning up their messes.”
She knocked back the last bit of wine. DJ shot a brief glance toward Francis. The orc’s gaze had dropped to the space between his boots. A lifetime of looking up to the Wordkeepers and yearning for the Library, all tarnished by the confession of an exasperated mercenary.
“I’m going to collect my crew.” Beatrice stood from her chair. “I’m not even upset, your plan was clever. As long as none of them are dead, I won’t hunt you down. In the meantime,” she gestured to the whole room, “take a look around. You’ve earned it. Leave whenever you’re ready.”
She gave a little bow and left. As her footsteps faded, everyone turned to Francis. The orc was still curled forward, eyes to the ground, soaking in the devastating truth. He didn’t speak or move.
“Francis,” DJ said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
Riley rubbed Francis’s arm. “Come on, let’s go look. This place is amazing! And we have it all to ourselves!” She squeezed his big green hand. “Let’s make the most of it.”
Francis’s forced himself to smile, but his eyes had no glimmer. “Yes, very well. Let’s go.”
There was no way to see the whole library, but they did their best. DJ found scrolls documenting magic techniques that he tried to understand, but the writing was so old he could barely make it out. Were they written in another language? It was hard to tell.
Steve gawked at all the statues and paintings, wandering with his head swiveling about. But Riley stayed firmly by Francis’s side. Francis found a considerable section of orcish literature, but it was very small compared to the entirety of the Library. Unfortunately, most of it was biographies of clan leaders and warriors. Not many novels or poetry collections. Another disappointment.
When they left, the Nightwolves were trickling back in. The mercenaries scowled and grumbled at the party as they left, but none of them attacked. Probably per Beatrice’s orders.
The party noticed Reggie as they walked by, awoken from the Sleep Potion. Riley said, “Sorry about your girlfriend.” That made Reggie burst into tears again, and all his friends gathered to console him.
The dirt munched under their feet as they traveled back to the inn. When they passed the Wordkeeper’s Temple on the left, Francis stopped. The courtyard was closed, gates locked for the night. He snorted, spat a thick loogie through the gates, and grunted. He didn’t speak for the rest of the night.
The party offered Francis the room’s one bed, but he didn’t take it. So DJ, Riley, and Steve tried to make space for each other. As DJ fell asleep, Francis was laying on his side, reading from Withered Leafs.