Thankfully, the bell did not toll, and our journey toward the library was uninterrupted. We did have a close call though, and I watched Owl draw his bow to its fullest for the first time. That was how I knew something was wrong.
We had just turned a corner when he immediately made the sign for "Stop—don't even breathe."
My eyes scanned the winding street, searching for what he saw. He started drawing his bow; its steel-like cable crackled under pressure. I saw a tiny movement: the red of its muscles was almost camouflaged against the red sky, its long claws carving into the edge of a roof to hold it in place.
The bow drew taut. The muscle fibers on Owl's arms protruded against his skin; the raw power in that shot could rival a sniper rifle.
'No, it's probably even more powerful.' I caught myself thinking.
Then he released the string, and before the creature was even hit he was already drawing again. The first shot had been aimed at the center of mass and it hit, just not at the intended spot. Maybe the wind, some sixth sense, or magic had made the creature move to the side to dodge.
But Owl seemed to have expected that. The shot went through its body and pinned it against the wall. It would not hold for long, maybe less than a second; its roiling muscles tore off parts of the stone as it tried to propel itself in our direction, yet it held long enough. The second shot rippled through the air and shattered its reinforced cranium like an artillery round through armor. There was an explosion of air and the wall cracked in a webbed pattern. It was dead.
Owl pointed at a building and gestured for me to hurry. I made my best impression of a bird, hopping on one leg into what looked like an old clothing boutique. As I entered I saw Owl sprint toward the dead skinless, no doubt to take its energy core. I would not be of any help; more creatures were probably coming. The ordeal had made enough noise to echo through the neighborhood. I got inside the shop and hid under a counter.
There was tons of movement on the street: skittering, stomping, breaking stone, and creatures fighting each other. I don't know how he did it, but Owl appeared nearby not long after and signaled for me to keep quiet.
We stayed inside for an hour, until the commotion died down.
ººº
It was the middle of the afternoon when we arrived at the library. I expected a grand, imposing structure, but it was actually quite small. Probably built for function over aesthetics; this was a fortress after all. The citizens were mostly warriors, with the occasional crafter who was more than a hobbyist. It had been a military town.
We made our way in. Owl led me toward spiral stairs that ended in the attic of the small library. Passing through a window I made my way to the roof. This was when I got my second look at the city. Without the time constraint of falling to my death, I could take in the sights much better.
It was... almost in ruins. Fights like the one I witnessed earlier were commonplace. If not caused by Owl — who seemed to live in this horrible place for his own reasons — caused by adventurers and... other vagrants.
Owl told me about it while we ate. Places like this, taken by madness, were free real estate for the adventurous sorts. There was a bounty on the Baron's head. It had taken a tremendous toll to even discover he was behind all this, to make their way into the citadel that jutted like the tip of a spear at the center of the fortress. The bounty was still around, along with the man — or monster — himself.
Should someone kill him, they could claim ownership of the city and become its new untainted Baron. Few aimed for that, though, more interested in the hefty sum of gold associated with it. They could also request a custom crafted artifact; that was also a tantalizing prize. Owl's race, the Orvelis, were well renown in the fringes for their crafting, especially of magical artifacts.
'Maybe I could kill him.' The thought almost made me laugh. But that simmer; the low rumble of something within me, kept me from finding it all a joke. I stared at the silhouette of the fortress for a long time.
ººº
Owl was taking a long time inside. I was determined not to fail at my task, so I watched diligently, paying attention to every movement. I knew these creatures were elusive. The husks moved like ghosts through the streets. When they stopped, their only feature that set them apart from statues was the flaps of loose skin, moving like hastened banners in the breeze.
Far ahead I saw one of them, with an uneven gait, make its way across an intersection. Keeping watch was harder than I thought. There was no point in warning Owl about every single husk or skinned I saw — I had to discern which ones were heading toward the library. None were so far, but the threat lingered.
I decided to change my post, carefully making my way across the roof to the back of the library. From here I had a view of another side of the city, not blocked by the citadel's mass. The walls, made of blackened stone, rose as tall as the library. I could see tiny dots moving on them: the centurion guards. They were a level above the skinned, according to Owl — not in strength, but in cunning. They had retained some semblance of intelligence after turning to madness, much like the Baron himself.
They wore black plated armor and wielded siege bows larger even than Owl's. The only redeeming aspect of their existence was that they were as limited as they were strong. The Baron could not create more of them; they had once been highly trained soldiers and that process could no longer be replicated. Yet, as a testament to their strength and endurance, they still existed. Each had undoubtedly killed hordes of adventurers trying to breach the walls. Through the years their numbers dwindled from two hundred to a few dozen, but the last ones were the most fearsome.
ººº
I watched a group of four husks slowly making their way toward the library. I had drawn an imaginary line at the intersection, about a hundred meters away. If they crossed it, I would warn Owl.
[...]
When the first of them crossed it, I made my way inside. I searched the library, rushing to find the elusive man as fast as I could. When I did, I was a bit stumped.
He had carved a haunting image on the library wall: a circle of runes with a woman in the center. She had dozens of eyes; for each pair there was a hand holding a book. Over many of the carved books, Owl had nailed a real book from the library with an arrow. There were dozens. I wanted to ask what in the hells he was doing, but we did not have the time.
Hearing me approach, he turned and gestured with his head toward the door. I nodded. He pointed from a stack of books on the ground toward the wall, where a few carved books had no real book nailed to them.
I got the message and picked up one of the arrows he had left lying on the ground. I was not surprised by their weight; each weighed at least a kilo. Before I could even start, Owl was gone. Knowing him, he would probably kill more than just those four by sweeping the perimeter.
It did not take long to nail the final book to the wall. He had probably spent so long carving the image and was almost finished with whatever ritual he planned before we got interrupted.
The carving was truly mesmerizing. Trying to count the pairs of eyes and books threatened to give me a headache, as if I were trying to comprehend something my mind was not yet ready for. He was making a sacrifice of knowledge, that much I gathered, but why? What did he need? The man was so full of mysteries I almost felt he did it on purpose.
'Wait. Maybe he does...' I remembered his line about being cool and mysterious. He's such a dork.
Before long he was back. As he reached my side he fished another core from his pocket and handed it to me. He went to the carving and, with the tip of an arrow, pointed out an indentation in the wall.
'What is he trying to do...' I walked up to the wall and placed the core.
The carving lit up with a blue glow. The woman's eyes blinked and converged on me in a single moment, before I could even let go of the core.
My mind was pummeled, bombarded with knowledge that was not mine: an amalgamation of phrasings, muscle memory, and pronunciation, the subtle nuances a native speaker knows but cannot explain to a foreigner. At that instant I learned from the beginning up until the moment that knowledge had been sacrificed — the sum of experiences someone had used as barter with the goddess carved on the wall.
The stream of knowledge finished frying my brain. The core, still touching my fingers, crumbled into fine powder.
Before I totally lost consciousness I heard Owl speak, no longer in English but in his mother tongue: "Now we do not need the amulet anymore. This makes everything much easier!"
Then I blacked out.