‘So, they made the prophecy come true,’ said Amirantha, as Pug resumed walking.
As the Warlock and Jim caught up, Pug said, ‘Perhaps. Or perhaps there is more destruction headed our way, and only this place, That Which Was Sarth, is destined to survive it.’
‘Exactly where are we?’ asked Amirantha. ‘I assume somewhere underground, as I did not notice anything resembling a window in the last two vaults we passed through.’
‘We are very deep underground,’ said Pug. ‘As to where, I promised the monks I would never reveal their location unless I have their leave. You were transported here by magic outside your understanding, so I can safely assume that you have no way of returning here after our visit.’
Amirantha chuckled. ‘Indeed.’
They reached a large door and Pug pulled it open. The room behind it was small, a table occupied half its area, over which stood a white-haired magician in black robes. ‘Father,’ said Magnus to Pug as they entered. Then he greeted Amirantha and Jim.
Next to Magnus stood a monk dressed in the simple light brown robes of the Ishapians. He was a nondescript man of middle years, with a round head topped with a thatch of brown hair cut in a tonsure. He inclined his head in greeting and said, ‘Pug. You bring us guests?’
‘Brother Victor, these are our friends; may I introduce James, Baron of the King’s Court in Rillanon, and great grandson of Lord James of Krondor, also known as “Jimmy the Hand”.’
The monk smiled. ‘We possess a wonderful story about your ancestor that you may not have heard before,’ said the monk.
‘And this is Amirantha, Warlock of the Satumbria, a people from across the great ocean. He is something of an expert on demons and I have need of his wisdom.’
‘Your vouching for them grants an indulgence,’ said the monk. ‘But the Father Superior may not be so kindly disposed.’
‘Which is why I came straight here,’ said Pug with a nod.
The monk smiled. ‘So I should mention your visit when? An hour or so after you depart?’
‘That should be ample time,’ said Pug. ‘We don’t plan to stay long, unless the need arises.’
‘Well then,’ said the monk wearing a wry expression, ‘what do you seek this time?’
Magnus turned to Amirantha and Jim, ‘We’ve been testing Brother Victor’s vast knowledge on every subject imaginable.’
The monk held up his hands, palms outward, and said, ‘Hardly that.’
‘He is the living index of where everything in this vast library is to be found,’ said Pug.
Amirantha said, ‘Simply, prodigious; but don’t you keep some sort of written record here, too?’
‘Of course,’ said the monk, ‘and a dozen of our brothers labour ceaselessly to update our records as new material is gathered, but until they complete their task, we make do with cobbled together notes, and this.’ He tapped the side of his head with his forefinger.
‘What do you know of the Demon Brothers?’ asked Pug.
The monk’s expression stilled. After almost a minute, he closed his eyes. ‘I believe there has been mention of them…’ His eyes widened. ‘Wait! I’ll be right back.’ And Brother Victor hurried from the room.
The four remaining men exchanged curious glances, which became expressions of deeper puzzlement as they continued to wait. Half an hour passed before the monk finally returned, a dusty, old, leather-bound volume in his hand.
‘It should be in here,’ he said as if he had only just stepped out of the room then reappeared.
‘What is it?’ asked Pug as the monk laid the book down on the table and opened it gently.
‘It’s the chronicle of oneVaris Logondis, a Quegan trader who lived about four hundred years ago. He was a compulsive journal keeper who believed every detail of his life deserved to be recorded.
‘In fact, most of his life was unremarkable, unless you happen to be an aficionado of travelogues, long discourse on mercantile trends, or the state of Varis’s digestive health on any given day during his life. But, he does remark in passing on many contemporaneous issues, which are useful in providing corroboration or refutation of other histories and accounts of the same period.
‘But one of his remarks has stuck with me over the years.’ He scanned the page. ‘Ah, there it is. Let me read it out loud, the dialect is somewhat antiquated and his spelling is atrocious. “In the evening, we came upon a village, by name, Hamtas on Jaguard, whereupon we were welcomed at an inn by name, The Restful Station. There did we encounter soldiers of the Empire, at their ease after a battle.
‘“I remark upon this for two counts,”—I am certain he meansreasons here—‘“the first, that they were not of the militia, but were legionaries from Queg that had been haste posted to this region, and the last, that they had struggled mightily against the Demon Brothers and their living dead.”’