Secrets of the Hidden Library - 2nd Annual FIction Competition - WINNERS ON PAGE 6

Draconess Isme Hy'till, of the Kabal of Shrouded Knowledge entered the great library, her footfalls causing small clouds of dust to puff into the air, the dancing motes wafting about in idyllic arrays before her face as she held high a guttering copper torch, the flickering gree fires casting light across the vast chambers before her.

Row upon row of bookshelves waited there, each groaning under the weight of countless tomes filling each and every one near to breaking. The tall dark wood shelves rose up high towards the ceiling, passing beyond her torch’s nimbus of light. If she had learned that the bookshelves supported the very roof she would have been unsurprised. She peered into the darkness.

“Librarian!”

She knew no other name to call him, or even…well, or even if he was a ‘him’ at all. She had met the librarian only once before, and had decided he sounded like a man. But if he was it was hard to say, perhaps he was female, perhaps he lacked true gender. An ‘it’ perhaps? Was it even an Eldarith? Was it some construct, some scientifically generated being created only for the purpose of maintaining the treasure of the knowledge here? Or was it something else, something darker, more sinister, more subvert?

“Librarian! I know you can hear me!” Her ire sounded hollow, her shout of demand sounded weak in the vast, empty, chamber. The last echos of her cry died out and she felt alone and foolish. Her hand gripped at her venom blade and she was about to spin on her heel and march out when a quiet whisper sounded behind her. A voice as soft as dust, crinkling like ancient paper.

“I recall you, you have been here before, did my humble library aid you in your battle?”

Irma turned around, pacing about in the darkness, her torch high, but try as she might she could catch no sign of the librarian. “I led the attack, I stormed the gates, knowing that I, and the Eldarith Ynneas were the storm, I focused my anger and power, and I am not sure I could have done all of that if not for the stories you showed me.” She hated to admit this, but she was relatively certain that he would be unlikely to partake of court gossip. Indeed, she had never had any inclination that anyone else had ever spoken to him.

“I am pleased. You have come for more knowledge then?”

“I have.” She licked her lips, knowing her next words would commit her potentially to her action. “Archon Mureed has grown soft, and old, and weak. He fears my powers, and it is my intent to depose him.” She waited, expecting something from the librarian. A cry of outrage, an evil chuckle of shared plotting, perhaps even a simple shocked gasp at her audacity. But…nothing. “Well!?!”

“You have stated intent, but have not asked a question. I cannot provide you answers without a subject.” The voice almost sounded bored.

“Archon Mureed, he is old but is not toothless. His guards and allies are ample, I need to learn the best method for a Dracon to seize his power!”

“To seize his power? To take his seat. To claim what belongs to another. Such ambition, such drive, such…pride. I know many stories of pride.”

“Not just pride, you distractable fool, I need to know about seizing power, about overcoming odds, about…” She realized the sense of the librarian was gone, and she could already hear the sounds of books being rummaged through. Isme sighed slightly to herself as she started down one of the long and narrow rows of bookcases, already finding a small pile waiting for her at the next intersection. Ancient scrolls, books, data slates, and more – each and every one already marked with a note or bookmark indicating where she might find what she desired.

“This had better work,” Isme sneered as she picked up the first offering and began to read…