Gaps decimated the rows of books, many shelves vacant entirely. “You have been at this already, I see. Where are Tolec and Barth? And Jennia? Are they helping?”
Mer paused and turned toward him, peering over his eyeglasses. His face drew long. “I sent them away this morning when the rumors became truth, with instructions to get as far from Cinvat as they could, not to return until they know all is safe…If ever. The more of you who escape, and survive, the better chance Memory has.”
He turned away again.
Daen swallowed and hurried after. They passed row upon row of volumes Daen had read or copied or repaired. Here were the chronicles of the Conquest of Lannaris, followed by the story of the Lascarion Peacemakers, and the Trials of Lautern. He saw that Mer had already removed the oldest and the newest of each copy, preserving both the ancient original and the most recent translation, leaving those of middling age to chance.
A painful lump filled his throat. So much would be lost, even if he escaped with all his memories intact and the vaults escaped plunder.
Mer stopped before a shelf containing the volumes of the Third Age, and pulled out several books without delay. “Here, my boy.” He dropped the volumes into Daen’s waiting arms, stacking them until Daen whimpered. He added one more, grabbed the last and largest two for himself, then started down the row again. “This way. Quickly now!”
The stairs to the vaults were old beyond reckoning, artifacts left from the original library built in centuries past. They represented the original hall, around which the city had risen layer by layer, until now the ancient ceiling was below the level of the streets. Daen caught himself against the wall several times when his feet slipped on the smooth, rounded steps. They emerged into dank gloom where torches burned fitfully in sconces along the walls. Shelves of stone staggered away into darkness, arrayed like miniature rowhouses in the poorest quarter of the city. Mer plucked a torch from a sconce and led the way down one of the narrow avenues. Daen stumbled after.
At last they climbed a short stair into a smaller room, with a rounded ceiling decorated in ancient mosaic. More tiles peeked from the walls, between the books that filled every corner. Stacks upon stacks of books. Every horizontal surface bore mountains of ancient tomes in leather and cloth, wood and paper. Piles supported planks of wood, with more piles atop that, baskets of scrolls tucked into every void. There was scarcely room to walk between them, but there was order nonetheless. Bits of paper stuck out here and there with notes penned in his master’s careful hand.
“Put them here, my son.” Mer set his tomes gently on a low bench, and Daen managed to place his beside them without toppling the entire stack. Then Mer produced a note from the pocket of his robes and stuck it into one of the volumes. “There are a few more books to gather, but first I want to show you something important.”
He pointed to the lintel of the door by which they had entered. “Do you see this great slab of stone here? This is how the vaults will be sealed if worse comes to worst.” Daen felt a touch of nascent panic at what might follow. Mer continued. “This wheel here,” and he indicated a large metal ring like a cartwheel set in the wall beside the door, “when turned completely to the right, will release a cascade of sand within the walls. A counterweight will fall, releasing the stops that hold this stone up. It will crash down and seal this chamber against any assault.”
Daen considered that, allowing in his mind that a man might turn that wheel and still escape before the sand ran out and the door fell.
“Now come with me over here.”
Mer wormed his way through piles of books to the opposite side of the room, where Daen saw an identical arrangement of door and wheel. Mer slapped the stone doorframe “The passage you see beyond this door winds under the streets to the northern foothills of the mountains. In a last resort, this will be our escape route. We’ll drop this door behind us…and pray that the mountains aren’t crawling with the Dahak’s minions.” He said the words with great calm, but his eyes were wide and bright.
Daen could only nod.
“Now let us go and collect the last of the books.”
When they returned to the great hall of the Library, they heard screams from the city.
Daen ran to the doors, with Mer hobbling after. The sentries stood in ready pose, looking out with their halberds lowered. One of them turned, his face ashen, and raised a hand to stop Daen from going to the door.
“What…?”
“It has begun,” said the sentry, voice cracking. “You should go back—”