Barjin is preparing to open the gate," Dorigen told Aballister. "My contacts on the lower planes sense the beginnings of the portal." "How long?" the wizard asked grimly. Aballister was glad that Druzil soon would be close to Barjin, keeping an eye on the dangerous man, but he was not pleased that Barjin had so quickly advanced to this level of preparedness. If Barjin meant to open a gate, then his plans were probably in full swing.
Dorigen shrugged. "An hour or two," she replied. "I cannot know which methods of sorcery the priest will employ." She looked over to Druzil, sitting comfortably atop Aballister's desk, appearing impassive, though both wizards knew better than to think that. "Do you really believe it's necessary to send the imp?"
"Do you trust Barjin?" Aballister answered.
"Talona would not have allowed him to take the elixir if he was not loyal to our cause," Dorigen replied.
"Do not presume that the goddess is so directly interested in our cause," warned Aballister, rising from and walking nervously about his oaken chair. "The Time of Troubles has passed and much has changed. Talona's avatar was pleased to bring me into her dark fold, but I am not her only concern, and I do not presume to be her chief concern. She directed me to Druzil, and he provided the chaos curse. Its fate is in my... in our hands now."
"But if Barjin was not of Talona's clergy ..." Dorigen argued, shifting tentatively from foot to foot and letting her companion complete the warning for himself.
Aballister considered Dorigen for a long moment, surprised that she was as fearful as he about Barjin. She was a middle-aged wizard, thin and drawn, with darting eyes and a tangle of graying black hair that she never bothered to brush.
"Perhaps he is of Talona's clergy," Aballister replied. "I believe that he is." Aballister had played these possible scenarios through his thoughts a hundred times over the last few days. "Do not let that fact comfort you. If Barjin stuck a poisoned dagger into my heart, Talona would not be pleased, but neither would she seek vengeance on the priest. That is the price of serving a goddess such as ours."
Dorigen considered those words for a few moments, then nodded her agreement.
"We vie for power with the priests," Aballister went on. "It has been that way since the beginning of Castle Trinity, and that contest intensified with Barjin's arrival. He gained control of the elixir from me. I admit my own failure in not anticipating his cunning, but I have not conceded defeat, I promise you. Now, go back to your chambers and converse with your contacts. Inform me at once if there is any change in Barjin's gate."
Aballister looked over to his magical mirror and considered whether he should scry into Barjin's altar room to confirm what Dorigen had told him. He decided against it, though, knowing that Barjin would easily sense the scrying and recognize its source. Aballister did not want Barjin to know how concerned he was, did not want the priest to understand how great an advantage he was gaining in their competition.
The wizard looked over his shoulder and nodded to Druzil.
"The priest is a daring one," Druzil remarked, "to open a gate right below so many enemies of magical power. Bene tellemara. If the priests of the library discover the gate ..."
"It was not unexpected," Aballister retorted defensively. "We knew that Barjin was taking materials for sorcery."
"If he is opening the gate already," Druzil put in, "then perhaps the curse has begun!" The imp rubbed his pudgy, leathery hands eagerly at that prospect.
"Or perhaps Barjin's situation has become desperate," Aballister quickly replied.
Druzil wisely disguised his excitement.
"We must get the brazier prepared," Aballister said, "and quickly. We must be ready before Barjin begins his summoning." He moved over to his own burning brazier and picked up the closest bag, checking to ensure that the powder inside was blue.
"I will provide you with two powders," the wizard explained. "One to close Barjin's gate behind you as you pass through to join him, another to reopen it so that you may return to me."
"To ensure that I am his only catch?" Druzil asked, cocking his dog-faced head curiously.
"I am not as confident of Barjin's powers as he appears to be," Aballister replied. "If he summons too many denizens, even minor creatures, of the lower planes through to serve him, his control will be sorely taxed. No doubt he is bringing in undead to serve him as well. That type of an army could be beyond him when the priests of the Edificant Library strike back. I fear Barjin may be reaching too far. It all could crumble around him."
"Fear?" Druzil asked slyly. "Or hope?"
Aballister's hollowed eyes narrowed dangerously. "Examine the situation from another point of view, my dear Druzil," he purred. "From your own. Do you wish to find competitors from your filthy home at Barjin's side. Might not another imp, or a midge perhaps, know you and know that you have been in service to me?"
The wizard enjoyed the way the imp's features suddenly seemed to droop.
"Barjin would know you as my agent then," Aballister went on. "If you were fortunate, he would only banish you."
Druzil looked over to Aballister's brazier and nodded his agreement.
"Get through as soon as Barjin opens his gate," Aballister instructed, dumping the blue powder into the burning brazier. The flames roared and shifted through the colors of the spectrum. Druzil walked by the wizard, taking the two tiny bags and looping them over the foreclaws on his wing.
"Close Barjin's gate as you step out of the flames," Aballister continued. "He will not understand the sudden shift in his fire's hue. He will think it is the result of your passing."
Again Druzil nodded and then, eager to be away from Aballister, and even more eager to see exactly what was going on at the library, he jumped into the brazier and was gone.
"Aballister's plans serve everyone," Druzil muttered to himself a few minutes later, as he floated in the black void at the edge of the material plane, just waiting for Barjin's gate to open. The imp realized, too, that other things-jealousy and fear-guided the wizard's actions. Barjin had shown no signs of weakness throughout and Aballister knew as well as Druzil did that a gate to the lower planes would not seriously threaten the priest's successes. Still, Druzil was more than happy when he looked down at the magical powders Aballister had provided. The imp remained intrigued by Barjin's brashness and confidence. The priest's preliminary victories, both at Castle Trinity, against Aballister, and possibly in the dungeons of the library, could not easily be dismissed. While Aballister might fear for his own position, Druzil's only concern was the chaos curse, the recipe he had waited so very long to exploit.
Where the chaos curse was concerned, Barjin deserved some serious attention.
The terrible, clawed hand grabbed at Cadderly's heart. He dove to the side wildly, his arms flailing in futile defense.
He woke up when he hit the floor and spent several long moments trying to orient himself. It was morning, and Cadderly's nightmares faded fast under the sun's enlightening rays. Cadderly tried to hold on to them so that he might better decipher any hidden meaning, but they could not withstand the light of day.
With a resigned shrug, Cadderly focused his thoughts back to the previous afternoon, remembering the events before he had come for some rest.
Some rest! How much time had passed? he wondered frantically, looking at his clocking measurements on the floor. Fifteen hours?
Percival was still in the room but apparently had been up and about for some time. The squirrel sat on Cadderly's desk just inside the window, contentedly munching on an acorn. Below him lay the discarded husks of a dozen appetizers.
Cadderly sat up beside the bed and tried again to recover the fading blur of his dreams, seeking some due to the confusion that had so suddenly come into his life. His light tube, opened and glowing faintly, lay under the thick jumble of bed covers.
"There is something here" Cadderly remarked to Percival, absently grabbing and recapping the tube.
"Something I cannot yet understand." There was more confusion than determination in Cadderly's voice. Yesterday seemed a long time ago, and he seriously wondered where his memories ended and his dreams began. How unusual had yesterday's events really been? How much of the apparent strangeness was no more than Cadderly's own fear? Danica could be a stubborn one, after all, he reminded himself, and who could predict the actions of dwarves?
Unconsciously, Cadderly rubbed the deep bruise on the side of his head. The daylight streaming into his room made everything seem in order. They made all of his fears that something had gone awry in the secure library seem almost childish.
A moment later, he realized a new fear, one based surely in reality. There came a knock on his door and the call of a familiar voice. "Cadderly? Cadderly, boy, are you in there?"
Headmaster Avery.
Percival popped the acorn into a chubby cheek and skittered out the window. Cadderly hadn't gotten to his feet when the headmaster entered.
"Cadderly!" Avery cried, rushing to him. "Are you all right, my boy?"
"It is nothing," Cadderly replied tentatively, keeping out of Avery's reaching hands. "I just fell out of bed."
Avery's distress did not diminish. "That is terrible!" the headmaster cried. "We cannot have that, oh, no!" Avery's eyes darted about frantically, then he snapped his fingers and smiled widely. "We will get the dwarves to put up a railing. Yes, that is it! We cannot have you falling out of bed and injuring yourself. You are much too valuable an asset to the Order of Deneir for us to allow such potential tragedy!"
The young scholar looked at him blankly, uncertain whether this was sarcasm or strange reality.
"It is nothing," Cadderly replied timidly.
"Oh, yes," Avery spouted, "you would say that. Such a fine lad! Never concerned for your own safety!" Avery's exuberant pat on the back hurt Cadderly more than the fall.
"You have come to give me my list of duties," Cadderly reasoned, eager to change the subject.
Somehow he liked Avery better when the headmaster was screaming at him. At least then he could be certain of Avery's intent.
"Duties?" Avery asked, seeming sincerely confused. "Why, I do not believe that you have any this day. Or, if you do, ignore them. We cannot have one of your potential busied by menial tasks. Make your own routines. Certainly you know better than any where you might be of greatest value."
Cadderly didn't believe a word of it. Or if he did allow himself to believe Avery's sincerity, he couldn't quite comprehend it anyway. "Then why are you here?" he asked.
"Do I need a reason to look in on my most-prized acolyte?" Avery answered, giving Cadderly a second rough pat. "No, no reason. I just came to say good morning, and I say it now. Good morning!" He started away, then stopped abruptly, spun about and wrapped a bear hug on Cadderly.
"Good morning indeed!"
Avery, his eyes suddenly misted, put him out at arm's length. "I knew that you would grow to be a fine lad when first you came to us," he said.
Cadderly expected him to abruptly change the subject, as he always did when speaking of Cadderly's early days at the Edificant Library, but Avery rambled on.
"We feared that you would become just like your father-he was an intelligent one, just like you!
But he had no guidance, you see." Avery's laughter erupted straight from his belly. "I called him a Gondsman!" the priest roared, slapping Cadderly's shoulder.
Cadderly failed to see the humor, but he was truly intrigued to hear about his father. That subject had always been avoided at the library, and Cadderly, with no recollections at all before his arrival, had never pressed it seriously.
"And indeed he was," Avery continued, becoming calm and grim. "Or worse, I fear. He could not remain here, you see. We could not allow him to take our knowledge and put it to destructive practice."
"Where did he go?" Cadderly asked.
"I know not. That was twenty years ago!" Avery replied. "We saw him only once after that, the day he presented Dean Thobicus with his son. Do you understand, then, my boy, why I am always chasing after you, why I fear that your course might lead you astray?"
Cadderly didn't even try to find a voice to respond with, though he would have liked to learn more while he had the headmaster in so talkative a mood.
He quickly reminded himself that these actions were out of sorts for Avery, and just further confirmation that something was going wrong.
"Well, then," the headmaster said. He slammed Cadderly with one more hug, then pushed the young man away, spinning briskly for the door. "Do not waste too much of this glorious day!" he roared as he entered the hall.
Percival came back to the window, working on a new acorn.
"Do not even ask," Cadderly warned him, but if the squirrel cared at all, he did not show it.
"So much for dreams," Cadderly remarked grimly. If ever he doubted his memories of the previous day, he did not now, not in light of Avery's outburst. Cadderly dressed quickly. He would have to check on Ivan and Pikel, to make sure they were not back at their fighting, and on Kierkan Rufo, to make sure the man had no designs against Danica.
The hallway was strangely quiet, though the morning was in full swing. Cadderly started for the kitchen but changed his direction suddenly when he got to the spiral stairway. The only change in the daily routines, the only unusual occurrence at the library before this inexplicable weirdness, had been the arrival of the druids.
They had been housed on the fourth floor. Normally that level was reserved for the novice priests of the host sects, the servants, and for storage, but the druids had expressed a desire to be away from the rest of the gathered scholars. Not without reservations, for he did not want to disturb the xenophobic group, Cadderly started up the stairs instead of down. He didn't really believe that Arcite, Newander, and Cleo were the source of the problems, but they were wise and experienced and might have some insight about what was going on.
The first sign Cadderly noticed that something up here, too, was amiss, was a growl and a scraping noise. He stood outside the door to the druids' quarters in a remote comer of the north wing, uncertain of whether to continue, wondering whether the woodland priests might be engaged in some private ritual.
Memories of Danica and Avery and Brother Chaunticleer spurred him on. He knocked lightly on the door.
No answer.
Cadderly turned the handle and opened the door a crack. The room was a mess, the work of an obviously agitated brown bear. The creature squatted on the bed, which had broken under its great weight, and was now casually tearing apart a down-filled pillow. Shuffling slowly across the floor in front of it was a huge tortoise.
The bear seemed to pay little attention to him, so Cadderly boldly opened the door a bit wider.
Newander sat on the windowsill, staring despairingly out at the wide mountains, his blond hair hanging limply about his shoulders.
"Arcite and Cleo," the druid remarked offhandedly. "Arcite is the bear."
"A ritual?" Cadderly asked. He remembered when the druid named Shannon had enacted such physical changes before his eyes years ago, and he knew that the shape-changing ability was common for the most powerful druids. Actually witnessing it again amazed him nonetheless.
Newander shrugged, not really knowing the answer. He looked at Cadderly, a saddened expression on his face.
Cadderly started to go to him, but Arcite, the bear, didn't seem to like that idea. He stood high and issued a growl that turned Cadderly right around.
"Keep yourself safely back from him," Newander explained. "I am not yet certain of his intentions."
"Have you asked?"
"He does not answer," Newander replied.
"Then can you be sure it is really Arcite?" Cadderly asked. Shannon had explained that the druidic shape change was purely physical, with retention of the woodland priest's mental facilities. Shape-changed druids could even converse in the common tongue.
"It was," Newander replied, "and is. I recognize the animal. Perhaps it is Arcite now, more truly Arcite than Arcite ever was."
Cadderly could not exactly decipher those words, but he thought he understood the druid's basic meaning. "The turtle, then, is Cleo?" he asked. "Or is Cleo really the turtle?"
"Yes," Newander answered. "Both ways, as far as I can discern."
"Why is Newander still Newander?" Cadderly pressed, guessing the source of Newander's despair.
He saw that his question greatly wounded the still-human druid, and he figured that he had Percival answers. He bowed quickly, exited, and closed the door. He started to walk away, but changed his mind and ran instead.
Newander sat back against the windowsill and looked at his animal companions. Something had happened here, while he was gone, though he still wasn't certain whether it had been a good or a bad thing. Newander feared for his comrades, but he envied them, too. Had they found some secret while he was away, some measure by which they could slip fully into the natural order? He had seen Arcite in bear form before, and clearly recognized the druid, but never had it been like this.
This bear resisted Newander's every attempt to communicate; Arcite was fully a bear, in body and mind. The same held true of Cleo, the turtle.
Newander remained a human, alone now in a house of tempting civilization. He hoped that his friends would return soon; he feared he would lose his way without their guidance.
Newander looked back out the window, back to the mountains majestic and the world that he so loved. For all of that love, though, the druid still did not know where he fit in.
When he arrived at the kitchen, Cadderly found that the dwarves had resumed their fighting. Pots, pans, and kitchen knives hummed about the room, smashing ceramic items, clanging against iron ones, and knocking holes in the walls.
"Ivan!" Cadderly screamed, and the desperation in his voice actually stopped the barrage.
Ivan looked at Cadderly blankly and, from across the room, Pikel added, "Oo."
"What are you fighting about now?" Cadderly asked.
"That one's fault!" Ivan growled. "He spoiled me soup. Put in roots and leaves and grass and things. Says it's druidlike that way. Bah! A dwarven druid!"
"Put your desires on hold, Pikel," Cadderly advised solemnly. "Now is not the time to be thinking of joining a druidic order."
Pikel's big, round eyes narrowed dangerously.
"The druids are not in the mood for visitors," Cadderly explained, "even for aspiring druids. I just came from them." Cadderly shook his head. "Something very wrong is going on," he said to Ivan. "Look at you two, fighting. Never have you done that in all the years I have known you."
"Never before did me stupid brother claim that he's a druid!" Ivan replied.
"Doo-dad," Pikel pointedly added.
"Granted," said Cadderly, glancing curiously at Pikel, "but look around at the destruction in this kitchen. Do you not believe this is a bit out of hand?"
Tears flooded both Ivan and Pikel's eyes when they took a moment to survey their prized kitchen.
Every pot had been upset; the spice rack was thoroughly smashed and all spices lost; their oven, Pikel's own design, was damaged so brutally that it could not possibly be repaired.
Cadderly was glad that his appeal had not gone unnoticed, but the dwarven tears made him shake his head in continued disbelief. "Everyone has gone mad," he said. "The druids are up in their room, pretending to be animals. Headmaster Avery acts as if I am his favorite protege. Even Danica is out of sorts. She nearly crippled Rufo yesterday and has it in her mind to try this Iron-skull maneuver."
"That'd explain the block," remarked Ivan.
"You know about that?" Cadderly asked.
"Brought it up yesterday," Ivan explained. "Solid and heavy, that one! Yer lady was here this morning, needing to put the thing back up on the sawhorses."
"You didn't. . :'
'"Course we did," Ivan replied, puffing out his barrellike chest. "Who else'd be able to lift the thing ... ?" The dwarf stopped abruptly. Cadderly was already gone.
The renewed clamor from Histra's room haunted Cadderly when he got back to the third level. The priestess of Sune's cries had only intensified, taking on a primordial urgency that truly frightened Cadderly and made every running stride toward Danica's room seem a futile, dream-weighted step.
He burst through Danica's door, not even slowing to knock. He knew in his heart what he would find.
Danica lay on her back in the center of the floor, her forehead covered in blood. The stone block was not broken, but her pounding had moved the sawhorses back a few feet. Like Danica, the block was caked in blood in several places, indicating that the monk had slammed it repeatedly, even after splitting open her head.
"Danica," Cadderly breathed, moving to her. He tilted her head back and stroked her face, still delicate beneath her swollen and battered forehead.
Danica stirred just a bit, managing to drape one arm weakly over Cadderly's shoulder. One of her almond eyes cracked open, but Cadderly did not think she saw anything.
"What have you done to her?" came a cry from the doorway. Cadderly turned to see Newander glaring at him, quarterstaff leveled at the ready.
"I did nothing " Cadderly retorted. "Danica did it to herself.
Against that block." He pointed to the bloodied stone, and the druid relaxed his grip on the staff. "What is happening?" Cadderly demanded. "With your friends, with Danica? With everyone, Newander? Something is wrong!"
Newander shook Percival head helplessly. "This is a cursed place," he agreed, dropping his gaze to the floor. "I have sensed it since my return."
"It?" Cadderly asked, wondering what Newander knew that he did not.
"A perversion," the druid tried to explain, though he stuttered over the words, as though he, himself, had not yet come to understand his fears. "Something out of the natural order, something
..."
"Yes," Cadderly agreed. "Something not as it should be."
"A cursed place," Newander said again.
"We must figure out how it is cursed," reasoned Cadderly, "and why."
"Not we," Newander corrected. "I am a failure, good lad. You must find your own answers."
Cadderly wasn't even surprised anymore at the unexpected and uncharacteristic response, nor did he try to argue. He gently lifted Danica in his arms and carried her over to the bed, where Newander joined them.
"Her wounds are not too serious," the druid announced after a quick inspection. "I have some healing herbs." He reached into a belt pouch.
Cadderly grabbed his wrist. "What is happening?" he asked again, quietly. "Have all the priests gone mad?"
Newander pulled away and sniffled. "I care nothing for your priests," he said. "It is for my own order that I fear, and for myself!"
"Arcite and Cleo," Cadderly remarked grimly. "Can you help them?"
"Help them?" Newander replied. "Surely it is not they who need help. It is me. They are of the order. Their hearts lie with the animals. Pity Newander, I say. He has found his voice and it is not the bay nor the growl, nor even the cackle of a bird!"
Cadderly's face crinkled at the absurd words. The druid considered himself a failure because he had not changed into some beast and crawled about on the floor!
"Newander, the druid," Newander went on, fully absorbed in self-pity. "Not so, I say. Not a druid by my own measure."
Cadderly had a definite feeling that time was running out for all of them. He had awakened that morning full of hope, but things certainly had not improved.
He looked closely at Newander. The druid considered himself a failure, but by Cadderly's observation, he remained the most rational person at the library. Cadderly needed some help now, desperately. "Then be Newander, the healer," he said. "Tend to Danica-on your word."
Newander nodded.
"Heal her, and do not let her back to that block!" As if in response to his own words, Cadderly rushed across the room and pushed the stone over, not even caring about the resounding crash or the damage to the floor.
"Do not let her do anything," Cadderly went on firmly.
"Would you put your trust in a failure?" the pitiful Newander asked.
Cadderly did not hesitate. "Self-pity does not become you," he scolded. He grabbed the druid roughly by the front of his green cloak. "Danica is the most important person in all the world to me," he said sincerely, "but I have some things I must do, though I fear I do not yet understand what they might be. Newander will care for Danica-there is no one else-on his word and with my trust."
Newander nodded gravely and put his hand back into his pouch.
Cadderly moved swiftly to the door, paused, and looked back at the druid. He didn't feel comfortable leaving Danica, even with Newander, whom he trusted despite the druid's self-doubts.
Cadderly dismissed his protective urges. If he really wanted to help Danica, to help everyone in the library, he would have to find out what was going on, find the source of the infection that had apparently come over the place, and not merely bandage its symptoms. It was up to him, he decided. He nodded to Newander and headed for his room.
