The task before him now was like threading a needle for the first time in a pitch-black room with one hand. Quintus had some experience with Sorcerous locks from his time spent delving into ancient ruins, but they had all been weakened by the passing ages. The Library's front entrance still brimmed with enough power to make his flesh crawl. He also knew next to nothing about the ethically questionable art of opening mundane locks with his gifts, while he's met colleagues in the past that could open a lockbox from across the room with a little concentration. Faced with a complex combination of the two, it didn't take him long to realise he'd have to force the lock.
Even then, it wasn't as simple as he would have liked. With the threat of Sorcerous traps woven into the doorway, he would need to be careful and methodical with his approach. He knelt in front of those looming doors with both hands outstretched and his eyes squeezed shut, brows deeply furrowed with concentration. His right palm was pressed against the cold, smooth stone while his left was poised above it with fingers splayed.
Tendrils of ethereal power flowed from each hand, each bent to an individual task. His left delved into the material lock itself and fumbled with the Sorcerous links within, like a blind man mapping out an intricate puzzle box with touch alone, while his right tentatively explored the arcane wards crafted into the very heart of the thick, midnight blue stone. He needed no spell or incantation to extend a sliver of his will into the world around him. The ability was more of an innate skill than anything else, an extra sense that allowed him to touch and sense the immaterial with his own power. The Sorcerous power he met layered into the stone doorway was old, older than anything else he'd encountered in the city so far and it was utterly new to him. The last he'd felt something even remotely close to it had been when the robed cultist atop its tower in the flooded docks had flung lightning at them and even that was but a faint whisper of the ocean now spread before him in the form of ensorcelled stone.
Common sense told him to rest, but Quintus knew it would have been a vain effort with Dalághast's fabled Library so close at hand. He was only glad that they had welcomed everyone into the hallowed halls beyond the doorway, so it hadn't been enchanted to ward off thieves centuries after its downfall. Otherwise, he doubted he would ever have been able to crack the mechanical lock before him now.
Despite that encouraging fact and in spite of his honed concentration, Quintus' body was starting to fail him. His muscles ached after the day's travelling and his limbs were starting to grow numb with the onset of dusk, threatening to distract him from the task at hand at the most inopportune times. A rising migraine played about the edges of his focus and it was becoming harder and harder to ignore as he tried to sink into that perfect space of relaxation where he would be able to do his best work. Given a little time, the rest of the world started to fade away, until he was scarcely aware of anything outside the mental image he was constructing of the physical lock, mentally mapping out every inch of it while simultaneously deducing how best to approach opening it.
"Grub's up," Knox called and, just like that, all of Quintus' hard work was ruined.
His eyes snapped open as his concentration was abruptly broken and the Sorcerer hissed in pain as his senses realigned. Pain spiked through his long fingers and stabbed its way up his forearms to leave a burning, prickling sensation behind. The backlash of energy was unpleasant, and he painstakingly withdrew the bent and twisted tendrils from the door as carefully as he could to avoid further harm. Only then did he withdraw his hands from the cold stone with a heavy exhale through his nose.
"Fetch me some food," he grunted over his shoulder.
"Where should I leave the lantern?" Skye asked, looking around helplessly, jolted back into life by his voice.
"Up your arse for all I care," Quintus snapped, "Just get me some damned food!"
His Apprentice left the lantern down and wandered down the nearby steps towards the campfire. Slowly, he started massaging his forearms, wincing with discomfort as he worked his thumbs deep into his twitching flesh until the pain had faded to the dull, throbbing ache of all too familiar age. His joints were stiff and tingled with every breath he took, but Quintus knew better than to try stretching them out just yet. Better to leave them as they were for now and deal with the aftermath later. Instead, he began to review what he'd learned.
The lock, he'd discovered over the course of two hours, ran deep. It was almost a foot in length and made up of several intricate metal pieces that all seemed to link together in some unknown way into a single mechanism. While a physical component of the lock existed, it was only the tip of a mighty iceberg, since the majority of the lock seemed to be Sorcerous by design. Quintus imagined that, just like the tumblers of a mundane lock, he would need to disarm segments of the ancient Wards as he went, loosening them just enough for him to proceed even deeper into the labyrinth of ethereal energy. Once he had a little room to work with, he could begin to make progress, but any headway in that direction had been nothing short of miniscule so far.
Skye returned after a moment with a steaming bowl of stew and he accepted it from her without a word. Cradling it in his hands, he let its warmth seep into skin for a long moment before beginning to scoop spoonfuls of the steaming slop into his mouth. He scarcely tasted it as he considered the task ahead of him. Not for the first time, the old Sorcerer wished he had access to some of the books from his youth but that time had long since passed and he hadn't been able to set foot inside a Library in the better part of forty long years. The books he'd been able to salvage or buy during the course of travels had been good, but they hadn't covered the finer points of lock picking.
After having his senses split and engulfed by the process of feeling out the mechanism, his mundane senses felt strangely slow and disjointed, to the point where it took him a minute to even smell the delicious scent of the food wafting under his nose. His Apprentice sat down on the nearby stone rail and began to eat her own meal. Quintus spared her a courtesy glance. Her eyes were downcast and ringed with dark circles, but they looked up as she felt his gaze on her and widened as if to say 'What?' He simply looked away without responding and did his best to ignore her.
What he couldn't ignore was the footsteps traipsing up the staircase behind him, almost lost beneath the louder rattle of an armoured form. He half turned to see Shankhill and Hulbard approaching.
"How's it looking?" the narrow man asked with a cheerful grin.
In no mood to humour him, Quintus' answer was short and to the point.
"Fuck off Shankhill".
"About as well as expected then," he mused, settling down on the rail next to Skye to begin working on his own bowl of food.
"Progress?" Hulbard asked in that deep drawl of his.
"Slow," Quintus told him shortly, though in a more patient tone than he'd used for their companion.
The warrior hummed and settled down on his haunches to one side with his back against the tower wall to devour his steaming stew while keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. After the day's long trek and his grueling war of attrition with the magical lock, Quintus wanted nothing more than to be left in peace and the scraping of their wooden spoons against wooden bowls began to grate on his already frayed nerves after only a few seconds.
"Do neither of you have anywhere else to be?" he asked irritably.
"Not really," Shankhill shrugged, eyes fever bright in the dim lantern light.
"Semekt and Knox have watch," Hulbard explained, "We have some time to kill".
"And we decided to kill it by checking up on our second favourite Sorcerer," Shankhill added with a wry smirk towards Skye and she rolled her eyes.
"I'm a Sorceress, dimwit," she told him.
"Same thing the way I see it," Shankhill shrugged.
"Since you have nowhere better to be, how about you do us both a favour and leave us in peace," Quintus suggested archly, "This is delicate work and I won't be able to focus with you two lurking around behind me".
Grunting at the Sorcerer's dismissive attitude, Shankhill slid off his perch and wandered away back down the steps, leaving Hulbard where he was. His continued presence irked Quintus, but he knew better than to show it as clearly as he had with the other man. The armoured giant could be temperamental, full of himself and an argumentative problem whenever his precious ego was slighted and he had to desire to deal with it just then. So, for the sake of peace, Quintus kept his voice level as he spoke his next words.
"You too, Hulbard".
The warrior hummed, nodded and pushed himself back upright with a weary groan. He paused for a long second as he peered up at the tower overhead, quietly still spooning food into his mouth. Quintus heaved a weary sigh and glanced towards his Apprentice again, wracking his mind for some useful task he could set her to. She'd already devoured her food and set the bowl aside and was just idly swinging her legs back and forth on her perch. The food seemed to perk her up a little, but her once golden hair still hung across her wan features in lank strands. The journey was taking its toll on all of them, but, to her credit, she wasn't complaining nearly as much as he'd expected.
"What do you think we're going to find in there?" Hulbard asked in an idle effort at conversation that finally made Quintus disregard his companions' temperamental ways.
"Were you privy to some conversation with Ailasin that I somehow missed?" he asked with a disapproving glance, hoping to convey just just how useless he thought the question was.
Hulbard met his glance with a hard stare before muttering, "Afraid not".
"No?" Quintus prompted, "Then you know as much as me".
"Guess I'd better get some sleep if I can manage it," the warrior mumbled before wandering away down the steps.
"I wish," Skye said mournfully as he passed.
"How do you think I feel?" Quintus snapped irritably.
Hulbard lay to one side of the fire on his back with his fingers interlaced across his broad chest. Trastgor was already snoring loudly nearby, the deep rumble of his growling rising and falling in time with his shoulders. The Kurgal was exhausted but, given a good night's sleep, Hulbard knew he'd be back to his usual, bullish strength in no time. A comforting fact, considering the dangers they'd already faced and the dangers of what might still lie ahead. Quintus was valuable in his own ways, but when it came to a straight fight, he'd relied on few fighters more than Trastgor and Semekt in his time. One was a bulwark of steadfast ignorance while the other was a flurry of razor sharp blades and both had their place by his side while Knox worked from the back lines with his bow.
Shankhill, on the other hand, was dead to the world on the opposite side of the flickering, crackling flames. Hulbard wished he could fall asleep that easily but, despite the day, he was having a hard time settling down. Shifting to get as comfortable as he could on the hard ground, he peered towards the dark treeline and his gaze was drawn towards the nearest of those strange, humanoid shapes. It crouched alongside the trunk of a nearby tree and the firelight glistened across the dark fluid streaking down its raised arms. Opposite, the tower soared into the night sky, a shadowy sentinel over a silent and forgotten forest.
He must have fallen into a restless doze, because before he knew it, Hulbard was being plagued with frantic dreams and memories ranging from recent to long ago. On the edge of deeper dreams and waking, he was suddenly brought back to reality by the purposeful creak of a branch shifting nearby. His eyes opened to see the fire burning low. It was impossible to gauge how much time had passed, but he could feel the hair across his scalp tingle with the certain knowledge that he was being watched. His senses snapped back into rapt focus as his heart skipped a beat. With that odd sixth sense most warriors came to possess after a lifetime of battle, Hulbard tried to keep his movements as natural and smooth as possible when he rolled over to peer towards the treeline.
There was the sharp, distinctive 'THUNK' of a crossbow being loosed and Hulbard jolted upright.
"Wake!" Semekt snarled but Hulbard was already rolling clear of his blankets.
He snatched up his warhammer along the way as both Shankhill and Trastgor came awake with a frenzied flurry of movement. A nearby tree bucked as the Dramaskian dropped from it and into the bushes below with a crash.
"Wake!" Semekt rasped again as loud as she could.
There came the rasp of her scimitars being drawn, the glint of steel at the treeline. There was a distant rumble building between the twisted trunks that seemed to come from several places at once.
"Where?" Hulbard roared, slapping his helmet into place over his head with a metallic clunk, "What is it? Knox? Knox!"
"I'm here!" the hunter called from the right, "I don't know!"
"Creature!" Semekt rasped like a harp striking every discordant chord all at once, "Ahead! Cannot see!"
The sudden crack and crash of splintering wood heralded something large suddenly bolting through the forest straight towards them. The trees bent and broke before Semekt was struck with a bone jarring thud and sent sailing through the air. The dark scaled serpent arched clean over Hulbard and only just managed to wrap herself into a ball before she came crashing down into the camp fire. She rolled free of it, spraying sparks and embers. Hulbard caught Shankhill's eyes just in time to see them go wide and he knew exactly what would happen next; he bolted for the nearest packs of gold, grabbed as many as he could and started hobbling towards the tower steps.
"Quintus!" Shankhill shrieked, "Get that door open! Now!"
Hulbard whirled back to the trees as something prowled into the scattered firelight of their camp. At first he took it to be a dog; standing as tall at the shoulder as a man, Semekt's 'creature' looked like a giant, misshapen hound. It had long, spindly front legs beneath a set of heavily muscled, hunchbacked shoulders and stumpy hind legs. Where its neck and head should have been, there was a human torso instead. Hulbard could make out few details in the gloom, but he saw a pair of unnaturally long arms beneath a face full of wide features. The entire thing was sheathed in a carpet of thick, dead moss like fur, but his eyes were drawn to the crossbow bolt jutting from its hip.
Hulbard dove for his shield and snatched it up as the monster lunged. He got it up just in time to take the brunt of a swipe that would have taken his head off otherwise but he was still flung backwards, sent head over heel tumbling across the withered grass as his heel dug into the soft soil. He surged back upright, muscles protesting the punishment and saw Knox dart close to the beast from behind. Hulbard caught the glint of a sword before it plunged into the canine's hindquarters with the distinctive, wet snick of a blade slicing into flesh. The crossbow bolt hadn't seemed to bother it much, but the blade did; the creature went wild.
It danced aside from the sword, dragging Knox after, and started thrashing wildly. The torso tensed and went into spasm while the lower half reared and pawed at the air. The hunter was hauled off his feet, nearly sent flying, and only just managed to cling to the handle of his sword. Hulbard threw a glance over his shoulder in the heartbeat of respite Knox had bought them so see Semekt slowly uncoiling on the ground. Beyond, at the top of the steps and the base of that massive door, Quintus hadn't moved.
"Quintus!" he roared, "We need it open!"
"He's doing his best!" Skye called back from his side, where Shankhill was crouched low over his bags of coin.
"Fuck," Hulbard breathed, turning back to the wildly flailing monstrocity as it danced forward, past him and over the flames, nearly trampling Semekt as it went.
A low, deep moan of hollow pain emerged from a mouth too wide for the face it was set in and as it yawned wide, the warrior below could see rows of jagged teeth within. He ducked under a wild swipe, sidestepped around its rump as it spun and Knox whirled past with hair flying, and hefted his war hammer. He saw Trastgor doing the same opposite, both warriors seeking the right moment to strike, plotting the right angles to take the beast down. Its hands came up to its chest and made some kind of strange symbol of interlocking fingers.
As the creature's jaws yawned wide, an orb of crimson light coalesced between those curved fangs, blazing into fiery life so fast Hulbard thought he must have imagined it at first. That was until it was loosed as a lance of blood red light that sizzled as it swung over Hulbard's head to cut a fiery swathe through the trees. It burst the trunks asunder, set them ablaze and brought several crashing to the ground. Swearing loudly to himself, Hulbard dashed forward, but the creature reared and one of its huge front paws swatted at him, crashed against his shield and sent him staggering back several steps. At the same time, Trastgor leapt for its rear, his wickedly curved sword chopping for its hind legs but missing as the monster whirled and a hand lashed out to drive him back. All the while, Knox was anchored in place over its hindquarters by his sword and Hulbard saw him trying to mount the beast. He almost got a leg over its twisted back before it bucked like a wild horse, flinging the archer free.
It swung around and its haunch crashed against him, flinging the warrior back another step before he could strike. Its head snapped around and those wide, bright eyes fixed on the steps leading up to the tower. It froze in its tracks and Hulbard's head whipped around to follow its rapturous gaze. Skye stood at the top of the staircase. Her hands were weaving through the air, a thin bangle about one wrist glowing sapphire in the dark.
A crackle filled the air, set the hairs on the back of Hulbard's neck rippling and he turned to see another orb forming between the monster's jaws, spilling ghostly light between its fangs. Its hands were rising to lock together over its chest again.
"No," he breathed, rushing forward.
A thousand thoughts at once culminated into the sheer instinct to stop the beast from unleashing that bolt of light at Skye. He crashed into the hound's shoulder, smashed his shield into flesh with all his weight behind it, but it was already too late. Light bloomed and a second lance lit the clearing in stark crimson brilliance. It seared across the space between the beast and Skye in a heartbeat.
It crashed into an invisible barrier a foot from her weaving hands, split in two like a river around a boulder and drew fire across the tower walls. The beam fizzled out and Hulbard swung wild for where its torso met its canine counterpart. He caught it a glancing blow, just enough to tear skin and spray black blood across the ground at their feet. It was enough to send the beast jolting backwards, straight into Trastgor's curved blade. It came crunching down into the rear of a hind leg, splitting fur and flesh apart in one long gash. It shouldered the Kurgal aside and took several cautious steps back towards the trees, obviously considering its options and they crowded in around it.
"Stand aside!" it was more of a wild shriek than a voice of authority, but it had the desired effect; they obeyed.
Hulbard, Trastgor and Knox all darted in opposite directions and he turned to see Skye atop the steps, her hands weaving in a wilder pattern now, wreathed in a smoky, crimson aura. Two pinpricks of purple light were left floating in the wake of her fingertips and they blossomed into larger orbs in the blink of an eye. They rolled as they grew, reforming before Hulbard's eyes into glittering points of incandescent fire, each as long as his forearm. Scarcely four seconds had passed between Skye yelling her warning and the moment those two projectiles split the night sky.
The monster turned to run but those blades of iridescent purple flame crossed the flame between them before it could do much else. The shards of Sorcerous fire found their mark and plunged clean through the creature from one side to the next, trailing gore, gouts of steaming blood, bone and guts. The blades clove into the earth as the monster hit the ground, split apart and dissected in a heartbeat with great canyons carved through its body. A growled death rattle escaped the creature's slashed throat before it lay utterly still. Skye's hands fell, her face a mixture of composed fury and astonishment. Shoulders heaving, she half stumbled to one side and only just caught herself on the stone rail.
It had all happened in an instant, in the space of a few frenzied heartbeats. Hulbard's first thought, past relief, was whether his armour would have been able to deflect those searing points of purple light. They all stood still, frozen and rooted to the spot for a long, breathless second before the night was split by a vast, hollow boom. The doors at the base of the tower began to swing inwards on grinding hinges of their own accord, filling the entire forest with the dull roar of grating stone. A split appeared down the middle of the doors and dull light spilled from within. Shankhill raced through the opening as fast as he possibly could, dragging the sacks of gold along behind him.
"Ambush predator," Semekt rasped in that dry, papery voice of hers.
The Dramaskian was by his side now, staring at the mutilated monster, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Quintus had just opened the Library's doors.
"Gather everything you can," Hulbard told Trastgor and Knox, already turning away and striding towards the steps.
He found Quintus where he'd last seen the old man, kneeling in front of the now widening tower doors. In the dull, orange light of the nearby lantern, his face was wan, pale and bathed in glistening sweat. His closed eyes were sunk deep into their sockets but he pried them open with obvious effort at Hulbard's approach. His thin lips twisted into the semblance of a relieved smirk as he saw the fruits of his labour.
"You alright?" Hulbard asked Skye as he passed and she nodded weakly, one hand on the stone railing to balance herself and the other pressed against her forehead.
He left her there and moved across to her Master.
"Good job, Quin," he said quietly, though his voice echoed within his helm.
"My staff," he croaked weakly, reaching out with a shaking hand.
Hulbard caught the old man under the elbow and easily hauled him upright before stepping aside to make room for Skye with his bladed staff. Quintus wrapped his trembling fingers around the weathered length of wood and his Apprentice slid under his other arm, slinging it across her shoulders to take as much of his weight as she dared when she could barely stand herself. Together, they hobbled across the threshold and through the open door into the fabled lost Library of Dalághast.