The Destruction of the Books Read Free Page B

Blood-Soaked Sea lapped upon the shores of Greydawn Moors, Juhg had prepared himself to return to that hand-to-mouth existence. He was ashamed that such selfish thoughts of gluttony came back so easily.
    “Yer thoughts,” Raisho reminded as he helped himself to a corn cake. He slathered the corn cake with creamed butter and golden orange firepear preserves.
    “Mine,” Juhg agreed. “How are the firepear preserves? I haven’t tried them.” He’d been afraid to because the strong smell had burned his nose.
    “Ye won’t like it. Too strong.” Raisho helped himself to another corn cake, the next to last, and covered it with firepear preserves.
    Unwilling to quietly watch his final corn cake be devoured in such a cavalier fashion by Raisho, who often exhibited a dwellerlike appetite by eating when there was no way he could possibly be hungry, Juhg claimed the remaining corn cake. He helped himself to preserves, scented the concoction again, and told himself that the firepears could not possibly be that hot. Biting into the cake, he found he had a mouthful of what felt like coals pumped to full heat by a blacksmith’s bellows. Or maybe he had a mouthful of stinging brinebees. Hurriedly, he grabbed the glass of tea and drank deeply, seeking the soothing and healing balm of the chulotzberry.
    “I warned ye,” Raisho said.
    Reluctantly, thinking that he might try cleaning the firepear preserves off to at least salvage the corn cake, Juhg realized the futility of the effort and shoved the morsel over to the young sailor.
    Raisho smiled broadly as he accepted the surrender. “Thank ye kindly.”
    “Don’t mention it,” Juhg croaked, then drank more tea. He focused on the remnants of his meal, getting most of them slightly ahead of Raisho’s questing fingers.
    “The book.”
    Juhg regarded his friend. He had known Raisho for three years before signing ship’s articles with Windchaser and Captain Attikus. Raisho usually didn’t possess the tenacity of thought he now so plainly exhibited.
    Keeping his voice pitched low, Juhg said, “I was making notes about this place.”
    “The port?”
    “Yes. Kelloch’s Harbor.”
    Raisho sorted through Juhg’s plate and found a sizable chunk of pricklemelon. He popped the green and red fruit into his mouth and relished the salty sweet rush of flavor.
    “I could order you a plate,” Juhg said. “We could pay from our profits.”
    Grinning, Raisho agreed. “We could. We could indeed. But I’m not that hungry.” He took a baked potato in his fingers and upended the tuber to pour the honey-glazed seaweed into his mouth. He chewed and sighed with content.
    Juhg marveled at the young sailor’s capacity. Even Taurak Bleiyz, fictional dweller hero— And wasn’t that a redundancy? —and champion whose own appetites were legendary, would have been shamed by Raisho’s ability to consume.
    “All this writin’ ye’re doin’ here an’ aboard Windchaser, ” Raisho said, “makes me wonder if’n ye were truly ready to leave the Vault.”
    Glancing around quickly, Juhg made certain that no one had overheard the conversation. “Raisho, I beg you to watch your tongue. I swear, it fairly luffs in the breeze created by your breathing. No one here knows of that place, and it would be better to keep it that way.”
    Greydawn Moors existed on no known map. Old magic, ancient and powerful magic, had created the island where the Vault of All Known Knowledge had been hidden away since Lord Kharrion had begun gathering his goblin armies. Those magicks wielded by the human wizards had torn the island from the sea bottom. Dwarves, according to the histories, had shorn up the thick stone columns that held the island in place at the ocean’s bottom. Elven warders had made the risen island fertile and loosed the great aquatic monsters that roamed freely in the Blood-Soaked Sea beneath the pall of continual gray fog kept in place by an ancient enchantment.
    A sober expression fitted itself