“Hey, Ur-Namma. I need you to clarify something for me. Exactly how often did your sister use this reading room of hers?” Oak asked.

They were climbing up the endless staircases of the southern tower and he was feeling a sense of disbelief. Surely no one could enjoy reading enough to go through all this trouble?

“Occasionally, when she needed access to the texts held in the library’s collection,” Ur-Namma replied. “Why do you ask?”

“We have been fighting our way through this place for a good day and a half at this point. Now, the fighting has certainly slowed us down a lot, and you ain’t the fastest fellow in your current condition, but this is still an awfully large amount of stairs,” Oak said. “What I’m trying to ask is, did Empress Aoibheann really walk all this way to read some books?

“I mean, surely she had some lowly servants who could have fetched her the tomes she needed and brought them to the palace. I just can’t imagine a member of Elven royalty and the leader of an empire climbing up these stairs and sweating like a pig.”

Ur-Namma started cackling. The elf had to lean against the wall of the staircase to stay on his feet. “How…how long have you been pondering this question?” Ur-Namma asked, after he had gotten himself under control.

Oak felt the heat rising on his cheeks. “A fair bit, if you must know,” he said, and looked away to hide his own embarrassment. “What is so funny about this, anyway?”

“Empress Aoibheann did not climb up these stairs and sweat like a common farm animal. That would have been beneath her station. May I remind you that my sister was an archmage?” Ur-Namma asked, voice filled with pride. “You will find that the reading room has a very large balcony. When she wished to use the reading room, she flew up to the top.”

“Just like that?” Oak asked. He found the idea of such casual flying incredible.

“Yes. Just like that. When your age is measured in millennia, you have plenty of time to practice,” Ur-Namma said. “For a human spellsinger, the effort involved might seem pointless, but for an elf? A worthy pursuit.”

“Huh. You learn something new every day,” Oak said. “So. Did the people who had to clean this tower also know how to fly?”

“Of course not. Who would waste the time of accomplished mages with run-of-the-mill cleaning duties?” Ur-Namma asked. “No one with any regard for efficiency would ever even suggest such a thing.”

“Typical. Must have been a joy to be a cleaner here,” Oak said. “I bet the person responsible for dusting that reading room thought about jumping from that balcony once or twice.”

Ur-Namma shook his head in exasperation. “No, you misunderstand. A human or an elf did not clean this tower. My sister commissioned a golem for that.”

Oak stopped and turned to stare at Ur-Namma. Is this princeling serious right now? A golem? “Let me get this straight. Your sister had a big old person shaped chunk of bronze acting as a maid of some sort?”

Geezer had been watching their rear, but now that they had stopped, the hellhound sat down next to Ur-Namma, who absentmindedly massaged the dog's head with his long fingers. Oak thought it might have looked cute, if Ur-Namma did not have a way of making even petting a dog look like he was planning world domination. Being a walking skeleton did not help matters.

“It was not just a maid. Golems are expensive and complex works of metallurgy and magic,” Ur-Namma said. “It was fully capable of dealing with all tasks one would require from a war-golem in addition to its understanding of cleaning related duties.”

“Great. Absolutely fantastic.” Oak said. “You think it might have been reasonable to tell me there might be a war-golem on the prowl in your sister’s quarters before we reach them?”

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

These people were entirely too rich. Who forgets a war-golem?

Now it was Ur-Namma’s turn to look embarrassed. “When you say it like that, it does seem like a vital piece of information. In my defense, it has been over three hundred years since I have been here.”

Oak rested his head against the cool stone wall and sighed. He was going to have to fight that golem if they wanted the contents of Aoibheann’s vault. He was sure of that.

Damn it all.

“Pray tell, what am I going to do against a war-golem with a sword?” Oak asked. “If I beat it with this falchion until the blade snaps, I might cut a slight groove into the bloody thing.”

Ur-Namma thought about the question for a moment before he answered. “You are correct. A sword is not an ideal weapon when one is facing an opponent made of bronze. We need something hard that can really make a dent into the golem, if the need arises,” he said. “Luckily, you are with us, my friend. We will finally have a fitting use for that thick skull of yours.”

Oak snorted. “Oh, you can fuck right off, knife-ear,” he said and continued to climb up the stairs. It seemed like their plan was to wing it, and hope for the best.

Who dares wins. Let's put that saying to the test.

***

The door opened without even the slightest creak. It was hard to tell whether that was a good or a bad sign, but based on his experiences so far, Oak took it to mean that something murderous had oiled the hinges recently. Pessimism was just plain old realism in Ma’aseh Merkavah.

He and his companions all filed inside, one after the other. They had finally reached Aoibheann’s reading room at the top of the tower.

It immediately became very clear that a small reading room had a different meaning when you were an empress. The space opened into a large and opulent living space, which had surely been perfect for reading or entertaining a couple of guests and the like. The reading room had a cozy fireplace and there were little couches and loveseats scattered around the room. Bookshelves covered the walls.

Oak immediately took note of the fact that, compared to the entire library below them, the books here seemed extremely well behaved. There wasn’t even a single book walking around the room. On their left was a door leading further into this little secretive wing at the top of the Imperial Library, while a set of double doors on the opposite wall clearly led onto the balcony.

Sadly, although the opulence of a bygone age was clear, the room had lost its luster long ago. The loveseats and couches had been ripped apart. The crystal chandelier smashed to ruin and discarded in the corner. Bookshelves laid to waste, and a couple had been pulled down entirely, spilling their contents on the floor. And that was not all.

In the center of the room, on top of the remains of what must have been a beautiful coffee table, was the carcass of a giant, insectoid monster. Whatever the mess of chitin and blades had been when it was alive, Oak was certain it had to have been too big to fit through the doorway he and his companions had just walked through. It must have climbed up the outside wall of the tower. Or flown.

Not a comforting sight. Something killed that monster.

As if responding to his very thoughts, the double doors leading onto the balcony opened and a tall war-golem made of bronze stepped inside. Oak froze on the spot, staring at the old killing machine. The golem was heavily damaged. It dragged its left foot behind it and the arm from the same side was missing. Tiny scratches and dents covered the bronze surface of the war-golem.

From the corner of his eye, Oak saw Geezer hide behind an overturned couch. Clearly, he is the smartest cookie out of all of us.

The golem dragged itself into the room and closed the doors behind itself, muttering all the while: “Terrible. Absolutely terrible. What a mess these insects always make. What will the Mistress say when she returns?”

When the golem was about to turn around, it froze for a heartbeat and twitched. Tiny shakes traveled along its enchanted bronze body, and the golem wailed: “Again! A mistake! Why would I close the doors? I can’t just leave the carcass on the floor. I must get rid of it at once! At once, the Mistress would say, at once!”

With painstaking care and reverence, the spindly machine opened the double doors with its singular remaining arm, and hobbled to the carcass. The golem was just about to take hold of the insect's body with its claws so it could drag the carcass outside when it noticed it was not alone.

Two merciless bronze eyes snapped towards Oak and Ur-Namma, radiating outrage.

“Intruders detected. Engaging hostile lifeforms,” the war-golem said, and brandished its claws.