Mel Odom - Wrath of the Blue Lady

Silently, Shang-Li stepped to the center of the room and faced the window squarely. He held up his right arm at his side, took note of where his shadow lay across the angle of the rectangle of moonlight streaming through the open window, and turned to face the bookshelves.

The tomes were expertly bound and expensive, and would have been worth quite a lot in certain circles, but none of them captured Shang-Li’s interest.

He reached under the shelf and felt along the back for the hidden trigger the scribe had told the monks of. At first Shang-Li thought the scribe had made a mistake. The man had been nervous, scared. Working for a wizard like Ravel Kouldar, he’d have been a fool not to be.

Even investigating carefully, Shang-Li found no hidden release as was promised. His anxiety mounted and he listened for noises within the tower but heard only the beating of his own heart.

Then, after a second search, then a third, Shang-Li’s callused fingertips discovered the barely discernable depression. It was there, only a small change in the wood.

He smiled and depressed the section of the shelving. The hidden door swung open and Shang-Li’s fighting sticks slid smoothly into his hands.

Shang-Li forced himself to breathe out. Forest Mother, he prayed, protect the fools that believe in you.

Tense, Shang-Li hunkered down and peered through the opening. It lay along the floor, barely large enough for him to slide through. He saw only the thick, impenetrable darkness on the other side.

With a fighting stick in his right hand, he propelled himself through the opening and gracefully rolled to his feet in the darkness on the other side. He bumped against something and flailed for it. Almost immediately, the sound of ceramic shattering filled the room and chunks of an object ricocheted from his feet and legs.

Shang-Li flattened himself against the wall he’d come through. After a while, when he heard no one in the outer room, he breathed a sigh of relief and chose to believe no one had heard the awful noise. He lifted the necklace and the crystal and spoke another word.

This time the blue crystal glowed like pale moonlight. The illumination slowly pulsed outward and filled the room.

Shards of an elaborately painted vase lay scattered on the floor. Valuable, Shang-Li noted, scanning the swirling decorations. A piece from a druid clan in Dragon Reach that had attained some prominence. Kouldar wouldn’t be happy about that. Lifting the glowing necklace, Shang-Li swept his gaze around the room. Like the outer room, this one had floor-to-ceiling shelves lining the walls. Instead of books, though, other objects filled the shelves as well.

Multi-colored lights reflected from gemstones and precious metals and the locks of small chests. Weapons-swords and knives, and bows with quivers of arrows-lay among them.

Goddess of the green, Shang-Li thought as he held the glowing crystal before him. The scribe’s story hadn’t prepared him for the treasure trove that lay around him.

After spending a moment orienting himself, he searched through the book collections. Histories, studies of plants and animals, journals written by wizards, treatises of learned men who sought to understand spellcraft, and books about other lands filled the shelves. His quick mind grasped that in short order, though the topics appeared disparate. Kouldar was obviously a collector of some magnitude.

Grayling’s lost log by her third mate was located with a clutch of books regarding other ships lost in the Sea of Fallen Stars. If Shang-Li hadn’t been knowledgeable of those lost ships, he might not have made the connection.

Although the book showed wear and tear, it had obviously been well made. Shang-Li had expected a common sailor’s log filled with rough, woody sheets, but the pages were pristine and white even after all these years-not a feat many could do and something that was paid dearly for. A few of the pages held stains from drink and food. Others had burn marks that scored the pages and had eaten holes in places. The pasteboards that held the pages together were thin wooden leaves bound in sturdy cloth. The author’s name was mostly worn away.

Shang-Li had no doubt that this was the book he’d come for. The scribe had described it very well. Reluctantly, Shang-Li temporarily avoided the siren call of the tale preserved in the pages.

A warning itch tickled his scalp and he knew he was no longer alone.

“What interest do you have in that book, monk?” The voice was dry and deep, one used to command.

Startled by the proximity of the voice, Shang-Li shoved the book into the bag at his hip and stepped away from the speaker as he turned. By the time the book was gone from his hand, the fighting stick had dropped into place. He kept the weapon hidden.

The man chuckled derisively. “Don’t worry. If I’d wanted you dead, you would have died never knowing you were in danger.”

The light inside the room slowly gained strength as a floating sphere dawned a few feet away. Shang-Li glanced away from the light to save his peripheral vision. More of the room stood revealed. A man’s shape, not ten feet distant from Shang-Li, appeared in the darkness.

The man was at least six feet tall. His dark maroon brocaded robes hugged his bony frame. Dark hair framed a withered face scarred by the pox. His nose was prominent between his close-set sunken eyes. He carried a staff with a purple stone at the tip.

“You’re good, thief, but you didn’t find all my alarms.”.

Shang-Li forced himself to remain calm. He felt like he’d locked gazes with a viper. Kouldar’s stare was cold and impersonal. He imagined the room in his mind, estimating the strides it would take to span the distances, the moves he’d have to make, and the cover he could seek. His chances of completing that were so small he didn’t even count them.

Boldly, Kouldar strode toward him. The purple stone at the top of his staff glittered as it caught the light hovering in the air.

Shang-Li said nothing. He took a firmer grip on the book and rolled the pendant chain between his fingers to take up slack.

Kouldar took another step forward and smiled knowingly. “The scribe that was here. He was one of you meddling monks, wasn’t he?”

Instead of answering, Shang-Li drew in his breath and charged his lungs. Breathing is always a part of readiness . The monks at the Standing Tree Monastery had taught him that as far back as he could remember. No matter what you do, no matter the challenges you face, breathing should always be your first concern .

Kouldar trailed fingers along the spines of the books nearest him. “I thought the scribe showed too much interest in some of the books I had him copy. I baited him, but he was very well trained. For a spy.”

“He wasn’t a spy.” Shang-Li shifted slightly, falling into rhythm with the wizard’s movements, prepared to leap in an instant. “He was merely a scribe.”

“But he felt he owed you an allegiance.” Kouldar trailed a covetous hand along a panther-headed statue of a winged woman. “I have studied that book you have in your hand.”

Unconsciously, Shang-Li tightened his grip on the book. No matter what, he wasn’t going to leave the journal behind.

“I suspected there was more to that journal than I perceived.” Kouldar shrugged. “I was hoping to coerce the scribe to tell me all he knew. Without having to kill him or tip my hand that I had knowledge about that book.” He scowled. “Evidently the man’s sense of self-preservation was far stronger than his nerve. If I had known that he belonged to the Standing Tree Monastery as you do, I would have acted differently.”

“I haven’t ever heard of that monastery.”

“Liar.” The wizard raised a hand and spoke a single word.