Realms of Infamy - James Lowder [24]
What a fool. What an absolute fool he had been, thinking he could waltz into a temple of Oghma, murder its overseer, take its treasures, and then just stroll back out again. He'd, brought no real weapons. No water. No food. King of loremasters indeed. If he didn't find an exit soon, he would be king of skeletons.
The stairs and corridors stretched on endlessly. Chane shivered and sweated at the same time. After a while it seemed he traveled in circles and the rooms began to look the same. Or perhaps they didn't. Perhaps he only imagined they did. How far had he traveled? It seemed like miles, but he couldn't be sure it wasn't merely a floor or two. Icy discomfort in his shoulder was turning into agony. His teeth chattered. His legs ached. Finally he staggered against a stone wall. Whimpering, he slipped to the floor, chin resting on his knees.
"I've lost," he whispered through parched lips. "It's over."
"Getting tired, son?" a cheery voiced asked.
Chane's head jerked up to see Mirrortor in the room with him, still in his ridiculous purple dressing gown. The elven girl at his side was rapidly writing on her parchment.
"Am I close to the surface then?" Chane rasped.
"Close?" the gnome answered. "Well, that would depend on your perspective."
Wretch, Chane thought, but instead he said, "If you've come to hear me beg for help, you may as well leave. I'd sooner die than ask you about tomorrow's weather."
"Hear you beg?" Mirrortor said. "Oh, by Oghma's pen, no. We came to guide you out. There must be something sensible in that over-inflated head of yours or you wouldn't be breathing. You are intelligent enough to value your life over the power you lust after. That must count for something."
Chane stared at him. "You're guiding me out?"
"Yes, of course. But I warn you, those creatures are here to guard over more than just books."
"I'm too tired to hurt anyone. Get me out of here."
"You've come all this way. I think you ought to have something for your trouble." Mirrortor held out a clothbound, dark green book.
Chane looked at it suspiciously. "What is it?"
"Something I put to pen myself a few years ago. It is the recent history of Rysheos before the coming of Lord Teelo, an account of the wars of the noble families. Distasteful era. Something they will wish to avoid again. Take this book, Loremaster Chane. Go to Rysheos and teach this."
Chane's mouth tightened in disgust. "That is nothing! Maybe a few rare details, but there is not a tale in that book any common street peasant wouldn't already know. What wonders can be found in such easily attained lore?"
The gnome smiled slightly. "The kind that matter. The lore we live and breathe and remember. Stories that can teach us to avoid folly."
Mirrortor turned and motioned the girl forward. Chane gazed into her serious face as she knelt down and revealed to him the title of her work: The Tale of Chane Troiban, the Twilight Hall Priest Who Got Lost in the Labyrinth of Bransuldyn Mirrortor.
Chane looked up, the truth of it finally dawning. Lore was not only the ancient and unknown. It was created with each passing moment. He was now part of the web of legend, part of the web of lore, ever changing, always spinning.
Reaching out slowly, he took the green book from Mirrortor. "Yes, I will go to Rysheos. I will teach this lore."
The gnome smiled wryly. "Come then. Your arm will heal in a tenday or two. Now it is time to leave. I should have been asleep hours ago."
Chane stood and followed his companions, paying little attention to which hallway they chose. Soon he would be out in the fresh air, free from this labyrinth. His mind churned with Mirrortor's words. Perhaps