Cadderly sat before his open window, watching the dawn and feeding Percival cacasa-nut-and-butter biscuits. The Shining Plains lived up to their name this morning, with dew-speckled grass catching the morning sunlight and throwing it back to the sky in a dazzling dance. The sun climbed higher and the line of brightness moved up into the foothills of the Snowflake Mountains. Pockets of darkness, valleys, dotted the region and a wispy mist rose to the south, from the valley of the Impresk River, feeding the wide lake to the east.
"Ow!" Cadderly cried, pulling his hand away from the hungry squirrel. Percival had gotten a bit too eager, nipping through the biscuit and into Cadderly's palm. Cadderly pinched the wound between his thumb and forefinger to stem the blood flow.
Busily licking the last of the cacasa-nut from his paws, Percival hardly seemed to notice Cadderly's discomfort.
"It is my own fault, I suppose," Cadderly admitted. "I cannot expect you to behave rationally when there is cacasa-nut and butter to be won!"
Percival's tail twitched excitedly, but that was the only indication Cadderly had that the squirrel was even listening. The young man turned his attention again to the world outside. The daylight had reached the library, and though Cadderly had to squint against its fresh brightness, it felt warm and wonderful upon his face.
"It will be another beautiful day," he remarked, and even as he spoke the words, he realized that he probably would spend the whole of it in the dark and dreary wine cellar, or in some other hole that Headmaster Avery found for him.
"Perhaps I can trick him into letting me tend the grounds this morning," Cadderly said to the squirrel. "I could help old Mullivy."
Percival chattered excitedly at the mention of the groundskeeper.
"I know," Cadderly offered comfortingly. "You do not like Mullivy." Cadderly shrugged and smiled, remembering the time he had seen the crooked old groundskeeper waving a rake and spitting threats at the tree that Percival and other squirrels were sitting in, complaining about the mess of acorn husks all over his freshly raked ground.
"Here you go, Percival," Cadderly said, pushing the rest of the biscuit to the windowsill. "I have many things to attend to before Avery catches up with me." He left Percival sitting on the sill, and the squirrel went on munching and crunching and licking his paws, and basking in the warm daylight, apparently having already dismissed any uneasiness at the mention of Mullivy.
"Ye're bats!" Ivan yelled. "Ye can't be one of them!"
"Doo-dad!" Pikel replied indignantly.
"Ye think they'd have ye?" Ivan roared. "Tell him, boy!" he cried at Cadderly, who had just entered the kitchen. "Tell the fool that dwarves can't be druids!"
"You want to be a druid?" Cadderly asked with interest.
"Oo oi!" piped a happy Pikel. "Doo-dad!"
Ivan had heard enough. He hoisted a frying pan-dumping its half-cooked eggs on the floor-and heaved it at his brother. Pikel wasn't quick enough to get out of the way of the missile, but he managed to bow into it, taking the blow on the top of Percival head and suffering no serious damage.
Still fuming, Ivan reached for another pan, but Cadderly grabbed his arm to stop him. "Wait!"
Cadderly pleaded.
Ivan paused for just a moment, even whistled to show his patience, then cried, "Long enough!" and pushed Cadderly to the floor. The dwarf hoisted the pan and charged, but Pikel, now similarly armed, was ready for him.
Cadderly had read many tales of valor describing the ring of iron on iron, but he had never imagined the sound attributed to two dwarves sparring with frying pans.
Ivan got the first strike in, a wicked smash to Pikel's forearm. Pikel grunted and retaliated, slamming his pan straight down on top of Ivan's head.
Ivan backed up a step, trying to stop his eyes from spinning. He looked to the side, to a littered table, and was struck with a sudden inspiration, no doubt from the head blow. Pikel returned his smile. "Pots?" Ivan asked.
Pikel nodded eagerly and the two rushed to the table to find one that fit properly. Food went flying everywhere, followed by pots that had proven too small or too big. Then Ivan and Pikel faced off again, wielding their trusty pans and helmeted in the cookware of last night's stew.
Cadderly watched it all in blank amazement, not quite certain of how to take the actions. It seemed a comedy at times, but the growing welts and bruises on Ivan and Pikel's arms and faces told a different tale. Cadderly had seen the brothers argue before, and certainly he had come to expect all sorts of strange things from dwarves, but this was too wild, even for Ivan and Pikel.
"Stop it!" Cadderly yelled at them. Pikel's answer came in the form of a hurled cleaver that narrowly missed Cadderly's head and buried itself an inch deep in the oaken door beside him.
Cadderly stared in disbelief at the deadly instrument, still shuddering from the force of Pikel's throw, and knew that something was terribly wrong here, and terribly dangerous.
The young priest didn't give up, though. He just redirected his efforts. "I know a better way to fight!" he cried, moving cautiously toward the dwarves.
"Eh?" asked Pikel.
"Better way?" Ivan added. "For fighting?"
Ivan seemed already convinced- Pikel was winning the cookware battle-but Pikel only used Ivan's ensuing hesitation to press him even harder. Pikel's pan hummed as it dove in at a wide arc, smashing Ivan's elbow and knocking the yellow-bearded dwarf off balance. Pikel recognized his dear advantage. His wicked pan went up high again for a follow-up strike.
"Druids do not fight with metal weapons!" Cadderly yelled.
"Oo," Pikel said, halting in midswing. The brothers looked at each other, shrugged once, and tossed their pots and pans to the ground.
Cadderly had to think quickly. He brushed off a section of the long table. "Sit here," he instructed Ivan, pulling up a stool. "And you over here," he said to Pikel, indicating a second seat across from Ivan.
"Put the elbows of your right arms on the table," Cadderly explained.
"Arm-pulling?" Ivan scoffed incredulously. "Get me back me pan!"
"No!" Cadderly shouted. "No. This is a better way, a true test of strength."
"Bah!" snorted Ivan. "I'll clobber him!"
"Oh?" said Pikel.
They clasped hands roughly and started pulling before Cadderly could give any signal, or even line them up. He considered them for a moment, wanting to stay and see things through to conclusion, but the brothers were evenly matched, Cadderly realized, and their contest might last a while.
Cadderly heard other priests shuffling by outside the open kitchen door; it was time for the midday canticle. Whatever the emergency, Cadderly simply could not be late for the required ceremony again. He watched the struggle a moment longer, to ensure that the dwarves were fully engaged, then shook his head in confusion and walked away. He had known Ivan and Pikel for more than a decade, since his childhood days, and had never seen either one of them lift a fist at the other. If that had not been bad enough, the cleaver, still wobbling in the door, vividly proved that something was terribly out of sorts.
Brother Chaunticleer's voice rang out with its usual quality, filling the great hall with perfect notes and filling the gathering of priests and scholars with sincere pleasure, but those most observant among the group, Cadderly included, glanced around at the crowd's reaction, as if they noticed something missing in Chaunticleer's delivery. The key was perfect and the words correct, but there seemed to be a lacking in the strength of the song.
Chaunticleer didn't notice them. He performed as always, the same songs he had sung at midday for several years. This time, though, unlike any of the others, Chaunticleer was indeed distracted.
His thoughts drifted down to the rivers in the mountain foothills, still swollen from the winter melt and teeming with trout and silver perch. It had always been said that fishing was second only to singing in Brother Chaunticleer's heart. The priest was learning now that the perceived order of his desires might not be so correct.
Then it happened.
Brother Chaunticleer forgot the words.
He stood at the podium of the great hall, perplexed, as undeniable images of rushing water and leaping fish added to his confusion and put the song farther from his thoughts.
Whispers sprang up throughout the hall; mouths dropped open in disbelief. Dean Thobicus, never an excitable man, calmly moved up toward the podium. "Do go on. Brother Chaunticleer," he said softly, soothingly.
Chaunticleer could not continue. The song of Deneir was no match for the joyful sound of leaping trout.
The whispers turned to quiet giggles. Dean Thobicus waited a few moments, then whispered into Headmaster Avery's ear, and Avery, obviously more shaken than his superior, dismissed the gathering. He turned back to question Chaunticleer, but the singing priest was already gone, running for his hook and line.
Cadderly used the confusion in the great hall to get out from under Avery's watchful eye. He had spent a dreary morning scrubbing floors, but had completed the tasks and was free, at least until Avery found him idle and issued new orders. Avery was busy now, trying to figure out what had happened to Brother Chaunticleer. If Cadderly correctly understood the gravity of Chaunticleer's misfortunes, the headmaster would be busy with him for some time. Chaunticleer was considered among the most devout priests in the order of Deneir, and his highest duty, his only real priority, was the midday canticle.
Cadderly, too, was concerned by the events at the ceremony, especially after his visit with the dwarves that morning. More disturbing than Chaunticleer's problems with the songs, Danica had not been at the canticle. She was not associated with either the Oghman or Deneir sects and therefore not required to attend, but she rarely missed the event, and never before without telling Cadderly that she would not attend.
Even more disquieting, Kierkan Rufo had not been in attendance.
Since the main library was on the first floor and not far from the great hall, Cadderly decided to begin his search there. He skipped along briskly, his pace quickening as his suspicions continued to gnaw at him. A moaning sound from a side corridor stopped him abruptly.
Cadderly peeked around the comer to see Kierkan Rufo coming down the stairs, leaning heavily on the wall. Rufo seemed barely coherent; his face was covered in blood and he nearly toppled with each step.
"What happened?" Cadderly asked, rushing to help the man.
A wild light came into Rufo's eyes and he slapped Cadderly's reaching hands away. The action cost the disoriented man his balance and he tumbled down the last few steps to the floor.
The manner in which Rufo fell revealed much to Cadderly. Rufo had reached out to catch himself with one arm, the same arm he had used to slap at Cadderly, but his other arm remained limp at his side, useless.
"Where is she?" Cadderly demanded, suddenly very afraid. He grabbed Rufo by the collar, despite the man's protests, and pulled him to his feet, viewing up close the damage to his face. Blood continued to flow from Rufo's obviously broken nose, and one of his eyes was swollen and purple and nearly closed. The man had numerous other bruises, and the way he flinched when Cadderly straightened him indicated other wounds in his abdomen or just a little bit lower.
"Where is she?" Cadderly said again.
Rufo gritted his teeth and turned away.
Cadderly forcibly turned him back. "What is wrong with you?" he demanded.
Rufo spat in his face.
Cadderly resisted the urge to strike out. There had always been tension in his friendship with Rufo, an element of rivalry that had only heightened when Danica came to the library. Cadderly, usually getting the upper hand with Danica and the headmasters, realized that he often upset Rufo, but never before had the tall man shown him any open hostility.
"If you hurt Danica, I will come back to find you," Cadderly warned, though he thought that highly improbable. He let go of Rufo's wet tunic and ran up the stairs.
Rufo's blood trail led him to the south wing of the third floor, the library's guest quarters.
Despite his urgency, Cadderly stopped his tracking as he neared Histra's room, for he heard cries emanating from within. At first Cadderly thought the priestess of Sune to be in peril, but as he reached for the door handle, he recognized the sounds as something other than pain.
Down the hall he rushed, too worried to be embarrassed. The blood trail led to Danica's door, as he had feared it would. He knocked loudly on the door and called out, "Danica?"
No answer.
Cadderly banged more urgently. "Danica?" he yelled. "Are you in there?"
Still no answer.
Cadderly lowered his shoulder and easily plowed through the unlocked door.
Danica stood perfectly still in the middle of the small room on the thick carpet she used for exercising. She held her open hands out in front of her, a meditative pose, and she did not even acknowledge that someone had entered the room. Her concentration was straight ahead, on a solid block of stone supported between two sawhorses.
"Danica?" Cadderly asked again. "Are you all right?" He moved over to her tentatively.
Danica turned her head, and her blank stare fell over him. "Of course," she said. "Why would I not be?"
Her blond locks were matted with sweat and her hands were caked in drying blood.
"I just saw Kierkan Rufo," Cadderly remarked.
"As did I," Danica said calmly.
"What happened to him?"
"He tried to put his hands where they did not belong," Danica said casually, turning to stare back at the stone block. "I stopped him."
None of it made any sense to Cadderly; Rufo had leered and stared, but had never been foolish enough to make a move toward Danica. "Rufo attacked you?" he asked.
Danica laughed hysterically, and that, too, unnerved the young priest. "He tried to touch me, I said."
Cadderly scratched his head and looked around the room for some further clues as to what had transpired. He still couldn't believe that Rufo would make an open advance toward Danica, but even more remarkable had been Danica's response. She was a controlled and disciplined warrior. Cadderly would never expect such overkill as the beating she had apparently given Rufo.
"You hurt him badly," Cadderly said, needing to hear Danica's explanation.
"He will recover," was all that the woman replied.
Cadderly grabbed her arm, meaning to turn her about to face him. Danica was too quick. Her arm flicked back and forth, breaking the hold, then she snapped her hand onto Cadderly's thumb and bent it backward, nearly driving him to his knees. Her ensuing glare alone would have backed Cadderly away, and he honestly believed that she would break his finger.
Then Danica's look softened, as if she suddenly recognized the man at her side. She released her grip on his thumb and grabbed around his head instead, pulling him close. "Oh Cadderly!" she cried between kisses. "Did I hurt you?"
Cadderly pushed her back to arm's length and stared at her for a long while. She appeared fine, except for Rufo's blood on her hands and a curious, urgent look in her eyes.
"Have you been drinking any wine?" Cadderly asked.
"Of course not," Danica replied, surprised by the question. "You know that I am allowed only one glass ..." Her voice trailed off as the hard glare returned.
"Are you doubting my loyalty to oath?" she asked sharply.
Cadderly's face crinkled in confusion.
"Let go of me."
Her tone was serious, and when the stunned Cadderly did not immediately respond, she accentuated her point. She and Cadderly were only standing about two feet apart, but the limber monk kicked with her foot, up between them, and waved it threateningly in Cadderly's face.
Cadderly released her and fell back. "What is wrong with you?" he demanded.
Danica's visage softened again.
"You beat Rufo badly," Cadderly said. "If he made inappropriate advances-"
"He interrupted me!" Danica cut him off. "He ..." she looked to the block of stone, then back to Cadderly, again glowering. "And now you are interrupting me."
Cadderly wisely backed away. "I will go," he promised, studying the block, "if you tell me what I am interrupting."
"I am a true disciple of Grandmaster Penpahg D'Ahn!" Danica cried as though that answered everything.
"Of course you are," said Cadderly.
His agreement calmed Danica. "The time has come for Gigel Nugel," she said, "Iron Skull, but I must not be interrupted in my concentration!"
Cadderly regarded the solid block for a moment-a block far larger than the one in the sketch of Penpahg D'Ahn-then eyed Danica's delicate face, trying unsuccessfully to digest the news. "You plan to smash that block with your head?"
"I am a true disciple," Danica reiterated.
Cadderly nearly swooned. "Do not," he begged, reaching for Danica.
Seeing her impending reaction, Cadderly pulled his arms back and qualified his statement. "Not yet," he pleaded. "This is a great event in the history of the library. Dean Thobicus should be informed. We could make it a public showing."
"This is a private matter," Danica replied. "It is not a curiosity show for the pleasures of unbelievers!"
"Unbelievers?" Cadderly whispered, and at this strange moment he knew that the label fit him, but for more reasons than his and Danica's differing faiths. He had to think quickly. "But," he improvised, "surely the event must be properly witnessed and recorded."
Danica looked at him curiously.
"For future disciples," Cadderly explained. "Who will come to study Grandmaster Penpahg D'Ahn in a hundred years? Would that disciple not also benefit from the practices and successes of Grandmistress Danica? You cannot be selfish with this achievement. Surely that would not be in accord with Penpahg D'Ahn's teachings."
Danica mulled over his words. "It would be selfish," she admitted.
Even her acquiescence reinforced Cadderly's fears that something was terribly wrong. Danica was sharp thinking and never before so easily manipulated.
"I will wait for you to make the arrangements," she agreed, "but not for long! The time has come for Iron Skull. This I know is true. I am a true disciple of Grandmaster Penpahg D'Ahn."
Cadderly did not know how to proceed. He sensed that if he left Danica, she would go right back to her attempt. He looked all around, his gaze finally settling on Danica's bed. "It would be well for you to rest," he offered.
Danica looked to the bed, then back to Cadderly, a sly look on her face. "I know something better than rest," she purred, moving much closer. The urgency of her unexpected kiss weakened Cadderly in the knees and promised him many wonderful things.
But not like this. He reminded himself that something was wrong with Danica, that something was apparently wrong with almost everything around him.
"I have to go," he said, pulling away. "To Dean Thobicus to make the arrangements. You rest now.
Surely you will need your strength."
Danica reluctantly let him go, honestly torn between her perception of duty and the needs of love.
Cadderly stumbled back down to the first level. The hallways were unnervingly empty and quiet, and Cadderly wasn't certain of where he should turn. He had few close friends in the library-he wasn't about to go to Kierkan Rufo with this problem, and he wanted to keep far away from the living and working quarters of Dean Thobicus and the headmasters, fearing an encounter with Avery.
In the end, he went back to the kitchen and found Pikel and Ivan, nearly collapsed with exhaustion, still stubbornly arm wrestling at the table. Cadderly knew that the dwarves were headstrong, but more than an hour had passed since they had begun their match.
When Cadderly approached, shaking his head in disbelief, he saw just how headstrong the Bouldershoulder brothers could be. Purplish bruises from popped veins lined their arms and their entire bodies trembled violently under the continuing strain, but their visages were unyieldingly locked.
"I'll put ye down!" Ivan snarled.
Pikel growled back and strained harder at the pull.
"Stop it!" Cadderly demanded. Both dwarves looked up from the match, realizing only then that someone had entered the kitchen.
"I can take him," Ivan assured Cadderly.
"Why are you fighting?" Cadderly asked, guessing that the dwarves would not remember.
"Yerself was here," Ivan replied. "Ye saw he was the one what started it."
"Oh?" Pikel piped in sarcastically.
"What did he start?" Cadderly asked.
"The fight!" growled an exasperated Ivan.
"How?"
Ivan had run out of answers. He looked at Pikel, who only shrugged in reply.
"Then why are you fighting?" Cadderly asked again with no answer forthcoming.
Both dwarves stopped at the same time and sat looking across the table at each other.
"Me brother!" Ivan cried suddenly, springing over the table. Pikel caught him in midnight and their hugs and pats on the back were nearly as vicious as the arm wrestling had been.
Ivan turned happily on Cadderly. "He's me brother!" the dwarf announced.
Cadderly strained a smile and figured that it might be best to divert the dwarves as he had diverted Danica. "It is not so far from suppertime," was all he had to say.
"Supper?" Ivan bellowed.
"Oo oi!" added Pikel, and they were off, whirling like little bearded tornados, sweeping the kitchen into order in preparation of the evening meal. Cadderly waited just a few minutes, to make sure that the dwarves wouldn't get back to their fighting, then he slipped out and headed back to check on Danica.
He found her in her room, sleeping contentedly. He pulled her blankets up over her, then went to the stone to see if he could find some way to remove it.
"How did you ever get this up here?" he asked, staring at the heavy block. It would take at least two strong men to move it, and even then, or even with three men, the stairs would not be easily negotiated. For now, Cadderly figured that he could just drop the block down from the sawhorses, put it on the floor to stop Danica from making her Iron Skull attempt. He went back to the bed and took the heaviest blankets. He tied them together and wrapped them about the block, then threw both ends over a rafter in the low room.
Cadderly grabbed the dangling ends and hoisted himself right off the floor to tack at the block.
The sawhorses leaned, then toppled and the rafter creaked in protest, but Cadderly's counterbalancing weight brought the blanketed block down slowly and quietly.
Using the sawhorse legs as levers, he managed to wiggle the blankets out from under the stone.
Then he tucked Danica back in and headed away, his mind racing to find some logical reason for all the illogical events of the day.
It was a wondrous oak, a most excellent tree indeed, and Newander gently stroked each of its spreading branches as he made his way higher. The view from the uppermost branches was splendid, a scene that sent shivers of delight along the druid's spine.
When he turned about to regard the mountains to the south-west, though, Newander's smile disappeared.
There sat the Edificant Library, a barely seen square block far in the distance. Newander hadn't meant to be gone this long; for all the freedom and individuality their order offered, he knew that Arcite would not be pleased.
A bird flitted down and landed not far from the druid's head.
"I should be getting back," the druid said to it, though he wanted to remain out here in the wilderness, away from the temptations of civilization.
Newander started reluctantly down the tree. With the distant library removed from sight, he nearly headed off again in the opposite direction. He didn't, though. Chastising himself for his fears and weaknesses, he grudgingly started back toward the library, back to his duties.
Cadderly meant to lie down and rest for only a short while when he returned to his room. The afternoon was barely half over, but it already had been an exhausting day. Soon the young priest was snoring loudly.
But not contentedly. From the depths of his mist-filled dreams came the walking dead, skeletons and gruesome ghouls, reaching for him with sharp, bony hands and rotting fingers.
He sat up in pitch blackness. Cold trails of sweat lined his face, and his blankets were moist and clammy. He heard a noise to the side of the bed. He hadn't undressed when he lay down, and he fumbled about, finding his spindle-disks and then his light tube.
Something was close.
The end cap popped off and the light streamed out. Cadderly nearly flicked his spindle-disks out of sheer terror, but he managed to forego his attack when he recognized the white fur of a friend.
As startled as Cadderly, Percival rushed across the room, upsetting all sorts of things, and darted under the bed. The squirrel came up tentatively a moment later at Cadderly's feet and slowly moved up to nestle in the pit of the man's arm.
Cadderly was glad for the company. He recapped his light, but kept it in his hand, and soon was fast asleep.
The walking dead were waiting for him.