Brimstone Angels: Lesser Evils by Erin M. Evans

Author:Erin M. Evans [Evans, Erin M.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786961368
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2012-12-04T00:00:00+00:00

Tam flexed his hand and winced. It had taken Brin several more tries, and though the skin was healed over, and the bones were all set, it was stiff and aching. Not worth wasting a healing on, he thought, but it annoyed him nonetheless. He eased himself to the ground and pulled down another batch of books.

In the sepulchral silence of the library, the sounds of the others echoed and refused to settle into any clear location. The repeated shush of Mira pulling book after book, one at a time past its fellows, might have been several rows ahead or on the other end of the cavern. The occasional shuffle and thud of Maspero carting the texts she set aside to the camp in the center of the library might have come from beside him or farther on. The wooden clatter of Havilar and her glaive setting off one of the traps might be anywhere. The sound of Dahl and Farideh sniping at each other should have been nowhere.

He sighed. Gods, he did not want to play caretaker. Not for the first time he cursed Mehen, cursed the Fisher, and then cursed himself for not refusing the two of them.

They don’t need a caretaker, he reminded himself, opening one of the books. You don’t need to stop Farideh and Dahl from arguing or stop Havi running around.

Except he did—they were all his responsibility in the end, and if he couldn’t keep them alive and unharmed and watching out for one another, they might all be doomed. He rubbed the beginnings of a headache from his forehead. They shouldn’t have come—he shouldn’t have come. Only the moon above knew what the Fisher was letting happen out in the world. He set the book, a collection of folktales from Eaerlann, back on the shelf.

He wished he’d been able to detect the spellbooks from among the more mundane texts, but the magic of the library seemed to blur and bounce his senses every which way. He wished he’d insisted on leaving the cavern, on being out in the open one time more before they settled into this all-but-futile task. He’d have liked to perform the rites to have a moment to himself and Selûne before being buried under the ground.

Mira had a point, he reminded himself. More important, perhaps, he hadn’t wanted to take that point, that authority away from her. Something was wrong—she had always been unflappable, reserved even. And all he knew to do was let her have the room she insisted on—to step back so she didn’t need to push.

But this time, he thought, returning the next two tomes to their spots, it didn’t seem to be doing the trick. More than anything he wished he could sit her down and get her to tell him what was going on. Good or ill. He was still her father after all.

The sendings to Everlund and Waterdeep hadn’t worked. The components had lain there, unspent as the ritual failed. The wards, Mira reminded him.

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