Brian M. Thomsen
Realms of the Arcane
Contents
Wes Nicholson… Prologue
David Cook…Wishing You Many More
Elaine Cunningham…Secrets of Blood, Spirits of the Sea
Tom Dupree…Bread Storm Rising
Wes Nicholson…Interlude
J. Robert King…When Even Sky Cities Fall
Mark Anthony….The Grotto of Dreams
Monte Cook…A Narrowed Gaze
Ed Greenwood….The Whispering Crown
Wes Nicholson…Interlude
Philip Athans…The Lady and the Shadow
Brian Thomsen…Shadows of the Past
Jeff Grubb….Tertius and the Artifact
Wes Nicholson…Epilogue
Prologue
Most of the time, Wes enjoyed living at Candlekeep. He was serving a year's probation before becoming a novice monk, and as a result, was one of the keep's most junior inhabitants. He and his fellow probationers got the jobs no one else wanted.
Wes didn't mind. If he could get through this first year, everything would start looking better.
Slight, a shade over five-and-a-half feet tall, and rather plain in appearance, Wes turned nary a head. Like many eighteen year olds, he was gangly and all out of proportion. His eyes had a deep sparkle, but the rest of his face didn't match them, and his hair was as brown and tangled as a scullery mop.
It was not a mop but a broom that he now pushed slowly across the floor of the common room. He sighed, contented in his work… and in his daydreams.
There were only two things in life that Wes was discontented with. The first was the pall that had descended over the library in the last few weeks. The very stones of the place seemed sullen. The monks were on edge; something was amiss. Wes prayed to all the gods to put it right.
The other unlikable thing made its baleful appearance even now, stomping to a halt in front of the broom.
Brother Frederick-Wes's personal bane.
Wes stopped his sweeping and stood on the hard stone floor of the common room. His shoulders shook in dread of what was to come.
Brother Frederick's boots dispersed the dust pile Wes had collected, and the angry old monk glared at him from less than a foot away.
"You'll never amount to anything, boy! It's taken you too long to clean up after morningfeast-again. You're lazy and incompetent. I don't understand why the abbot hasn't thrown you out. A slovenly boy like you should reap the harvest of his sloth. You want to be a novice monk? Never! There hasn't been a less likely candidate since Jeffrey, almost two centuries ago. And you know what happened to him!
"Now, get on with sweeping the floors before I find some real work for you to do-like emptying the midden!"
Brother Frederick stormed off, leaving Wes to his thoughts: I'm not lazy, just a little slow. One day, I'll show Brother Frederick and the others that I'm worthwhile.
"… you know what happened to him!"
The story of hapless Jeffrey had been used countless times to frighten Wes and the other probationers. Jeffrey was a novice who was so incompetent that he got lost in the library and never found his way out. Nor had anyone ever discovered his remains. He got lost… or snatched, by someone-or something.
It was a labyrinthine place, the library-labyrinthine and spooky.
Of their own accord, Wes's feet wandered from the common room, through the archway that led to the library. His hand gently leaned the broom against the corridor wall.
Ah, the library…
Wes's reverie was interrupted by a polite cough.
He spun around to see the abbot standing behind him. He was a tall, gaunt man, with wisps of gray hair poking out from under his monk's cowl.
"Probationer Wes, I don't suppose you could spare me a few minutes of your time."
Wes bowed his head in respect. "Of course I could, my lord. How may I be of service?"
"Well, first, you could strive not to upset Brother Frederick again. I was coming to fetch you when he stormed by me, muttering some very unmonkly words about you."
"Yes, my lord. It seems the good brother is always looking to find fault with me."
The abbot allowed himself a slight smile at this.
"He has only your welfare at heart, Wes. But, I have a more immediate task for you, too. The reading room in the north corner of the library hasn't been used for a while, and there are some scholars arriving tomorrow. I'd like you to go make sure the room is ready for their use."
Wes beamed at the abbot. "Yes, my lord. At once." He ran off toward the oldest part of the library.
The abbot watched him go, a knowing look on his gaunt face…
On his way, Wes stopped by a storeroom and grabbed another broom and some dusting cloths. He looked at the mop and bucket in the far corner, but quickly decided to leave them there.
Cleaning tools in hand, he found his way to the disused reading room. He opened the door and coughed loudly as a cloud of dust rose. There were cobwebs everywhere, and Wes wondered where he should start.
Right by the door seemed as good a place as any. He soon was busy sweeping and dusting and trying not to choke or sneeze, battling the flying dust for each breath of air. The room was starting to look like it might be usable by the morning.
Brother Frederick stuck his head in.
"What are you doing here, boy? I told you to finish cleaning up the dining room. Have you done that?"
"Ah… no, Brother… but…"
"But nothing. Go and do it, NOW!"
Wes stood in the middle of the room, a stunned look on his face.
Brother Frederick turned a deep shade of crimson. "I said, NOW! Are you deaf?"
"B-B-B-But, the lord abbot told me to clean this room," Wes blurted out before Brother Frederick could interrupt again.
Whatever response Brother Frederick was going to make was bitten back at the mention of the abbot. The monk's face returned to its normal florid hue. ~~
"Very well. Once you have finished here, go straight to the dining room and get it clean."
He stomped off without waiting for a reply.
Wes got back to his cleaning and worked his way around the room. After almost an hour, he was very tired, and he leaned against a solid timber bookshelf mounted on the stone wall. The bookshelf and wall moved slightly under his weight.
He leapt back with a start.
Curious, Wes took a close look at the bookshelf. He glimpsed straight cracks in the stone wall behind it. A secret doorway leading… where?
"Well," he thought aloud, "I need a break from cleaning. I'll just see what's behind the door, and then get back to it."
He closed the reading room door, and then put his shoulder to the bookshelf and began to push. The shelf moved reluctantly at first, as though the door hadn't been opened for a long time. Wes pushed it far enough to squeeze through. Once inside, he blinked, finding himself in a small room lined with shelves. The shelves were stacked with books, scrolls, and more than a few piles of loose sheets.
Wes was very careful not to disturb those.
A wedge of light from the reading room illuminated a small reading desk and a solid oak chair, together in the center of the room. There was also a soft glow throughout the room, some sort of magical light.
His cleaning tasks quickly forgotten, Wes glanced gleefully around the room, plucking up the courage to pick something up and read it…
Wishing You Many More
David Cook
From the port of Luthcheq on the Bay of Chessenta
Greetings Grand Conjurer Torreb, and a fine birthday to you!
I cannot believe my fortune! To think that I should hear of you, fellow student, and upon your birthing day, too! It's me, Fannol Pavish from the Academy. I was 2nd initiate to your 1st. It has been so long ago, and after your injustice, we never kept in touch. In fact, I fear you may have forgotten me. I know that I, busy as I am, barely have time to relish the memories of those days. I am sure you, who were always so energetic and ambitious, can scarce find the time for idle reminiscing, especially on what must be such an unhappy topic.