Cadderly moved his quill out toward the inkwell, then changed his mind and put the instrument down on his desk. He looked out the window at the foliage surrounding the Edificant Library, and at Percival, the white squirrel, tangling with acorns along the rain gutter of the lower level. It was the month of Eleasias, Highsun, the height of summer, and the season had been unusually bright and warm so high in the Snowflake Mountains.
Everything was as it always had been for Cadderly - at least, that's what the young scholar tried to convince himself. Percival was at play in the sunshine; the library was secure and peaceful once more; the lazy remainder of summer promised leisure and quiet walks.
As it always had been.
Cadderly dropped his chin into his palm, then ran his hand back through his sandy brown hair. He tried to concentrate on the peaceful images before him, on the quiet summer world of the Snowflake Mountains, but eyes looked back at him from the depths of his mind: the eyes of a man he had killed.
Nothing would ever be the same. Cadderly's gray eyes were no longer so quick to turn up in that boyish, full-faced smile.
Determinedly this time, the young scholar poked the quill into the ink and smoothed the parchment before him.
Entry Number Seventeen by Cadderly of Carradoon Appointed Scholar, Order of Deneir Fourth Day of Eleasias, 1361 (Year of the Maidens)
It has been five weeks since Barjin's defeat, yet I see his dead eyes.
Cadderly stopped and scribbled out the thought, both from the parchment and from his mind. He looked again out the window, dropped his quill, and rubbed his hands briskly over his boyish face. This was important, he reminded himself. He hadn't made an entry in more than a week, and if he failed at this year quest, the consequences to all the region could be devastating. Again the quill went into the inkwell.
It has been five weeks since we defeated the curse that befell the Edificant Library. The most distressing news since then: Ivan and Pikel Bouldershoulder have left the library, in pursuit of Pikel's aspirations to druidhood. I wish Pikel well, though I doubt that the woodland priests will welcome a dwarf into their order. The dwarves would not say where they were going (I do not believe they themselves knew). I miss them terribly, for they, Danica, and Newander were the true heroes in the fight against the evil priest named Barjin - if that was his name.
Cadderly paused for a few moments. Assigning a name to the man he had killed did not make things easier for the innocent young scholar. It took him some time before he could concentrate on the information necessary to his entry, the interview he had done with the interrogating priests.
The clerics who called back the dead man's spirit warned me to take their findings as probable rather than exact. Witnesses from beyond the grave are often elusive, they explained, and Barjin's stubborn spirit proved to be as difficult an opponent as the priest had been in life. Little real information was garnered, but the clerics came away believing that the evil priest was part of a conspiracy - one of conquest that still threatens the region, I must assume. That only increases the importance of my task.
Again, many moments passed before Cadderly was able to continue. He looked at the sunshine, at the white squirrel, and pushed away those staring eyes.
Barjin uttered another name, Talona, and that bodes ill indeed for the library and the region. The Lady of Poison, Talona is called, a vile deity of chaos, restricted by no moral code whatsoever. I am hard-pressed to explain one discrepancy: Barjin hardly fit the description of a Talona disciple; he had not scarred himself in any visible way, as priests worshiping the Lady of Poison typically do. The holy symbol he wore, though, the trident with small vials atop each point, does resemble the triangular, three teardrop design of Talona.
But with this, too, we have been led down a trail that leads only to assumption and reasonable guesses. More exact information must be gained, and gained soon, I fear.
This day, my quest has taken a different turn. Prince Elbereth of Shilmista, a most respected elf lord, has come to the library, bearing gloves taken from a band of marauding bugbears in the elven wood. The insignia on these gloves match Barjin's symbol exactly - there can be little doubt that the bugbears and the evil priest were allied.
The headmasters have made no decisions yet, beyond agreeing that someone should accompany Prince Elbereth back to the forest. It seems only logical that I will be their choice. My quest can go no further here; already I have perused every source of information on possession - our knowledge is not vast on this subject. And, concerning the magical elixir that Barjin used, I have looked through every major alchemical and elixir tome and have consulted extensively with Vicero Belago, the library's resident alchemist. Further study will be required as time permits, but my inquiries have hit against dead ends. Belago believes that he would learn more of the elixir if he had the bottle in his possession, but the headmasters have flatly refused that request. The lower catacombs have been sealed - no one is to be allowed down there, and the bottle is to remain where I put it, immersed in a font of blessed water in the room that Barjin used for his vile altar.
The only clues remaining, then, lead to Shilmista. Always have I wanted to visit the enchanted forest, to witness the elves' dance and hear their melancholy song. But not like this.
Cadderly set the quill down and blew lightly on the parchment to help dry the ink. His entry seemed terribly short, considering that he had not recorded anything for many days and there was so much to catch up on. It would have to do, though, for Cadderly's thoughts were too jumbled for him to make sense of them in writing.
Orphaned at a very young age, Cadderly had lived at the Edificant Library since his earliest recollections. The library was a fortress, never threatened in modern times until Barjin had come, and, to Cadderly, orcs and goblins, undead monsters and evil wizards had been the stuff of tales in dusty books.
It had suddenly become all too real and Cadderly had been thrust into the midst of it. The other priests, even Headmaster Avery, called him "hero" for his actions in defeating Barjin. Cadderly saw things differently, though. Confusion and chaos and blind fate had facilitated his every move. Even killing Barjin had been an accident a fortunate accident?
Cadderly honestly didn't know, didn't understand what Deneir wanted or expected of him. Accident or not, the act of killing Barjin haunted the young scholar. He saw Barjin's dead eyes in his thoughts and in his dreams, staring at him, accusing him.
The scholar-priest had to wear the mantle of hero, because others had placed it there, but he felt certain the mantle's weight would bow his shoulders until he broke.
Outside the window, Percival danced and played along the rain gutter as warm sunshine filtered through the thick leaves of the huge oaks and maples common to the mountainside. Far, far below, Impresk Lake glittered, quiet and serene, in the gentle rays of the summer light. To Cadderly, the "hero," it all seemed a horrible facade.
