A NIGHT IN THE LIBRARY

A NIGHT IN THE LIBRARY, by Robert Zoltan

1

 In the city of Merth, in a dimly lit bedchamber of a mansion on Silverhand Lane, Kora Dervan stared at her reflection that stared at her reflection that stared at her reflection…

She sat in a corner between two mirrors that created an infinite number of Koras receding into space before they dwindled in size and distance and were lost in the gloom of candlelight. An infinite number of Kora Dervans; an infinite number of broken hearts. Only two months before, her fiancé, the poet Dareon Vin, had reneged on his conjugal promise and jilted her, leaving her with nothing but a last mocking note and a cold stone from the Song River that she kept upon her dresser as a reminder of her coming retribution.

As if in a double blow by fate, her father had died of a sudden ailment a week after Dareon had left Merth. She had dismissed the servants soon thereafter. Kora now had only her father’s money, the mansion, despair, and her hatred for Dareon and herself. She had become a recluse, refusing to see what few false friends she once had, and ignoring invitations to meaningless social functions. Her only two companions were the mirrors in her bedroom. The first was a gilded old friend given to her by her father many years ago. The second more recent one hung in front of her, another gift from her father that he had brought back from a journey to the mystery-shrouded land of Archea. It was a strange smoky mirror of obvious antiquity, framed with figures that writhed in torment and ecstasy. From the same sojourn, her father had brought back an old tome, purported to be magical in nature. The book had seemed somehow a companion to the mirror, and in the last month, Kora, who before had barely exerted the effort necessary to put on her own slippers, had delved deeply into the tome with the aid of an ancient translation key. She had deciphered enough to learn that it spoke of the Outer Dark, and also referred to the existence of a mirror dimension or mirror world.

Since then, she had gazed into the antique looking glass, loathing her own reflection, yet mesmerized by that other self that seemed less like her and more like another person each night she stared. The smoky phantom Kora in the mirror was ghostly pale, gaunt, with dark-circled eyes, and hair like writhing vines. And a glint of darkness shone from the centers of her pupils. She had never seen darkness glint before. Only light. But now, light disturbed her, and she kept her shades drawn and walked by candlelight. Soon, she could no longer discern day from night, nor waking from sleeping. She lived on the edge of dreams, in the shadow of oblivion, and soon she felt she must either shrink away and crawl back to the light of suffering or step into this enticing abyss before her. She knew it was too late to turn back. Nothing remained for her in the light of day but regret, shame, and a simmering rage that had turned inward to malform her pride into self-loathing.

And so, she stared each night at her own reflection, unconsciously whispering words and phrases impressed upon her mind by that ancient Archean tome, delving ever deeper into the primordial darkness within her. And this night as she stared, her reflection smiled, though Kora herself had not. Kora even reached up to touch her own mouth to be sure she was not smiling. But when she did, the figure in the mirror did not so much as raise a finger.

Kora gasped. When she found her voice, she spoke, trembling with terror and a strange anticipation. “Who are you?”

The reflection’s mouth did not move until a moment later. And when it spoke, it did not mirror her words. It said, “I am Scyell.”

Sigh-El.

And Kora realized that she had spoken simultaneously with her reflection. She spoke again, and her reflection spoke with her.

“I am Scyell.”

A wave of alien emotion welled up within her, drowning her in a comfortable darkness. She stared at the reflection for several moments, feeling as if she were seeing herself for the first time. Her reflection stared fixedly back. Then she smiled. And an infinite number of Kora Dervans…

No.

An infinite number of Scyells smiled with her.

2

 A year from the day that the poet swordsman Dareon Vin and the Indari warrior known as Blue had left Merth to see the world, Dareon sat in one of his favorite places in Merth, an out of the way table in a corner on the second floor of the Merth Library. Just as Blue was in his element when surrounded by wild things, Dareon was in his when surrounded by words. Were he forced to spend eternity in any one place, he would choose the library. And he was presently lost in the eternity of each blissful moment as he read a new translation of the oldest heroic saga known in Plemora: The Epic of Mezhgalan. Slouched down in the wooden chair, the book almost covering his face like a happy mask, he was just coming to the part when Mezhgalan finds the (soon to be misnamed) Isle of the Virgins. A female voice woke him from his literary dream.

“Dareon Vin.”

Startled by this intrusion by unconvincing “reality,” Dareon raised his brows and lowered the book. The appearance of the woman sitting across the table from him was no more familiar than her voice, at least at first. Her jet-black hair fell down like two curtains on either side of her moon-pale face, and an awning of bangs straight as an ocean horizon shadowed her thin arched brows. Delicate lines scrawled strange symbols from the sides of her nose toward the edges of her cheeks. And the ends of her mouth curved upward in the slight mockery of a smile. She was clothed in robes of black and gold that shimmered with a mercurial light.

It was the eyes that Dareon finally recognized. They stared from between kohl rims and heavy black mascara like two pools leading to a dark abyss. And they radiated hatred with a force that Dareon could almost feel as a wave of energy cascading across the oak table from where she sat.

Dareon sat up and leaned forward like a tree slowly bending in the wind. He narrowed his eyes at her, barely believing what he saw.

“Kora Dervan?”

The young woman’s mouth gave a slight twitch, like an uncontrolled tic.

“I was once known by that name. Some who know me not still use it, while I go about masked in the light of day.”

Dareon leaned back in his chair. “You’ve changed.”

“Kora Dervan is dead. You killed her.”

Dareon closed his book and set it down. “Come now, it’s been a year, Kora—”

“My name is Scyell. I have come on Kora’s behalf, to avenge her death.”

She lifted her hand and placed a small round stone on the table between them. “I give you back your heart, Dareon Vin.”

Dareon frowned at the stone, then gave a slight smile. He picked it up and glanced at it before placing it back down on the table. “You obviously did not appreciate the metaphor in my goodbye letter.”

“You had your little jest,” she said. “And now, I shall have mine.” She reached in the sleeve of her robe.

Beneath the table, Dareon’s hand grasped the dagger at his belt.

Scyell drew forth a small, round, bronze-rimmed mirror. “I knew I could find you here, like a little mouse among the stacks, lost in words. The only thing you ever loved more than books was yourself.” She placed the mirror on the table before him. “And now, my parting gift. Gaze into the mirror and see what I see.”

Dareon shook his head in disapproval, but picked up the small mirror. He could not resist looking at himself, for everyone cares how an ex-lover sees one for the first time in a year. Had he even brushed his hair before going out?

The visage that gazed back at him looked as handsome as ever. In fact, the last danger-filled year had added character to his face, a depth and maturity beyond what a year would usually bring. But he still appeared as young and fresh as a bucking colt. Dareon sighed. “I did not betray you, Kora, I—”

When he looked up, she was gone. He had sensed no movement. Then Dareon flinched, for the mirror he had been holding in his hand had vanished as well. That was somehow far more disquieting. He glanced around. He even looked under the table. The markings on her face had possessed the disquieting character of magical symbols. Had she actually acquired such knowledge and power in so short a time that she could disappear into thin air? If she had the power to disappear, making a mirror vanish was surely even easier. The stone she had placed on the table was also gone.

Good gods! What vengeful sprites women were! Once he had recognized her, Dareon had meant to offer his condolences for her father’s death, of which he had been informed upon returning to Merth. But her mad jargon had wiped the thought from his mind. And her transformation! Her once curly hair now straight as a rapier, her once pink face now pale as a corpse, dressed like the priestess of some forgotten deity, her voice lower in tone and measured with thrift (though still retaining that familiar knife-edge). And what was this nonsense about Scyell? Surely the woman had become unhinged.

Dareon shook off the goosebumps that had spread over him. At least the book he was reading was still here. He picked it up and opened it. Although perturbed, he was determined to resume his reading and lose himself in a simpler time, a resplendent golden age, a time when men were brave and heroic and women were—

Goodbye forever, Dareon Vin.

Dareon dropped the book as if it were a viper and jumped out of his chair. He looked again at the page. Those were the only words printed on it. He reached out and slid it back toward him and turned the page. The same thing was printed on that page. He flipped another page, then the next, and the next. On every page, the same words…

Goodbye forever, Dareon Vin.

He shut the book. The cover was blank. Dareon glanced around with growing apprehension. His former love had indeed gained some wondrous power while he had been away. And even though these seemed to be harmless magical pranks, sorcery was something he never took lightly.

Dareon decided he had had his fill of books for the day. He needed some fresh air. And he also thought perhaps he should consult Blue. If Kora, or Scyell, or whatever she called herself, was really intent on revenge, she might still have at her disposal the men for hire that her father had used for guarding bodies or doing other things to them. If Dareon was in danger, then Blue might be as well, since they lived together and were known companions.

Dareon left the book on the table and walked down the stairs toward the ground floor. The steps seemed higher and steeper than he remembered. He reached the bottom and noted that the half dozen or so other people he had seen when he had first arrived were now gone. Even the librarian was missing, no doubt busy with some archival work. Dareon shrugged and strode toward the exit. He noticed that the furniture seemed larger than before. In fact, his head was barely level with the nearest table! He turned in a circle, looking around as he continued toward the exit doors. Everything was growing larger! The exit doors were extending upward and the handles were rising out of his reach. He ran and leapt for one, but fell short.

Then a terrible realization hit him. It was much less likely that everything was growing than that he was shrinking. His eyes flitted about in panic. Would he continue to shrink until he popped out of existence?

Suddenly, everything stabilized. His shrinking had stopped. He estimated that he was now no taller than an average person’s hand. But he was still too large to fit beneath the tiny crack under the door. And even if he could, what then? Walk out like a mouse into a world of men? His brain raced, wondering if he knew a magician in Merth who could reverse such a spell. But most users of magic he had encountered had been his enemies.

How had Kora performed such a feat? He had not noticed her chanting words or using hand manipulations. Nor had she a staff or rod or other odd item of magical potency in sight. Only…the mirror! It had all begun when he had gazed into the mirror. Oh, vain foolish boy!

Suddenly Dareon noticed that the crack under the door that should have shown afternoon light showed only darkness. He kneeled down and peered under. Blackness. He stood up. The lamps were the only things lighting the library. He saw no light coming through the windows from outside. Nor could he hear any sounds from the street. As if being shrunk down were not enough, he seemed to be the only person in the world. At least, in this world. Was he even in Plemora anymore?

Dareon’s desperate ruminations were distracted by a noise coming from behind a bookcase far off to his left. He shrugged. Judging by the sound, it was probably only a rat.

Dareon’s eyes widened.

3

At the top of precarious stone steps off of Straight Street (the crookedest street in Merth), in a large wooden garden shed converted to humble but comfortable living quarters, the Indari warrior known as Blue yawned and stretched his muscular tattooed arms, careful not to wake Malika, the beautiful Khulanese dancer whose velvet cheek and wavy black tresses rested upon his barrel chest. The pearl light of dawn peeked through the curtains covering the window. A shaft of light was cast across an ornately woven rug, and onto Dareon’s empty bed and a full bookcase against the opposite wall.

“Library” was all the poet swordsman had said as he walked out the door yesterday morning. Knowing the short man’s love for books and scrolls, it was likely his first destination. But the library closed at sunset, and there were many less scholarly pleasures to waylay a young man on the road home: secret gambling dens, all-night taverns, odd shops with contraband in the Merchant’s Circle, fortune telling sorcerers, witches selling dangerous potions and hallucinogenic herbs, betting races, fencing contests, and most likely of all (seeing as Dareon currently had no lover), houses of erotic bliss.

Blue smiled. No doubt Dareon was even now nestled between the four peaks of a buxom brunette and a busty blonde (he had an aversion to redheads), sleeping soundly after a night of carnal delight. Blue was more than content with Malika, who was the equal of any two women he had ever known, except perhaps for his first love, the Indari woman, Shoquen. His smile faded. Although that seemed like a lifetime ago, the recollection of strong emotions remained. Blue sighed and pushed the memory away. Then he breathed in the floral scent of Malika, returning to this full abundant moment symbolized by his voluptuous Khulanese lover. He closed his eyes, content to dream the morning away.

A meow awakened him what seemed a moment later. Blue opened one eye. Zazar, the strange cream-colored cat with black mask face sat upon Dareon’s pillow, staring at Blue so intently that the cat’s sky-blue eyes were nearly crossed.

Blue shut his eye. Zazar meowed again. Malika stirred.

Blue gritted his teeth and glanced daggers at the cat, and closed his eyes again.

Then Blue felt the soft pads of the feline stalker on his forehead. He opened his eyes. Zazar’s upside-down bandit face was an inch away from Blue’s, peering into his eyes as if trying to see out the other side of his skull. Malika stirred again, sighed, opened her eyes, and yawned.

Blue growled and reached up to grab Zazar. Zazar sprang away as lithely as Dareon would. The cat ran a few strides across the rug-covered floor and leapt back onto Dareon’s pillow to turn and stare again at Blue and Malika with another loud meow.

“Damn fool cat!” said Blue.

Malika gave a husky morning laugh and kissed Blue’s tattooed chest. “He’s lonely.”

“More likely hungry,” said Blue. He craned his neck up and saw some food still in Zazar’s bowl, and the water-bowl full as well.

“No, it’s not food he wants,” said Blue. “And how could he be lonely in this peapod we share?”

“I like your place,” said Malika. “I like it even better without Dareon.”

“You don’t like him,” said Blue. “Why?”

“You do like him,” said Malika “Why?”

Blue gave a hearty laugh. “I’ll admit he’s an acquired taste. And the truth is, sometimes I don’t like him.”

“The only thing you two have in common is dark hair,” said Malika.

“Something brought us together, and our shared adventures have bonded us. I know he can talk too much, and be annoying at times—”

“At times?” said Malika.

“He behaves differently when women are around,” said Blue.

“No wonder he’s alone.”

“But he’s saved my life more than once. He’s a good man, despite his attempts to appear otherwise. And a brave warrior. And a loyal friend.”

“I suppose that last is reason enough,” said Malika. “Loyal friends are hard to come by in Merth. You are one of the few I have. Most who pretend kindness have ulterior motives. Very few can be counted on.”

“Dareon is your friend, however you feel about him. He would risk his life for you, if it came to that.”

“Only because of what I mean to you,” said Malika.

“Is that a bad reason?” asked Blue.

Malika shrugged. “I suppose not. But now don’t tell me we’re like a family.”

“Well…”

“If we’re a family, then Zazar is a member too. Dareon’s quieter little brother.”

As if to contradict her, Zazar let out another intense meow.

“Usually,” snarled Blue. “What in Plemora do you want?”

Zazar sniffed Dareon’s pillow, and then looked up at Blue and meowed again.

“Almost seems as if he’s worried about Dareon,” said Malika.

“Odd for a cat who once tried to kill him,” said Blue.

“Where is he?” asked Malika.

“Inda knows,” said Blue. “Probably sleeping off a drunken binge by the wharf or in some whorehouse.”

Zazar let out an argumentative cry.

“Sounds like he has a different idea,” said Malika. She rolled off Blue’s chest, slid out of bed, and, to Blue’s disappointment, slipped on her robe.

Blue groaned, sat up, and stared at the cat. “If Zazar were a normal animal, I would pay no heed. He may no longer be the magical cat-swordsman that Dareon fought, but there’s still something odd about him. And now that my mind is, unfortunately, no longer clouded by your beguiling scent and touch….” Blue’s brow furrowed.

“You feel something is amiss?” asked Malika.

Blue nodded. He rose, retrieved his tunic and pants from the top of the chest at the foot of his bed where he had tossed them last night, dressed, and slipped on his boots.

“You’re going to look for him,” said Malika.

Blue grunted affirmation as he buckled on his sword belt.

“I have business this morning,” said Malika. She came to Blue. He took her in his arms and they shared a languid kiss.

Malika glanced at Zazar as she stood in the doorway to leave. “Now you have me worried. Be careful, Blue.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you tonight?”

“I pray so,” said Malika with a furrowed brow. Then she departed.

“Okay, Zazar,” said Blue. “Let’s go find your brother.” Without further prompting, the cat leapt up from the bed and curled around Blue’s neck and shoulder like a fur wrap. Blue walked out the door and descended the steep stone stairs to Straight Street. He glanced at Zazar. Zazar sniffed, looked about for a moment, and then stared north toward the bay and made a definite meow.

Blue strode north down the crookedest street in Merth with growing apprehension.

4

Dareon ran as lightly as he could—which was now very lightly indeed—behind the leg of a nearby chair. Since the leg was as thick as a medium tree trunk, it hid him well enough. He peeked in the direction of the noise he had heard.

A rodent head emerged from behind the base of a shelf at the other end of the room, followed by a rodent body. But the rat was now the size of a tiger to Dareon. The beast sniffed about, crawling forward at a leisurely pace. Dareon ducked back out of sight. No doubt the library after hours was the domain of rats and bugs and other small creatures of the dark holes and cracks and spaces of the night. Apart from a poisonous spider, such things were usually of no account to him as a full-sized man. But now, his mind reeled at the horrors that awaited just out of sight: giant rats, giant bats, giant spiders, centipedes, and fleas. Armies of cockroaches could have revenge for all of their brethren he had crushed underfoot without a thought. And his demise would be less swift and painless than theirs had been. Dareon shuddered.

He peeked out again around the corner of the chair. Intentionally or not, the rat was working its way in his direction. A second rat emerged behind it from the same spot. That made up Dareon’s mind. His rapier was still lethal, even at this size. But he had no wish to test his metal against more than one of the monstrosities. And where two rats were, a third could be found. And where three, a fourth, ad infinitum. The entire city of Merth probably rode unwittingly upon their backs as they traversed the sewers and secret tunnels and forgotten subterranean passageways below.

Dareon observed the rats, waited until they seemed preoccupied, and dashed to the next chair leg in the direction of the first shelves that were a short arrow shot away. He continued the process until he reached the last table leg that offered cover. Then he waited for his moment and sprinted across the gap. He reached the cover of the first bookcase and leaned back against the wood, gasping not so much from exertion, but from the psychological stress of his nightmarish situation. If he could survive the wildlife, what would he eat? Was there water to be found in a library? At least he wouldn’t run out of reading material. He diverted his mind from questions that could drive him to panic or despair and focused on his immediate concern. He leaned around the edge of the shelf to check on the rats. They were now moving toward the front door. Could they detect his scent? He probably smelled like sweet cheese, though it mattered little. Rats would eat anything from bugs to baby’s fingers.

He scanned this side of the room. No danger was visible. He slid over to the other side of the bookcase and leaned out. Round red eyes stared at him from a horse-sized rat’s head only a few steps away. Dareon yelped and leapt back as the beast sprang forward baring its enormous incisors. It missed him as he ducked back behind the case, but turned to leap again. He drew his rapier, dodged aside, and thrust the rat through the neck as it passed. Its squeal was like a scream to Dareon’s tiny ears. The rat tumbled, quivered on its side for a moment, and lay still.

Beyond the corpse, Dareon saw the two rats near the entrance galloping in his direction. He turned and ran down the aisle between the shelves. But he realized his two-legged stride would never outrun their four-legged ones. He sheathed his rapier, ran to the shelf on his right, leapt up to catch the top of the nearest book in reach, and pulled himself up. He grasped the lip of the next shelf, hoisted himself to the second tier, and then continued upward in the same manner.

As he climbed, he could not help but notice the titles on the nearest spines of the giant books: The Inevitable End of Dareon Vin, Dareon’s Delectable Demise, How to Kill a Poet Swordsman, The Delightful Destruction of Dareon Vin, To Relish the Ruin of Dareon Vin, Dareon’s Delightful Doom, How to Make Mincemeat of a Mouse Swordsman…

All of the titles shared the same morbid subject matter. Into what manner of mad world had he been transported? Was he somehow trapped inside Scyell’s vengeance-obsessed mind?

He shook his head in distraught bewilderment and climbed on. When he stood upon the third shelf, he paused to look down as if from a high window ledge. The two rats rose upon their hind legs, staring at him and sniffing the air. At least they couldn’t climb as well as he.

One of the rats ran down the passage into the gloom. Dareon watched it go, worried about where it might be headed. The other rat tried climbing up some books on the bottom shelf. It slipped and skidded down. Dareon smiled. His smile vanished as the rat’s second attempt succeeded. Then his view of it was blocked by the lower shelves.

He cursed and climbed further up, realizing that any slip could mean a fall from a fatal height. Death from falling off a library shelf or from being eaten by giant rats; neither was a fate that had ever crossed Dareon’s mind. Life was full of little surprises.

5

Whether by coincidence or confirmation from Zazar’s vocal prompting, Blue found himself standing at the foot of the front stone steps of the Library of Merth. He strode up, passing between the two marble statues whose symbolism Dareon had once explained. The one to Blue’s left was a man of noble bearing in scholar’s robes holding a scroll in one hand and a winged staff in the other. He stared forward, his chin tilted upward with a bold expression of confidence bordering on arrogance. This statue represented all known wisdom and knowledge. The figure on Blue’s right was a woman with wild star-filled hair that swirled around her. Upon her shoulder was a childlike imp. The woman wore a mischievous smile, while the imp pointed and laughed uproariously at the male statue. They represented the unknown and the unknowable.

Blue lifted Zazar off his shoulder and set him down on the marble ledge behind the female statue. “Keep her company. Even if you could read, I’m afraid you’re not welcome inside.”

Zazar protested with an annoyed cat growl, but after turning a circle, sat and stared at the bronze double doors of the two-story white stone building.

Blue took the remaining steps, grasped the bronze handle, and pulled. The door was locked. Blue tried the other door. It also refused to budge.

He stepped back and squinted through the tall windows on either side. He saw no one inside. He glanced about, puzzled. It was nearing noon and the library was usually open by this time. Then he remembered that today was some minor festival day, the purpose of which escaped his mind. It was obviously important enough for the library to close, or at least an excuse for people to take a day off work.

Blue sighed and returned to Zazar. The cat still stared at the front doors. “Both my guess and your instincts are wrong. Dareon couldn’t be here. Unless he hid somewhere and slept in the library so he could remain inside reading all day and night. I have to say, I wouldn’t put it past him. Still, more likely he’s elsewhere. Come on, Zazar.”

Blue reached down toward the cat, but Zazar leapt off the ledge into the shrubbery surrounding the building.

“Zazar!” shouted Blue. He hopped over the ledge and pursued the cat. Zazar wove through the low foliage and slipped down into a window well. Blue cursed and followed him to the edge of the small sunken alcove. He kneeled down, but before he could reach in and grab Zazar, the cat had squeezed into the building through a small opening created by a broken windowpane.

Blue leaned down toward the hole. “Zazar! Come back here!” He waited for several minutes, but the cat did not return. He could see only darkness through the smoky pane.

Blue growled and stood up. Several onlookers had paused to observe his curious behavior. He sighed, wove through the foliage and back to the street, and stared at the building helplessly. Now he had lost both Dareon and Zazar. Blue had no better idea of Dareon’s whereabouts that would not require searching half the city. He walked back up the steps and sat cross-legged on the ledge behind the female statue and waited, hoping that either Zazar would return or some insight as to Dareon’s whereabouts would spring to mind.

6

Dareon stood upon the “roof” of the bookcase and looked down over the edge with growing alarm. The first climbing rat was joined by the two from the front and a new recruit that had scurried up from the gloom between the shelves to Dareon’s right. The rodents facilitated their ascent by using each other as ladders to gain the first shelf, then the next.

Dareon didn’t wait to watch them conquer the remaining five shelves. He needed an escape route, preferably one by which the rats could not follow. He surveyed his surroundings. The top of the case was bare. This made traveling easier but provided no cover. He glanced above at the wooden rafters. Staring up into the shadows, his eyes quickly adjusted, and he thought he could make out a kind of ledge created by a wider horizontal crossbeam that bolstered up the one above it. The ledge was beyond his reach. He was brainstorming possible ways of gaining access when his eyes caught a hint of movement from the ledge. He craned his neck and squinted. For a moment, he thought he was looking at a large black cat making its way along the ledge. Then the shape crawled straight up the wall with eight legs instead of four, and Dareon was reminded of his diminutive state. A chill ran across his neck as he backed away. That ruled out the rafters.

He had no more time to waste. He jogged left, in the direction away from the dark side of the library from where the rodents had emerged. He glanced back and saw that two rats had already reached the top and were galloping toward him.

Dareon threw caution to the wind and ran like a mountain goat. Plummeting to the floor was preferable to what pursued him. His mind was so focused on the peril to his sides and behind him that the end of the bookshelf came as a surprise, despite its obvious inevitability. He skidded to a halt at the very edge and stared down at the yawning chasm. The gap across to the next shelf top was the equivalent of two running jumps. The rats would overtake him if he tried climbing down. He looked back. They would be upon him in the space of a dozen pounding heartbeats. He stopped, faced the rats (now three!), and grasped the handle of his rapier. But something of interest had caught his eye. He glanced back quickly once more toward the end of the bookcase. Above the gap between the shelves, possibly within reach of one running leap, was the bottom of a lantern hanging from the ceiling. He looked back. Four beasts now scurried forward, flashing their incisors and chittering, as if desperately hungry for a poet swordsman, a delicacy they had heard praise of but never sampled. Four tiger-sized rats, nine heartbeats away…

He ran half the distance toward them and gave as great a battle cry as he could muster with his hummingbird-sized vocal chords. The rats balked. Dareon stopped, spun about, and sprinted in the opposite direction toward the edge of the shelf. At the last second, he took one final longer bound almost overshooting the edge and sprang up at full stretch. For one breathless moment, he thought he would fall short. But his fingers caught the bottom lip of the lamp. The lamp swung with his momentum, and when it was at the end of its arc, his fingers slipped. He kicked out. The toes of the boot of his foremost foot just reached the edge of the other shelf. He tumbled forward roughly over the wooden surface and struggled up to gaze across the space he had just traversed. The rats came scrambling to a halt at the edge, but the first was knocked over by the rat behind it. Dareon heard a squeal. He stepped forward and peered down. The fallen rat was alive, but crawling away with a limp. The other rats stared at Dareon for a moment, then went back in the direction from which they had come. As they retreated, Dareon shook his fist in the air and let out a taunting cheer.

He was momentarily heartened. Two down, but how many more to go?

He heard a rustling sound from below and glanced down. Half a dozen rats were climbing up the bookcase upon which he stood. Six more. That would total nine.

Dareon quickly checked the opposite side. Four more rats from that side as well. Thirteen: a very unlucky number. Especially when counting giant rats! Dareon drew his throwing knife, poised at the edge, and with a quick flick of his wrist, hurled the knife downward. The rat highest up barely made a squeal as the knife found its mark. It somersaulted down to make a dead thud upon the floor. Twelve. A better number, but not by much.

Dareon retreated to the end of the shelf where at least he could not be attacked from behind. Then he drew his rapier and his remaining dagger and waited. He had faced what had seemed certain death more than once before, and he had learned that fighting for his life was preferable to waiting for something horrible to happen. His mind could come up with far more grisly ways of dying than he would ever likely face. But it turned out that he had little time for morbid thought. The rats reached the top shelf faster than he had anticipated. Dareon felt an ironic sense of relief.

The first two rats galloped toward him. He met the first with a long lunge, thrusting it through the eye and skull. It collapsed. As he pulled his blade free, the second rat leapt over the first. Dareon ducked forward, using the first rat like a protective wall, and stabbed the second rat through its soft belly as it flew through the air. It squealed and tumbled headlong off the shelf. Ten to go.

Another rat gained the top a stone’s throw ahead of him. But this one only stared and waited. Unfortunately, they were learning.

Dareon glanced down on either side to check the progress of the beasts. Mathematics had perhaps never been his strongest subject, but Dareon knew immediately that his former count was obsolete. There were indeed nine more rats nearing the top shelf on the side to Dareon’s left. But when he glanced down to the right, his little candle flame of hope was snuffed out. He now counted eleven more rats on their way up! Add the one waiting patiently at the top and they totaled twenty-one. A lucky number, but usually going to the dealer. And Scyell had dealt this hand.

Dareon was already fatigued from shock, fear, climbing, and fighting. He knew he had little chance of killing twenty-one of these monsters. And there now seemed little point in keeping track of how many of his rodent foes remained, for their numbers seemed endless. He supposed there was a certain economy in being food for something else, but he wished it to be long after he was dead. Being eaten alive had always been one of his least favorite options for ending his mortal life. That or being tortured; or drowning; or starving to death; or dying of a horrible disease. Now that he really pondered it, almost all the ways of dying that he could think of were his least favorite.

As two more rats gained the top and crawled forward, Dareon felt slightly miffed that no one would be around to chronicle his last battle. Surrounded by all of these books, and not a single one would tell of his final stand. Perhaps the survivors would tell their rat grandchildren of the terrible warrior that had killed half their clan this day. He sighed and shrugged.

The first rat pounced forward. He thrust it through the throat. The second and third sprang upon him. He danced sideways and skewered one with his rapier. The third hurled its body upon him before he could turn, pinning him down. It opened its jaws to sink its incisors into Dareon’s head, and Dareon stabbed his dagger through the top of its jaw and up through its brain.

Dareon struggled to free himself from the rat corpse, but was unable to lift it off. He twisted and tried to reach the edge of the shelf in order to pull himself out from beneath its weight. His legs were still pinned when three more rats arrived like ill-timed bad news. He could see a dozen more right behind. Even more were nearing the end of their climb. And he knew he was nearing his end as well. If he could only pull himself free to fall.

But then the first rat was upon him. He jabbed with his rapier, but the beast flinched back as another rat trapped his sword arm beneath its paw. He slashed its leg with his dagger. The rat screamed and retreated. Two more approached, one from either side, and a third climbed up on the rat that was pinning him down, crushing his legs even more. Dareon let out a final cry.

Then an enormous golden shape landed from above with a resounding thud, knocking one rat off the shelf. It clawed both the rat that stood on the corpse that pinned Dareon and the corpse itself so that both bodies flew into oblivion, and then it snapped the last rodent attacker up in its large fanged jaws.

Dareon gaped in awe. Dareon had seen him as a man-sized cat swordsman, as a normal-sized cat, and now as a cat that in comparison to him seemed five times the size of a lion. But he would have known him anywhere, in any form.

“Zazar!” cried Dareon.

Zazar growled. The sound was like thunder. He jerked his huge feline head, spitting the dead rat off the shelf. Zazar’s large blue orbs were now trained upon Dareon. The giant cat moved his masked face close to the poet swordsman and sniffed.

“Zazar?” said Dareon. He gripped his rapier tightly. As the man-cat fencer, Zazar had once tried to kill him. As a normal-sized cat since then, he had been a most affectionate pet. Would he now be friend or foe? Dareon guessed his rapier would be even less a match for Zazar now than it had been on their first encounter.

“Nice puss,” said Dareon.

Zazar lifted his head and hissed. Dareon raised his sword. Zazar turned and pounced on the half dozen rats that still remained atop the shelf. Two he killed with swipes of his claws, one plunged over the side, and the last three scurried down the shelves.

Dareon struggled to his feet. His legs were stiff but not seriously injured.

Zazar padded back to where Dareon stood. Dareon tried to remain calm in the face of this giant killer. Zazar peered over the edge. He let out a meow.

Dareon looked down. At least a dozen rats were making their way up. He checked the other side. At least as many on that side too, and more rats were appearing out of the gloom.

“Maybe together we can take them,” said Dareon to Zazar.

Zazar meowed, reclined on his stomach next to Dareon, and stared at him. Dareon stared back. “What are you doing? This is no time for a cat nap!”

Zazar meowed insistently and seemed to crouch lower.

“Wait, do you want me to get on your back?”

Zazar meowed again.

“Well, it’s not the craziest thing I will have done all day,” said Dareon. He sheathed his weapons and climbed onto Zazar’s back. Zazar held still. Dareon gripped tightly to the cat’s leather collar.

“Alright. I don’t know what you have in mind or where we could possibly go, but—”

Dareon grunted as Zazar rose up, turned, and tensed for a jump.

“Wait!” said Dareon. “You’re not going to—”

Dareon cried out as Zazar launched up toward the rafters and landed on the shadowy ledge above.

“Gods!” said Dareon, holding tightly. He glanced down. The shadows below teemed with the movement of dark forms. Zazar crept along the ledge across the room. When Zazar reached a bookcase near the opposite wall, he leapt down atop it. Then he ran to the end and crouched, leaning down toward a table that looked dangerously far below them.

“You can’t be—”

Dareon yelped and clung tightly to the collar as Zazar sprang. Dareon expected his back to be broken, but he experienced only a slight jolt and a bounce, and was more amazed than ever by the supple strength and dexterity of cats. Why, if an army could ride these instead of horses, they could conquer the world!

This was all well and good, but even Zazar’s abilities would not be enough if they were trapped forever in this library with rats at their throats.

“Out, Zazar,” said Dareon. “Do you know the way out?” Dareon had no idea what Zazar did or didn’t understand. Since they had adopted the former magical guardian, Dareon and Blue had been able to learn nothing more about the mysterious feline’s true nature.

Whether or not Zazar understood, he seemed to have a clear intention. The cat hopped from the table to a chair to the floor, and then dashed up the stairs toward the second floor. He jerked to a stop midway up the steps. His fur stood on end. He hissed.

Dareon looked up. Dozens of noses with whiskers, and then full rat heads peered over the edge of the top step. Dareon glanced back down the stairs behind them. In the shadows at the foot of the steps, a black mass trembled and undulated. Numberless pairs of red eyes like an evil galaxy seen from afar glinted in horrific hunger and patient malice.

Dareon reached for his rapier to ready himself for his last fight. He was almost thrown off Zazar as the cat suddenly dashed up the stairs toward the rats at the top. Dareon wished to draw his rapier for what he assumed was Zazar’s defiant last stand, but he was able to hang on only by clutching the cat’s collar tightly with both hands. He had no intention of being dropped on these stairs alone between two rat armies.

Just when it seemed Zazar would crash into the horde spilling down the steps toward them, the cat bounded up onto the rail to their left and vaulted off again in a prodigious leap across the two-story chasm of space below them. Time seemed to slow for a moment as they hung in the air. Dareon glanced down to see what to him was a two-hundred-foot drop. Then Zazar’s front claws caught the second floor balcony banister. The cat barely scrambled over. Zazar slipped down onto the floor and dashed left to the last row of shelves. He veered right down the aisle with such speed that Dareon felt as if his stomach had been left behind, and perhaps several other organs as well.

As they passed a perpendicular aisle between the shelves to their right, Dareon saw a river of rats running parallel with them. And a smaller rat tributary had branched out with the express purpose of cutting them off at this pass. But Zazar was too fast, and the line of rats fell in behind them.

Were it a simple foot race, Dareon would have had no worries. But there was no exit, as far as he knew. And even worse, he did know where Zazar was headed—toward Dareon’s favorite reading spot. For once, Dareon wanted to go anywhere but there, for Dareon knew what Zazar seemed most ignorant of: the reading alcove was a dead end! And in this case, the term would be quite literal for both of them.

Zazar shot out from the aisle into the end of the room and veered about forty-five degrees to the right toward the alcove. The rats erupted from the aisles a heartbeat later on an interception course.

Dareon had wondered whether the cat would leap up onto the reading table in front of them or simply put his back to the wall for their final stand. But the cat did neither. Instead, Zazar dashed straight toward the back wall without any sign of slowing.

“Zazar, no!” yelled Dareon. The cat must have gone mad with panic or desperation. Dareon prepared to leap off Zazar’s back, though a fall at this speed would be almost as likely to kill him as a collision with the wall. Either was better than being eaten alive. Collision with the wall seemed the more certain death. So Dareon opted for that.

The wall was only three heartbeats away. He clung tightly and shut his eyes. Right before he closed his eyes, he could have sworn the wall showed a smoky reflection of Zazar and him, as if there was a mirror facing them in the dusky shadows.

Then Dareon cried out.

7

“Who’s there?” asked a voice, as if from another room.

Dareon felt no sense of movement. He opened his eyes. He was sitting at the table where he had been reading. His book was in front of him. The cover now read, The Epic of Mezhgalan, as it had before. Both the hand mirror and Kora Dervan, or rather, Scyell, were still gone. But the rounded pebble from the Song River still sat in mute evidence on the table before him.

A normal-sized Zazar leapt up onto the table and stared at Dareon enigmatically. The cat gave him a meow that Dareon interpreted as, “This is what happens when you leave home without me.” Or was it, “This is what happens when you betray a feline of the species!”?

A moment later, the librarian—a gaunt old man with hollow eyes and a fraying beard that reminded Dareon of an unkempt bird’s nest—stepped from an aisle into the alcove.

“Young man, how in the world did you get up here? I just opened the library.” Then the man saw Zazar and his eyes widened. “Animals are not allowed in the library! You must remove it at once. If I did not recognize you as a regular attendee, I would temporarily suspend your privileges. But I shall turn a blind eye this one time to your violation of the rules.”

Dareon sighed and smiled, relieved far beyond the old man’s comprehension. “Forgive me. We were just leaving.”

Dareon lowered his arm and Zazar leapt up onto his shoulder. The librarian looked on with disapproval. Dareon bowed and walked past the old man and down the stairs. He stopped halfway down the steps when he thought he caught movement out of the corner of his right eye coming from the shadows at the end of the last aisle. Dareon darted a glance into the darkness. For a moment, he thought he saw a rodent shape skitter into the gloom, but then decided his eyes were playing tricks on him. After all, he had never seen a rat in the Library of Merth. At least, not the library in this world. But then, who knew what happened in the after hours?

Dareon stepped outside and was surprised to see that it was morning, for he had entered the library in the afternoon the day before the Festival of Sails. And he was further surprised to see Blue and Malika waiting on the steps.

“Dareon!” said Blue with a relieved look.

Malika just nodded, as if at something she had suspected all along.

“Greetings and a joyous morning to you both!” said Dareon.

“I thought you might be in there,” said Blue. “But the library was closed yesterday. We just came back to find Zazar before continuing our search for you elsewhere, but it seems he found you. The damn cat snuck in a window yesterday morning.

“Luckily for me,” said Dareon.

Malika sighed. “I told you he had done something like this,” she said to Blue.

Blue scowled at Dareon. “Did you actually hide from the librarian and spend the night locked in there?”

“I didn’t hide,” said Dareon. “But if this is the day after the Festival of Sails, I must have spent two nights in there.” He glanced at the street beyond where people were already passing to and fro on regular workday business.

Blue’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you know? What were you doing in there?”

Dareon twisted his mouth and thought for a moment. “Well, after being transported to an alternate world by an evil sorceress with the use of a magical mirror, and being transmuted to less than one tenth my size, I fought an army of evil rats and was about to meet a grisly untimely end, when a giant cat rescued me in the nick of time, and using his own magical know-how, returned me safely home.”

Dareon patted Zazar’s head. Zazar meowed as if to confirm the story.

Malika sighed again.

Blue raised an eyebrow. But then his expression clear and he nodded. “Oh, now I see. Was it a good book?”

Dareon’s brows furrowed for a moment. “Good book?” Then he laughed.

“What’s so funny?” asked Blue. “Was it a good book or wasn’t it?”

Dareon answered between his laughter. “Oh, no. It was horrible. Just horrible. But it had a wonderful ending!”

 

________________________________________

Robert Zoltan is a Los Angeles-based author of literary and speculative fiction. His previous Rogues of Merth story, The Blue Lamp, appeared in Heroic Fantasy Quarterly #26. Further adventures of Dareon and Blue can be found in Rogues of Merth, Book 1, available at Amazon. His illustration appeared on the cover for The Best of Heroic Fantasy Quarterly, Volume 2, and his work will also be featured on the cover of Volume 3. Robert is also an award-winning songwriter, composer and music producer, audiobook drama producer, voice actor, and host of Literary Wonder & Adventure Show podcast, which can be heard at http://dreamtowermedia.com/podcast/.