It turned out that Ur-Namma had, in fact, made himself useful.

When Oak and Geezer walked into the inner sanctum of Aoibheann’s little home away from home at the top of the southern tower of the Imperial Library, the elf had his ear pressed against the wall. He was knocking on the stone with his fist in a steady beat and listening closely.

Aoibheann’s private quarters were cozy. The little chamber housed a bed, a nightstand, a single bookcase, and two wooden shrines. The bigger and older of the two shrines was dedicated to the Mother. A small painting stood on the wall above the beautifully carved and painted shrine, and it showed a female form seated on the Throne of Heaven, surrounded by the angelic Choirs. The entire ensemble made it look like the Light of Heaven was dripping from the painting onto the wooden shrine like lines of gold.

The shrine to the Choir of the Ophanim was clearly a later addition, standing a bit awkwardly next to the shrine of the Mother. It was less grandiose, and a small statue of an Ophanim was placed on top of it. Oak felt like the interlocking wheels of fire lined with eyes were staring straight at his soul. He turned away from the statue and did his best to ignore it.

It was not that surprising to find a shrine to the Ophanim here. The Choir was popular among sailors and mages, since the many-eyed-ones were deeply connected to journeys, knowledge and new horizons. They were the Choir of wayfarers and scholars. Books and research had clearly been close to Aoibheann’s heart.

Ur-Namma stepped back from the wall. “You came just in time. I believe I have found the vault,” he said.

“Neat,” Oak replied. Tingles of excitement were crawling up his spine. They had spent a lot of blood and sweat getting here, and he could not wait to find out if it had been worth it.

“How did things go with the golem?” Ur-Namma asked.

“Eh. You’ll see when we make our way down from here.”

Ur-Namma gave him a puzzled look, but let the matter drop. After all, they had more important things to do. The vault and its contents were finally within their grasp.

“How do we open it?” Oak asked.

“Well, I say the password, and assuming my sister did not change it without telling me, the vault should open for us,” Ur-Namma replied. “If luck is with us, we will find something useful to our cause. Not that I intend to leave here with only a single scroll. We should take as many rituals as we can reasonably carry, so we can sell them later.”

“Sell them? Why?” Oak asked. He would have thought Ur-Namma would like to hold on to the possessions of his sister, not sell them to strangers.

“If I have learned anything in my time as a general, it is that every endeavor requires coin. Usually, quite a bit more coin than you initially imagined,” Ur-Namma said. “Make no mistake, my friend, killing Yam-Nahar will require a fortune. Maybe even a couple of fortunes, before everything is said and done.”

Oak shrugged his shoulders and accepted the explanation without complaint. It wasn’t like he had any experience with killing dragons or leading armies. Who was he to argue? Especially when the idea of making a fortune did not sound half bad to him.

Ur-Namma said a string of words in elvish and fell silent. Oak watched the wall like a hawk, trying to discern if anything was happening. A moment passed. A terrible feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Has the entire journey here been for naught? He was about to open his mouth and voice his disappointment when a click sounded and a square section of the stonewall flung open.

Oak pumped his fist in the air and laughed. “Hell yeah!”

Ur-Namma’s reaction was much more restrained, but Oak could tell the elf let out a sigh of relief.

Right there in front of them lay the secret ritual collection of Empress Aoibheann. Simple steel cylinders, stacked neatly on top of each other, filled the small vault from top to bottom. For Oak and Ur-Namma, the worth of the scrolls inside them could very well be beyond measure.

It is silly how something so small might come to decide the fate of so many. Or maybe it's fitting. The world is a silly place, after all.

Oak fingered his beard and focused. “What did that Elven pass phrase mean?” he asked.

“In the common tongue, it means ‘The Corpse remains’. One of the many hints I missed along the way, and maybe the first sign of my sister's growing obsession with the Mother’s Corpse,” Ur-Namma said. “I thought it was just her way of expressing grief. How wrong I was.”

No words felt enough to convey Oak’s sympathies, so he patted the elf on the shoulder instead. It felt the right thing to do when you did not know what to say. No, that was a lie. He wanted to tell Ur-Namma to stop being so hard on himself, to forgive his past self, but he couldn't get the words out. How could he, when he treated his own failures like treasured possessions, clutching them tight lest they slip between his fingers.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Sometimes visiting a past mistake gives you no greater understanding. The memory can become like a knife with a second blade in place of the handle. No matter how you grasped it, it would cut you open. Even thinking of saying such a thing out loud made Oak wince.

The scale of my hypocrisy is breathtaking. I won’t add to it by giving advice I can’t myself follow.

Ur-Namma blinked and rubbed his tired eyes. It had been a long day, and it did not seem like they could rest for a while yet. “I need to read through every single one of those scrolls to figure out what we want to take with us,” he said, and started taking out cylinders from the vault.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Oak asked.

Ur-Namma looked at Oak with an expression that bordered on pitying. “No.”

“Really? Why?” Oak asked.

“Can you read elvish?” Ur-Namma asked.

“No?” Oak said.

“Was that a question? Nevermind. Just sit down and be quiet while I work,” Ur-Namma said, and popped open a cylinder. “If you have a desperate need to feel useful, pass me a water bottle and pretend you are asleep.”

The scroll inside seemed quite long, and it was absolutely filled with utterly unintelligible scrawl and diagrams that made Oak’s head hurt. He could not make heads or tails of it.

This is going to be a long day, isn’t it?

***

Oak was bored out of his mind. He realized he was tapping the floor with his foot again and stopped before Ur-Namma could scold him. It had not taken long for him to realize that waiting around for Ur-Namma to figure out the contents of the scrolls was going to be torturous, but he was too excited to find out if they had succeeded to go to sleep.

At least he could take off his wet boots and leave his soggy footwraps to dry on the stone floor. He had seen men march with wet feet, and he had no intention of losing all the skin below his ankles if he could help it.

A certain cycle had developed during their time in Aoibheann’s private quarters.

Ur-Namma would read scrolls and sort them into three piles. The scrolls they definitely wanted to take with them went to pile number one. The scrolls they could leave behind went to pile number two. The scrolls Ur-Namma was not sure about went to pile number three.

While the elf read, Oak would grow increasingly bored and start daydreaming. Daydreaming led to Oak tapping his feet. Tapping his feet led to Ur-Namma clearing his throat louder and louder until he snapped out of it and stopped bothering the elf.

The cycle had repeated itself so many times now that Oak did not know how long it had been since Ur-Namma had started going through the rituals left behind by his sister.

Ur-Namma yawned and placed the scroll he had been reading back inside its steel cylinder. He placed the cylinder in pile two. Another useless ritual, Oak thought morosely. The fear of leaving here empty-handed was growing inside him.

I did not think my opinion of Aoibheann could sink any lower, but I was wrong. Besides having been royalty, she collected useless bullshit. Truly, all those who carry a crown should lose their heads.

The elf picked up another steel cylinder and started opening the cap. Oak could have screamed, but he didn’t. He would not give the elf the satisfaction. Sometimes when Ur-Namma picked up a scroll, Oak was certain he could see a slight smile on the elf’s face. The bastard was enjoying his suffering.

While Oak tried to hold himself together, Geezer slept like a baby next to him on the stone floor without a care in the world. The dog was huffing in his sleep and every once in a while his paws twitched, like he was dreaming of chasing something. Knowing Geezer, that something was a squirrel.

The realization that he was the only one who couldn’t handle just waiting around like this frustrated Oak to no end. He wanted to shake the hellhound awake. It was not fair that he was suffering alone. He did not do it because it would have been ridiculous and childish. Geezer had more than earned his rest.

Would it really be so ridiculous? Just a little shake. Something needs to happen, that’s all I ask. Anything at all.

Ur-Namma cleared his throat. Oak snapped out of his thoughts and let out a sigh full of suffering and concentrated boredom. He had been tapping his feet again. Bloody hell. Oak focused and made his feet stay still. It was surprisingly difficult to do. Time passed as he stared at the tips of his boots.

“I’m finished.”

“Oak, are you listening to me? I said I’m finished,” Ur-Namma said and placed a metal cylinder in pile one.

Oak blinked twice in succession. Was he hallucinating, or was this torture truly over?

“Really?” Oak asked. “Did you find what we need to even the scales between us and Yam-Nahar?”

“Maybe. Among other things, I found a sacrificial ritual called the Sacrament of Ingurgitation,” Ur-Namma said and placed the steel cylinders in pile number one into Oak’s rucksack. “It will require extensive modification, but it is a good starting point.”

The scrolls in their capsules fit inside the rucksack without issue, since it was no longer as full of food as it had been when Oak had originally packed it. In addition to the scrolls Ur-Namma had considered essential, the elf was able to fit around half of pile number three into the rucksack as well, without issue.

“Wait a damn moment. When did you find that Sacrament of Whatever?” Oak asked.

Ur-Namma had a shit-eating grin on his face. “A long while ago. I just wanted to watch you squirm,” he said.

Oak stared at the elf. If his gaze had been capable of it, he would have lit Ur-Namma on fire.

“You are such a miserable bastard,” Oak said, and stood up. “Tell me everything. What did you find?”

“Let’s put the cylinders we are not taking with us back in the vault first,” Ur-Namma said. “It's going to take us ages to climb down the stairs. I will explain what I found on the way down.”