“We may have a problem,” Dahl said after they’d walked a ways. “If I’m reading this right, the caster ends up at the center of the eruption. With as much fire as this makes … it could kill a body. Quickly.”
“How did Tarchamus manage it?”
He shook his head. “The diary didn’t say. It could be he had a complementary spell. It could be he made one of his more dispensable apprentices cast it. It looks like there’s a little delay-there’s a plume of flames and then the ground opens. That should give everyone else enough time to get away.”
Farideh pursed her lips. “I won’t burn as easily,” she said. “Give it to me.”
“You will burn up if a volcano opens under your feet,” Dahl said, as they came to the alcove. “We need another solution.”
The Book sat open on its pedestal, the shift of its inks a frenetic swirl of runes. The air as they crossed into the alcove buzzed as if a swarm of bees were hidden in the shelves around it. As peaceful as the scene seemed to the eye, there was no pretending that they weren’t walking into a special kind of danger. Dahl drew his sword.
“Do you have a plan here?”
“Well, you’re the Harper,” she whispered. “And he’s a devil. I would think between the two of you I wouldn’t need to tell you how to trick information out of someone.” She considered the Book, and the conversations she’d had with it. “It’s proud. It doesn’t like getting caught in mistakes.” She thought of the vision, of the Book’s claim to be a victim of Tarchamus, same as the dead wizards. “It doesn’t want to be here-or it didn’t a few millennia ago. I think it hates Tarchamus.” More than just hates him, she thought. And more than hated Emrys.
“It’s never seen the Hells,” Dahl said. “Maybe your devil’s thoughts are prize enough.”
“It’s not going to make a trade,” she said, cutting Lorcan’s protests off. “I’m pretty sure it thinks it’s smarter than you by a lot.”
“Oh,” Dahl said, surprised. “All right. I might know how to do this. Follow my lead.” He strode toward the Book.
“This is the Book that told you tales of the Brimstone Angel?” Lorcan murmured to her as they followed. She nodded. “Perhaps if your paladin’s plans fall apart, we can see how well tearing out the pages one by one works.”
“Stop calling him that,” Farideh said.
“You missed something,” Dahl was saying to the Book.
Did I? The inks traced line after line after line of tiny runes. I doubt that very much.
“You sent me after the diary,” Dahl said, all smugness. “You thought I’d side with Tarchamus. You thought I’d come back to you after finding out about the interession? But there was more there. Emrys mentions the scroll. The one you claimed didn’t exist.”
Do you think I didn’t know that? the Book sneered. I wanted you to find the scroll, wherever Emrys had it hidden. The promise of solving your puzzle was bait so obvious I worried you’d see through it.
Dahl cast his eyes at Farideh. “Liar,” he said, sounding petulant. “What good is the scroll to you?”
Oh, I’m far past needing scrolls. But let’s see what good it does you.
Farideh frowned at the swirling text. Such an odd thing to say. When would a Book have needed scrolls?
Dahl hesitated. Be nice, he mouthed to Farideh. He jerked his head toward the Book.
“To … to be honest,” she said, “it’s Mira who wants the scroll, the woman who led us here. I can hardly see why. You seem more valuable.”
Leagues more valuable. Not that most people know it.
Dahl mouthed more instructions. Why not you?
“Why is it no one’s taken you from this place?” Farideh asked. “I mean, the scroll was hidden. But I would think they’d find you first, and then … well why bother looking further?”
You aren’t the first ones to be trapped in this place, it said bitterly. If anyone meant to rescue me, they’d soon need rescuing of their own.
“Tarchamus controls the doors?” Dahl asked, genuinely surprised. “Not you?”
Those brats of apprentices control the doors. And they answer to that rotting husk, not to me.
“It sounds an awful lot like you hate Tarchamus,” Dahl said.
Our relationship is complicated, the Book said. All his relationships are complicated.
The vision of the ritual, the mummy, and poor Emrys-You could take me, the Book had said. We could flee this place and its magic. There’s such a lot of world I never saw.
Farewell, my friend, Emrys had said.
“Oh gods-you are him,” Farideh said. “You’re Tarchamus.”
Dahl looked at her as if she had lost her mind entirely.
The Book paused. Clever girl.
“But the arcanist is in the crypt,” Dahl said.
I’m more him than what he made of himself, the Book sneered. Tarchamus duplicated his mind-his knowledge, his wisdom, his consciousness-and placed it in these pages. Quite a feat, it said cynically. One he never bothered sharing. The apprentices never acknowledged me-just hauled me around Netheril like a dumb object, taunting me with everything Tarchamus had kept from himself.
Dahl shook his head in disbelief. “We mean to leave,” he said finally. “We could take you with us. Destroy the creature Tarchamus became.”
You think to bargain with me, little boy? I have much better rescuers at hand. I have seen Risen Netheril-in your thoughts and in those of the ones who came before you. They will appreciate me. Once you lot feed that thing, he’ll be sated enough for the army at the gates to swoop in. It chuckled. It’s been two thousand years since I had a chance like this. I won’t miss it. I’ll tell them where to get the scroll and they’ll take me out of this wretched hole in the ground.
“Tarchamus won’t open the doors until we’re dead,” Dahl pointed out. “And we’re well-fortified and ready for a siege. We know to avoid the pit and we know the ghosts’ tricks. If you wait too long, your rescuers are bound to give up. If you convince him to open the doors, they’ll make much simpler prey.”
For one, I’m well aware that you are low on water in particular. My apprentices make careful note of such things. For another, Netheril is nearly through the doors on their own. My rescue is at hand.
“So that your ghosts can chase them into the arcanist’s pit,” Farideh said.
He’ll be far too busy devouring you, the Book said sweetly. Your camp’s not even far enough to make a decent chase.
Farideh nearly sighed in relief. The trapdoor must be near the camp-with Mira’s maps that might be enough to find it. Dahl pursed his lips, considering the Book for a long moment. He looked up at Farideh.
They couldn’t take the chance that the Book might fall into Netheril’s hands. If the doors opened and they didn’t have time to do anything but flee, the Book was at least as important as the scroll. But both of them knew too much about their plans to escape, and had very little new knowledge with which to distract the Book.
“Lorcan,” she said, “would you take it?”
The cambion picked up the tome in both hands, flinching as if about to sneeze as the Book’s magic scoured his thoughts. Well, well, it said, sounding slightly rattled. When did you come in?
“Heavens to Hells,” she heard Lorcan say, as they walked back to the camp. “What did you think you were helping my warlock to do? Those runes you had them destroy made space for a portal, and the spell you assisted her in creating pulled me through.”
I assisted nothing, the Book said. That girl was but my hands and eyes.