“All right. Start your climb. Hopefully the warding ends about twenty or thirty feet up. Otherwise, this could be a real problem.”
“Not at all,” said Teron, “I’ll just chop your neck and roll you through.”
“I’m not particularly fond of the idea of you hitting my neck,” said Praxle.
“I’ve knocked out plenty of people,” said Teron.
“I thought you just killed folks,” hissed Praxle.
“It’s easier when they’re unconscious.”
“Somehow that answer does not make me more inclined to let you knock me unconscious.”
Teron chuckled, a slight hissing noise in the shadows. He gripped one of the ornamental spines of the library and ascended, pausing every five feet or so to extend one hand and check the height of the ward. At the third floor, he found nothing. He tsked twice, getting Praxle’s attention.
Praxle unlimbered a coiled rope. He glided his hand over the thin cord, murmuring under his breath. The rope started to pulse a deep blue as Praxle’s spell worked its way through the fibers. He set the coil down and one end of the rope began to rise like a cobra, slithering upward into the sky. It rose as high as Teron, then looped itself and moved toward the wall of the library. When it reached the wall, it coiled against it, creating a circle of enchanted rope for extra stability.
Praxle began to climb the rope. As he ascended, the rope wriggled from side to side, always presenting extra coils for Praxle’s hands and feet, creating an ever-shifting ladder to ease his climb. He reached a height that was even with Teron, then shimmied across the five-foot span to reach the wall.
As he reached the wall, he grabbed hold of Teron’s vest. The monk grunted with the extra weight, having only the ornamental spine for support. Praxle whispered to the long strand of rope, and it writhed its way like a serpent for the roof, weaving around the Flamic carvings that adorned the spine. The two intruders waited until at last the tail end of the rope appeared and wove itself into a small step beneath them.
Praxle climbed off Teron’s back, then worked himself to the side so that the monk could ascend first.
With coils of animated rope dangling about the spine, Teron reached the rooftop quickly. He scanned to either side. The sword-bearing statues stood their silent watch to either side, while the rotating towers spun slowly around. Nothing moved in the forest of spears that threatened the stars above.
Teron peered back down at Praxle and waved him up. Once he’d climbed to just below the roof, Praxle coiled the rope beneath him and cast a spell that wrapped around him like a blanket. The spell contracted enough to become a second skin. As it did so, Praxle’s color changed to a shifting dark gray, difficult to see in the night.
“How long will that last?” asked Teron.
“Over an hour.” Praxle climbed up to hunker next to Teron, and took a few moments to help the writhing rope coil itself neatly at the edge of the roof.
Keeping low, the two of them scuttled across to the central tower, then slid into the nook that protected the single door. They could hear the muttering of voices inside, dull, bored. Teron stood, clenched and cocked his fist …
Then Praxle quickly stood in front of him, blocking the way. Teron looked at the gnome quizzically, but Praxle waved him to the latch side of the door. The gnome moved to the hinge side and slowly worked his hands, tying a knot of arcane opalescent energy. His motions completed, he opened his hands and the energies floated for a moment, then they contracted.
“Mew!” a plaintive kitten’s voice sounded in the air.
Teron looked at the gnome, but all he could see in the shadows was the light of the spell reflecting off the gnome’s teeth. The spell pulsed twice more, looking rather like a beating heart. “Mew! Mew!” The small voice whined louder, more insistently.
Praxle leaned forward and scratched at the door with his fingernails, a mischievous grin shining in the darkness. “Meww!”
Inside, Teron heard the voices grumbling among themselves, some confused, some complaining, but one or two sounding reasonable and concerned. He heard a chair scooting back, and approaching footsteps. He braced himself, and shaped one hand into a spear.
Behind the door, someone slid a heavy bar to the side. Praxle’s spell redoubled its crying, and the gnome scratched some more at the door. A key turned in the tumbler, and the latch clicked. The door opened, spilling light in the entryway, and a guard stepped partway out, looking toward the ground.
Teron thrust with his spear hand, striking the guard with the point of his finger right in the voice box. The guards gagged, raising one hand to his throat in surprise, and Teron stepped forward, grabbed the man’s head, and gave it a sharp jerk. A single loud pop resounded in the night.
Holding the dead man up by the head, Teron pulled him away from the door and lowered him quietly to the ground.
Teron moved into the tower, Praxle following. The interior of the tower was a single common room, and five other armored guards stood in surprise as they saw the strangers enter. The nearest lunged for his sword, leaning against his chair, still sheathed. Teron snapped a kick upward, smacking the guard in the face and driving him upright again. The monk spun with the kick, turning a full circle and arcing around with a high spinning heel kick that took the stunned man on the temple, sending him to the floor.
Magic words spilled from Praxle’s mouth, and they were punctuated by a small pop as a thick, billowing cloud of gray erupted from the center of the room and filled the entire interior of the tower with an impenetrable mist. Then Teron heard the door shut as Praxle secured the area. He smiled and stood perfectly still.
Somewhere in the mist Teron heard a guard babbling confused and panicked questions. Relying on his four basilisks training, the monk swept a path to the speaker with kicks and punches; none of them met with any resistance until his foot connected with a knee, breaking it. The speaker cried out, but Teron finished him off without hesitation. As the guard’s last breath escaped, Teron heard the soft jingle of chain mail close at hand. He dropped low and swept his leg at ankle height, dropping another guard. He quickly pinned the guard’s weapon and killed him, as well.
Teron rose silently and stalked the cottony fog like a panther. Betrayed by the noises of their armor and their hissing attempts at communication, the other three Thrane guards fell just as quickly as the others.
As the last of them fell, Teron turned a full circle, listening for any noise from his companion, but the gnome was utterly silent. “Praxle!” he hissed. “Praxle!”
There was no answer for a short while, but then Teron heard hinges creak as the door swung open again. A small tenor voice murmured in the mist. “Are they all dead?”
“Indeed,” whispered Teron. “Now get rid of this mist!”
“Let it run its course,” suggested Praxle. “I’d rather not waste energy dispelling it. We may have greater need later.”
Teron heard Praxle step across the floor, then a clatter and a curse as the gnome tripped over a Thrane corpse.
A few moments later, the mist cleared away, vaporizing into nonexistence in a complicated series of intertwining tendrils, stirred into that chaos by the passage of Teron and the guards.
Praxle whistled. “Your body is impressive, Teron,” he said. “Now we just have to whet your soul to be as fine, and you can be as powerful as I.”
Teron ignored the comment. “Where now?” he asked.
Praxle pointed to the trap door of the tower. “There, first of all,” he said. “I’ve spent many long, bitter years memorizing the architecture of this library and the location of the notes, all in preparation for this day.”
Teron gripped the ring of the trap door and pulled. “It’s locked from the other side,” he said.
“I know,” said Praxle. “But they designed the door with the hinges on this side.”
Teron looked at the other end of the trapdoor. “Well, that was foolhardy,” he said.