South of Drummedbrass the party passed another abandoned monastery. The abbey chapel was finely engraved, and on the walls Thob picked out the image of a dancing god and his worshipers – this must be the “Gicast” that the goblin priestess had mentioned. Further engravings told him the name of the sect that had worshiped here.
The “Mellow Cult,” of the god of music festivals? Only a shiftless, daydreaming surface-dweller would come up with that, thought Thob. Dwarves worshiped sensible things, like wealth, and industry, and battle.
Well, most dwarves anyway – Thob recalled with a shudder the devotion to Oggon in his homeland. A dance god was probably better than a lust goddess, all things considered.
A large town lay on the plains to the east, connected to Drummedbrass by a long packed-dirt road. The sun was already setting as the party approached, and rather than enter a strange city at night they decided to find somewhere else to stay and wait for morning. It so happened that a small castle stood on a hill just outside the town:
At the very least, it’d be a shelter from the dingoes. Thob pushed open the wooden gates and entered the courtyard, which seemed deserted. He went to the keep and peered inside – and was surprised to find it stuffed, top to bottom, with books!
Might this castle have been a library, once? There still seemed to be no one around, so the party entered the keep. Thob began to study the books one by one; they were strewn over the furniture and floors in no particular order. They were mostly guides, biographies, and histories, of middling quality: one history devoted all 262 pages to a dragon eating a bird.
As he read, he noticed that most of the books – indeed, very nearly every one – had been written by the same hand, and bore the same name: Ugrad Nutsyawning. What was more, they were almost all
about Ugrad Nutsyawning as well.
And most were just about Ugrad writing other books – or, even stranger, about Ugrad storing other books…
Thob took note of the dates in these biographies: it seemed this Ugrad had lived for several centuries at least, far longer than a usual human lifespan. Thob’s suspicions were confirmed upon reading one particular book:
He was still perusing the clutter of books when two people entered the room. One was a goblin, wearing unadorned garments of elvish fashion; the other a human, a short and very skinny lady with long white hair in two braids. She did not look entirely sane.
“Who’s there?” said the goblin. “What are you doing here?”
“We’re just looking around,” said Thob. “Didn’t know anyone was here. We thought we’d stop here for the night.”
The goblin gave them a weighing look. “You look awfully well-armed for mere travelers,” he said.
“Have to be,” answered Thob. “You know… dingoes, and such.”
“Hmm… yes, well… I suppose you don’t mean any harm, or you’d have done it by now. I am Stasost Ancientwitch.”
“And I’m Thob. What’s with all the suspicion? Are you the lord of this place?”
“Good Gicast, no. I’m just a guardian, of sorts. There hasn’t been a lord here in ages – Castle Waneclutches is now used for a very different purpose.”
“A library?”
“A prison!” rattled the old human lady nearby, quite suddenly and loudly. “They keep me locked up here, night and day, with nothing to eat or drink! Please, help an old woman, would you?”
“Don’t listen to her!” warned Stasost. “Don’t be fooled by her innocent victim bit!”
“So she is your prisoner,” said Thob. “Why? What’s she done?”
“You really aren’t from around here, then,” said the goblin. He pointed to the woman. “That’s Ugrad Nutsyawning, the necromancer.”
“Immortal author and genius of the highest order!” shouted Ugrad. “The whole world would know my name – if those Empire goons hadn’t stuffed me in here…”
She continued ranting, but Stasost spoke over her calmly. “You see why we can’t let her out. And why I have to be wary of visitors. We’ve enough trouble as it is, without another crazed witch in the world.”
“…one day, though,” Ugrad continued, “my work will get out, and my words will be read! You cannot shut out the truth, Stasost! Do you hear me? YOU CANNOT SHUT OUT THE TRUTH!!” She clutched at Stasost’s robes as she shouted in his ear, but the goblin betrayed no annoyance – he looked like he’d been through this before.
“How long have you been here,” asked Strodno, “with… her?”
“I think it’s been… five centuries, now?” said Stasost.
“Must be hard… I was trapped in a tower for a few, myself – mostly alone, though. I guess it’s better having someone to talk to.”
Stasost glanced at Ugrad, who had released his garments and sat now in a corner, muttering. “Somehow I don’t think so,” he said.
“I guess that explains the books,” said Thob. “You know – why she writes about herself so much.”
“At least it keeps her busy, and mostly quiet.”
“I guess, then,” said Strodno, “that these lands have had the same trouble with undead as the rest of the world?”
“I don’t know about the rest,” said Stasost, “but yes, we’ve had our share of undead invasions. Mostly in the past, though. The remaining necromancers have hunkered down in their towers, and haven’t tried anything big for a while. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
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Topic: Thob Goes to the Surface (Read 62264 times)