Chapter 4

Rare Books

"Reaver…" Garth said, rising from the tomb, "What is this…" he asked, pointing to a long robe hanging above the tombs. Reaver simply smiled and turned around, heading toward the door.

"It's Hammer's warrior monk robe. It's her treasure. Her tombs defend it. These robes answer to a person who is absolutely good. Not something very appealing to me, now is it?" Reaver asked leaving Garth in the burial ground of the Hero of Strength. Garth wasn't really shocked that she was dead, had she been alive, he would have heard about it at some point. Seeing Sparrow's daughter as queen meant a similar fate for the Hero of Bowerstone, but somehow, that didn't visibly affect him like seeing Hammer's tomb.

"Would you like to see your treasure?" Reaver asked, the sound of boredom developing in his tone.

"Yes…" Garth said, following Reaver out of the tomb. Reaver closed its doors then turned to Garth.

"Actually, this reminds me of something I want to ask you. How are you still alive? I was rid of Sparrow about ten years ago, or was it 20 now? I always lose track. Anyway, Sparrow was king for fifty years before that. This would mean you're about…one hundred and ten years old."

"How do you know how old I am?"

"Why, Garth, have you lost your hearing too? I just did the math…"

"How did you know how old I was when we defeated Lucien?"

"Come now Garth, I can't give away all my secrets…but if you answer my question, I'll answer yours."

"I am a child of Samarkand, our average age is one hundred and twenty. As a Hero, and a Will user at that, I have been granted a life half again as long. In addition, I assumed that defeating some members of the shadow court extended my life further, but you are about to deny that claim, so I suppose that didn't have an effect."

"Do you know any spells or tricks that might extend one's life, hmm?"

"No, death is inevitable. Magic can't create years…at least not any magic I would use," Garth said, knowing exactly where Reaver was going.

"Pity…well I stole your diary in Samarkand and have read through it extensively, so this is how I know your age. And about your blindness in your right eye. And your mother's bout with alcoholism." Reaver said deceitfully. Garth controlled his anger and remained, or at least attempted to remain, neutral as he followed Reaver to yet another door, this one with a large key as well.

"This is where Sparrow hid all of the larger items he stole from your tower." Reaver unlocked the door and opened it to reveal a long hallway filled with antiques and books. The walls were lit by dim red torches which gave the hall dark red glow. The evil bed he'd been trying to destroy was sitting to the side of the hall, with obvious signs it had been slept in. Behind it was a pile of some old technology of the ancient heroes. He looked around the room. Most was junk, either Old Kingdom tools or weapons supposedly with the ability to increase one's magical abilities. Garth continued until he found a mostly empty shelf with only a few journals. These journals looked familiar, and he opened one and found his own handwriting.

"Reaver!"

"I know, I know, don't get your Will lines in a knot…I stole them when I escaped Samarkand. It wasn't kind and I am so sincerely sorry. But I think you may find that gauntlet there of more interest," Garth turned around and saw the gauntlet of the Spire, his most terrible invention. The gauntlet was based on one of the tools used by the Guards of the spire to punish the prisoners and guards with shocks. Garth had unlocked the gauntlets full ability, allowing it to shock anyone, not just those wearing one of the terrible collars. It couldn't be used without giving a short shock to oneself, however, and was an evil tool. And Sparrow had it. Worse…Reaver knew about it.

"Alright…now that we've had a tearful reunion with your things, I believe it's time we talked."

"I suppose it is…" Garth grabbed a bag which he recognized as his old satchel. He snatched the gauntlet from its dais and dropped it into the satchel. He grabbed his writings and dropped them into the bag also. He threw it over his shoulder and left the room allowing Reaver to lock it.

"Now Garth…"

"Can we not walk and talk? I must see the room of the last hero."

"No, you don't need to. There is nothing there for you."

"Oh, I disagree. Remember I could still crush you with my earth spells…" Garth said, maintaining his famous neutrality. He felt like he'd reclaimed himself and his moral ambiguity with the gauntlet, though he still wanted to kill Reaver.

"Alright, fine, here…" Reaver walked, like a pouting child through a hallway to his room. He unlocked the door to reveal an empty hallway with a sickly yellow glow around it. At the end of it was a simple, unadorned pedestal with a mirror on it.

"Happy?"

"No," Garth said, dropping the satchel at the door and walking over to the pedestal which had the mirror on it. A long dead rose was next to it, and the mirror had a blood stain on it.

"You'd better be careful with that mirror Garth. It was a gift from the Shadow Court on my hundredth birthday. It reveals one's deepest fears." Garth grabbed the mirror and gazed into it, seeing nothing but his own reflection. However, as he stared the image started to shift, more and more into a monster which Garth recognized. It had four eyes and sharp teeth, as well as a spiked head. The monster, known in Samarkand as the Life Eater, stared at the Mage for a moment before its face turned into a smile.

"Hello, my old friend. I think it's time you joined your brothers, don't you!" The monster opened its mouth and started to pull Garth into the mirror. He tried to look away, but the force of the darkness was consuming the Samarkander's ability to resist. Suddenly, the mirror was smacked from his hand and slid across the floor. Reaver was standing in front of him, smiling darkly.

"I warned you didn't I? Now, let's see if I finally broke that unholy viewing glass…" Reaver reached down and picked up his treasure slowly, and glanced in it momentarily before dropping it again, "As expected, still intact, damn it all." Reaver pinched its handle like it was a dirty rag and dropped in back in place. Garth stood and noticed Reaver's reflection in the mirror, but he was aging rapidly. He grew older and older until his skeleton broke into dust and spilled off the image. Reaver turned around at that moment and looked at Garth, a small bit of annoyance in his face.

"I think we've spent enough time with that Skorm mirror, don't you?"

"Yes…" Garth took a deep breath and tried to clear his thoughts of the monster. He was surprised, actually, that he didn't see Lucien in the mirror, or any of the terrible devices of torture used on him in the Spire to discover the cause of Will. Not that he was disturbed by that anymore. He'd seen children torn to pieces by the Life-eater. Nothing really made him distraught anymore.

"Well," Reaver said, locking his hall quickly, "Seeing our worst fears in the mirror gave me the insight I needed to solve this problem. As it turns out, I was in fact right, the Darkness which appeared in Samarkand and the Shadow Court are two very different things. In fact the Darkness which you saw in that mirror was the same Darkness that assaulted Albion not more than a year ago. And I know of a certain seer who could prove my point. If you follow that path, and dive into the pool when you reach that gate, and follow a thin path over the last cavern, you should find a certain music box which should remind you of something."

"Sparrow's…music box?"

"Yes, and you should be able to summon Theresa with it. Also, I believe there is a Cullis Gate, which you should be able to use to get to the front of the academy with. Good luck!" Reaver said, waving Garth away.

"You're not coming?"

"And see that old witch again? I don't think so. Besides, jumping in a pool in this suit…why, it would be criminal!" Reaver let out a laugh as he walked out, leaving Garth standing alone in the Reliquary.

"Even if he didn't release the Life-eater on Samarkand, I'm probably going to kill him anyway," Garth said, moving deeper in the caverns.

"Ben…this is quite a romantic spot in twilight…" Page said, looking longingly over the deep gorge of the Mistpeak River. Ben Finn was leaning on the railing of the bridge as well, staring at Page, "Alright Finn. This is your chance to score. You've got this…" Ben started to inch toward Page's hand when she suddenly turned around and rested her back against the railing, shaking her head.

"Ben…I'm…I'm just confused,"

"Go on…" Ben said, mimicking her and leaning his back on the bridge, still trying to inch over to her.

"I hate Reaver! I've always hated Reaver…yet…I'm just tired of hating him. I just want to work for the betterment of everyone in Bowerstone and be free of him."

"Oh…" Ben said, still very focused on Page's hand, "So you want him to go away and not bother you anymore, but you don't want to kill him. You just want him to disappear."

"Yes…that's it exactly." Just as Ben was about to touch her hand, she folded her arms and shook her head, sending the man into retreat.

"I don't know Ben…but this is a truly romantic place. Of course, you should know, you can't just take me to some bridge and expect me to love you."

"Why not? It works with everyone else in Albion," Ben muttered. Page turned to him.

"What?"

"Uh…maybe we should see if Reaver and his friend have left the Reliquary."

"Good idea…" Page said, walking past him. He sighed deeply and shook his head, "Dammit. What is it going to take with this girl?"

The two went through the now emptying town. The pub was overflowing and extremely loud, and most citizens of Brightwall where having parties in their homes now, leaving the streets nearly empty. However, the Academy was as full as ever. As the two pushed to the front area, they found someone unexpected.

"Reaver? What are you doing here?" Page demanded. Reaver was standing before the crowd of people at the front desk of the Academy. He had the same sly look on his face as always, and was halfheartedly following checkout procedure for a nervous looking citizen.

"So, you'd like to check out Reading for Idiots,huh? Well, while you fit the idiot bit, I'm not sure that you could handle reading a book of this level. Then again, I suppose it is a book for the illiterate, isn't it? Here you are!" Reaver stamped the book's back cover, completely missing the index card used to mark it properly. He threw the book at the woman who ran out of the room, only to be replaced by three more. Page pushed around people till she was at the checkout desk.

"Reaver!"

"Ah, my dearest Page, how do you do?"

"What are you doing?"

"Giving the overworked staff of this Academy a much needed break. Girod, myself and my crazed fan have taken over the duties of the workers here." Ben Finn pushed his way to desk and looked at Reaver.

"Where is the library staff now?" he asked.

"Why, in the breakroom of course! I told the dear headmaster of this fine academy to take as long as he needs," Reaver said, apathetically stamping a book's front cover and throwing it into the crowd. Ben shook his head and pointed at Reaver.

"Don't leave!"

"Oh, of course Mr. Finn. I wouldn't dream of ignoring the law. After all, it was so well enforced while I was running Bloodstone," Reaver said as Ben turned to Page.

"I'm going to go to the rare books and see if his crazed fan has done anything. See if you can find Samuel and the other librarians."

"Right…" Page said with a nod, heading down to the left wings of the academy. Ben Finn went to the right side and found Benjamina, holding back a stack of books about five high. She was perusing the crowd, holding out one book.

"Dangerous things: Gunpowder. Who thinks they're worthy?" She was still bouncing, her brown buns obviously becoming frizzled from the prospect of doing actual work. Ben Finn noticed two flowers in her hair, which would have made her look quite cute if she wasn't bat shit crazy.

"I would like to borrow that one!"

"What is Reaver's favorite color?"

"Um…black?"

"No! Wrong!" She said, pulling the book back.

"It's yellow!" One man yelled from the crowd. She pointed to him, stamped the book, and then threw it at him. Ben Finn pushed his way to the front and went to the woman.

"Benjamina, you're giving out rare books huh?"

"Yep. Reaver asked me to do it, and make sure that a glowing man from Samarkand named Garth never sees his autobiography. And I'd do anything for Reaver," Benjamina turned to the crowd and started to do a famous Reaver obsession chant, "Reaver's cool, I'm in love, I want Reaver's sweaty glove!"

"I see. Well, can I have the book?"

"No! Reaver told me not to let anyone have Reaver on Reaver! Now, who wants Famous Kings: Markus Ivy? All you have to do is name Reaver's favorite food!"

"Benjamina," Ben started, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a glove, which was no doubt Reaver's, "why don't you take a break and let me have the autobiography. I'll give out the rest of the rare books. That is, if you want a glove marked with Reaver's perspiration." Benjamina turned slowly, sweating profusely herself as she saw the glove.

"Re…re…re…"

"Yes, Reaver's glove…and you can…" Benjamina snatched the glove out of his hand before he could act, leaving him with the crowd and the autobiography.

"Hmmm…" Ben looked at the crowd and grabbed the last three books.

"Here, you take the Famous Kings.You take Dangerous Things: Ladders. You take Famous Killers: Xavier Smedly,and you take Reaver on…whoa, whoa, no! I need that one! That's all the rare books. Everyone else! You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here." The crowd booed the man then slowly leaked out of the room.

"What is in these pages that Reaver doesn't want his friend to see?" Ben Finn opened the book and a three page fold fell out of it.

"…I suppose I wouldn't want anyone to see that…Frankly, I could have done without it either…" Ben rubbed his eyes, folded the picture back into the book, and started out of the room, looking to find Page.