Lord of the Libraries Read Free Page B

any writing you do should be important, otherwise you were simply practicing words you’d learned.”
    Varrowyn’s attention was split between the young dwellers and the approaching goblinkin longboats. “I’m sure the Gran’magister, he meant well, but this is not the time nor the place to—”
    “We have lost so much,” Dockett interrupted. “All those books. The Librarians. All that knowledge is gone. We have to start getting some of it back. And future generations need to know what happened here during this time.”
    High up on the Knucklebones, where the Great Library had once stood, flames flickered in the earth. Some of the caverns in the underground section of the Vault of All Known Knowledge still burned. On dark nights like tonight, the flames could be seen as orange flickers against the underbelly of the perpetual fog.
    Varrowyn kept his tone deliberately harsh. “Ye should go.”
    The young dweller shook his head sorrowfully. “I have to do my duty here.”
    “What duty?” Varrowyn asked, exasperated.
    “I have to record this battle.” Dockett opened the book he carried.
    A brief bit of moonslight skated across the pages, but it was strong enough and long enough to show the sketches. Varrowyn recognized Farady and two of the dwarves featured in the drawing. They were seated at a table in the Sea Breeze Tavern.
    “I started recording this at the Library,” Dockett said. “Where it all began. I’m trying to do what the Grandmagister charged us all with. I—”
    “Varrowyn! ”
    Farady’s call galvanized Varrowyn into action. He pointed at the forest. “Ye two get over there. Now! I’ll not have fightin’ men trippin’ over ye whilst they’re battlin’ for their lives.” There was no time and no way he could see them safely home, and the forest was going to quickly fill up with goblinkin that wouldn’t think anything of slitting the throats of a couple of dweller children.
    The young dwellers turned and scampered for the tree line.
    Taking up his battle-axe in both hands again, Varrowyn joined the elven warder at the shoreline. Farady pointed into the boiling fog.
    Squinting his eyes against the stinging salt spray that whipped up over the small cliff, Varrowyn wiped his face and stared into the darkness. In the distance, he made out the first of the three longboats less than a bow shot away. Goblinkin shadows sat hunkered in the boat, pulling oars.
    “Do we take them in the water?” Farady asked. He lifted his bow meaningfully.
    “No,” Varrowyn answered, shaking his shaggy head. “On the land. Here. These ones will be a warnin’ to the others. I don’t want to kill some of ’em or maybe even most of ‘em. I want ’em all dead. When none of these come back, them goblinkin commanders of them ships out in the
harbor will have to think about that. It’ll be harder for ’em to assemble another group of raiders.”
    “Very well.” Farady pulled back, staying low so he wouldn’t be detected against the skyline by the ships from below. He nocked a dark-fletched arrow to his bowstring and never turned from the approach of their enemies.
    Varrowyn pulled his troops to the tree line, allowing the arriving goblinkin room to climb on shore.
    Minutes later, the longboats smacked hollowly against the jagged rocks below. Goblins cursed in their harsh tongues and the sound of flesh striking flesh carried to Varrowyn’s ears. Commanders ordered the goblins to keep silent.
    The beasties are tense, the dwarven captain thought, smiling to himself. Even as much as he anticipated the battle, part of him dreaded it. The chances of all the warriors he’d gathered emerging from the engagement unscathed was near nonexistent. But a message needed to be sent to the goblinkin waiting out in the monster-infested sea.
    The first of the goblins came into view slowly. He shoved his head over the edge of land cautiously, ducked down so his ill-fitting helm slid down his face. If Varrowyn hadn’t known