There was no hint of how much time had passed as far from the sun as they were, and Dahl began to worry. The spell would protect them from the water for only an hour-and there was no sign of any break in the ancient passageway. Only the same, close, endless walls. The same unbroken ceiling.
Another age passed-for all Dahl could be sure of they were traveling on accidental time. Did they know? Had he mentioned the time limit? He must have. But he couldn’t recall.
He pulled on the rope that bound him to Maspero, but the sells-word didn’t turn. Dahl tried to haul himself through the water, but Farideh weighed him back like a stubborn anchor.
Gods damn it. He should have been early into the watercourse, close enough to be able to make them turn back if need be. If only he hadn’t delayed to make sure everyone took to the water properly. He dug his heels in to halt the procession-
The rope jerked at his waist once, and suddenly there was no tension from the front. In the darkness ahead he could not see Maspero, but the end of the rope danced in the current like a lure outlined in the glow of the sunrod.
He hardly had time to curse before the water suddenly surged over another rise pulling his feet out from under him and tossing him down a sluice so steep it broke his grip on the rocky walls and pulled him through the tunnel. Behind him the rope went taut and pulled Farideh along with him. The current snatched the sunrod from his hand.
All instinct, his limbs went wide, clutching at the faces of the watercourse, digging into the stone-but it was all smooth. Then there was a break in the surface of the ceiling, a gap of air where the stone had not worn as smooth and where light pierced the darkness. And a rope dangled down into the water.
There was no room to fail. He caught the rope and as the current tried to pull him away he planted both feet against the wall’s edge, pulling himself up and into the air pocket. The rope still tied to his waist went taut as Farideh’s weight pulled his feet from the wall, and threatened to break his grip on the rope.
Wrapping the rope once around his left arm, he dared let go and plunged his right hand back into the water. Farideh caught hold of his arm and Dahl shoved her up and out of the rushing water, to waiting hands, before hauling himself up and out of the hole beside the tiefling.
“Gods!” her sister cried, at Farideh but also at Dahl. “Are you all right? What happened? Maspero climbed out and you were just gone.”
“Fine,” Dahl said, avoiding the string of questions.
Farideh was still crouched on the ground, her arms shaking. “Thank you,” she panted. “Gods, gods. Thank you.”
Dahl looked back at the shaft and the swirling water below. “Yes.
Well.”
As odd as the water-breathing felt, coming back into the air was stranger-at once he was heavier and the air in his lungs so much thinner. And while the water had still rushed over his skin with definite wetness, the spell had kept everything-clothes, gear, leathers-bone-dry.
Almost everything. Beside him, Farideh squeezed a river from her hair, and Dahl bit back a curse-at least if the ritual had weaknesses, they were minor, but she’d surely point them out, wouldn’t she?
“We have to do that again to leave,” she said, “don’t we?”
“If you’d stop fighting every step and breath, it’s really not that bad,” Dahl said. He straightened. “Some climbing gear for the last bit … Who in all the shattered planes bought that godsforsaken … rope.” He trailed off, his attention fully taken by the cave around them.
The pale stone of the walls glittered wetly in the light of the sunrods, but the floor had been ground flat and smooth. A line of white marked the tool-chipped floor where the river beneath had once flooded nearly up to the threshold of the enormous doors that dominated the space.
Time had ravaged the first set of doors, the ones which marked the caverns’ entrance. Water had hidden the second set, and damaged its seal. The third set of doors looked as if they would have brooked no such interference from the rest of the world. Taller than Dahl by twice over his own height, the massive entry depicted a figure of a man in chased metalwork, an elderly human with a staff and a long beard. His eyes were formed by deep green chunks of jade, and a fat garnet had been set in the pendant he wore around his neck. Draconic runes covered the field of the door, like the delicate claw marks of some erudite and frantic beast.
“This is it,” Mira said. “This is it!” She pointed to the runes. “This says ‘Tarchamus.’ And this one ‘Netheril.’ ” She glanced back at them. “We should take a moment. Get the rituals working, study the structure and check for any lingering spells. It’s best to be sure-”
Maspero strode past her and slammed his shoulder into the door. The stone edifice shuddered and creaked open wide enough for Maspero to shove both hands into the gap and pry the door wide.
“Looks fine,” he said, and he passed through the entry.
Mira went very still, watching Maspero vanish into the darkness beyond. She did not look back at the lot of them. Tam started toward her, frowning, but without so much as a glance, she squared her shoulders and passed into the cave after Maspero. Pernika followed.
Leaving Tam to pointedly not look at Dahl, Brin, or the twins.
“They are stranger,” Havilar whispered, as they eased around the door after Tam, “than you and Mehen.”
“Hush,” Farideh said. “Everyone has arguments.”
The doors covered an unfinished cave that angled down into the earth with no trace of the stream that ran so near to it. Tam and Mira and the mercenaries were nowhere to be seen, but their footfalls echoed up the path.
“What do you think it will look like?” Havilar whispered. “A pile of coins and swords?”
“He was a wizard,” Farideh said. “I suspect it’s more magical things.”
“Arcanist,” Dahl corrected.
“What’s the good of that?” Havilar asked. “I thought the Spellplague broke all the magic from the olden days.”
“It’s … mendable,” Dahl said, even though he was certain she wasn’t speaking to him. “Some of it. A spell becomes a ritual, a magic item can be tapped for residuum. Sometimes they can be adjusted to fit the Weave as it stands. It just takes the right mind.”
“And that’s you?” Brin said. Dahl glowered at him.
“I didn’t say that.”
Havilar snorted. “If we’ve come all this way for a bunch of junk …” She trailed away as they came out of the tunnel, to the overlook where Maspero, Mira, and Tam stood, gazing out at the cavern that held the treasures of Tarchamus.
It could have held a dragon. It could have held ten dragons or even twenty. The dome of the cave sparkled with hundreds of magical lights that lit even the farthest corners. The floor-where it could be seen-had been laid with slabs of limestone, polished smooth, and carved columns held the space between.
And rolling away in wave after wave was a sea of bookshelves.
Tam followed his daughter down the stairway, unable to keep his gaze still. A library. Not a treasure hoard. Not a stash of weapons capable of unmaking the world. Not an open portal to another plane. Scrolls and books.
Scrolls and books that held gods knew what, he reminded himself. A weapon of ancient Netheril could mean the destruction of an entire kingdom. But any one of these books or scrolls could contain the information to craft a thousand weapons, a thousand spells-enough so that no one would have to decide which one kingdom to aim at.
“It has to date from before the fall,” Dahl said, amazed. “It’s … I’ve never seen so many books. This has to be all the knowledge of ancient Netheril.”
Tam regarded him solemnly. “Even what Shade has lost track of.”
“How long do you think we have before we’re tracked here?”
Ahead Mira moved down the path with a breathless wonder, touching the stonework of the shelves, the spines of the codices, her eyes on everything they could spy. The same decoration as the door was repeated in miniature on the ends of the shelves. “Not long enough,” Tam answered. “Hours. Days. We won’t be able to search it all before we’re found.”