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“Who calls?” Melydia shouted.

I hear you. Is it you?

“Who calls me?” Her whisper held an edge of fear.

I know not who I am. I thought you would tell me.

“How can I tell you if I do not even see you?”

I suppose you are right. Alas.

“Where are you?”

Where? The word has little meaning.

“How can that be?”

I know not. I know so little. I sense that I exist, yet I contain so many existences within me. They are not part of me, however.

Melydia stood, sudden understanding flashing in her eyes. She knew. She had not thought it possible.

“It is I who seek you,” she said. “It is I who want to set you free!”

I have found you. Please tell mewhat are you about?

“I endeavor to find the Spell Stone.”

Ah. The name resonates. It is

“That which holds you in bondage.”

I feel it is true. But where …?

“You do not know its location?”

I sense you … I also sense

She waited.

Yes … yes. I perceive a relationship, between you and the thing.

“Can you tell when I get closer?”

Yes. I think so. Yes.

“Then you can help me.”

This I will do. You are my liberator.

“I am. The more you help me, the more you hasten the hour of your liberation.”

I have sensed your coming for some time.

“I have been long in seeking.”

Because of you I will soar again. Again I will scale the cold heights, feel the air above the earth, see the black skies and the burning sun ….

“Yes, you will.”

I will destroy

“You will destroy my enemies.”

I …?

“Yes. In return for my labors on your behalf, you will do my bidding.”

Ah. A bargain. Is this not what it is called?

“It is. Agreed?”

I sense I have no choice.

“None.”

Then … we are agreed.

“Good. Abide. I will call thee when I need thee.”

I obey.

She turned and walked back down the corridor to where the servants and soldiers were still taking their meal. When she saw their faces, she stopped. They were all staring at her, bewildered, fearful.

They had heard only her voice. She thought: Belike they think me mad.

“I am in contact with the demiurge whose embodiment is the castle itself,” she told them. “I command it. With its help, we will find the Stone.”

This seemed to allay their fears — or perhaps plant the seeds of new ones. No matter, she thought. They will all die soon.

She was hungry now. She asked for and was given bread, a slice of cheese, a hank of dried, salted meat. She returned to her niche to eat.

Keep — Upper Levels

Osmirik was near exhaustion, but kept climbing. The smell of books grew ever stronger. He knew the library was on one of these high floors. The smell had led him up here.

He had first noticed his peculiar new power shortly after he had become separated from Melydia, a happenstance he regretted not the slightest. In fact, his intention was to stop her. Only the knowledge available in the castle’s library could help him. At first he had despaired even of finding a way back to the invading army’s staging area, but as he’d wandered blindly, the unmistakable smell of books — must, dust, and old parchment — had come to his nose and would not leave. He had always loved the smell, of course. At one point on the lower levels the odor grew quite strong. He followed his nose into a bedroom with a bookcase holding a few volumes of forgettable lyric poetry.

But now he knew he was on the right track. If a library could have a scent, he was hot on it like a hound with its snout to the trail.

Other smells came, most of them unfamiliar. His olfactory sense had sharpened to an astonishing degree. It was apparent that books were not the only things he could seek out, if he wished to. This newfound talent entailed the ability to sniff one’s way to anything desired. Everything around him had an identifiable smell — this table, that tapestry, here a candle, there a sconce. Everything, anything. It was odd, and somewhat disconcerting, but less so than he would have thought. None of the odors were overpowering or especially bad. Some were quite pleasant. And if he wished, he could ignore them all.

He proceeded down the empty corridor warily, but not inordinately concerned for his safety. He had passed numerous aspects, ignoring them. Strange eyes had regarded him out of shadow; he had walked on. He was possessed of a sense of mission. There was little time, and the situation grew more dangerous by the hour.

Light ahead, coming from a doorway. He looked in. The room was pleasantly furnished, and he considered stopping to rest, but decided against it. He strode on to the next door, which was closed. He put his ear to it first, heard nothing. Then he grasped the handle and pushed.

Music, laughter, noise. He beheld a room full of strangely dressed people, most of them standing in little groups and engaged in animated conversation. The general mood seemed festive. He smelled alcohol. The music was loud, harsh, and discordant. The room’s appointments were odd, and beyond the huge windows a vast and brilliantly lighted city sprawled endlessly. The sight took his breath away.

“Isn’t the masquerade tomorrow night?” The voice belonged to a young man seated by the door.

“Hall costume,” a young woman sitting beside him remarked.

“Hall costume? Jeez, I’ve got a lot to learn about these things.”

They both looked up at him curiously. The young man’s gaze was drawn to the corridor behind him.

“Hey, I thought that was the connecting door to the other suite,” the young man said. “Where’s that —”

Osmirik closed the door and continued down the corridor. But he stopped. Something made him go back and cautiously open the door again.

Nothing but a dark, empty room.

The next door let into another bedroom, and the next was locked. He knew the library was near. The smell of learning was pungent in his nostrils. He ran to the next oaken door.

Here! The door flew open onto a vast room of books. He leaned against the doorjamb, taking deep breaths and casting his eyes about the huge chamber. He straightened up and went in, closing the door behind him.

The silence was deep, yet it was the sort of restful, contemplative silence befitting and peculiar to a library. He saw no one immediately about the main floor, and as he walked through the open stacks, he looked down each aisle, finding no one.

He stopped. How was this place organized? In all his years, even those he had spent at university, he had never seen this many books in one place. It was a hundred times as big as any other library in existence. He had not thought there could be this many books in the world. Obviously the librarians here, if any, had a method of keeping track of what was where. It would almost be a necessity. But what? And where?

He heard footsteps and looked to his left. Someone was walking along the far aisle. He moved down the aisle he was in, paralleling the other’s path. At length he reached the end of the stacks and stopped, looking out over an area occupied by reading tables. He watched the end of the far aisle.

A tall man emerged, wearing a simple brown cloak. He walked past the tables, stopping at one end of a long cabinet with hundreds of small drawers. He searched, then chose a drawer, opened it and riffled through the stacks of pasteboard cards contained therein.