statue of Cadderly.
He dreamed of conducting a service in that cathedral, of Brother Chaunticleer's a cappella gift to the brother gods, Oghma and Deneir, the talented tenor's voice echoing about the graceful walls like the songs of the heavens themselves.
Then Cadderly saw himself, wearing the sash of the library's dean, leading the service, with Danica sitting proudly by his side.
He was a hundred years old, withered and worn and near death.
The shocking image shook Cadderly from his slumber, and his eyes opened wide to take in the starry sky. He closed his eyes quickly and tried to recapture that last fleeting glimpse, to learn why it might be so startling. Cadderly could only hope that the new library would be constructed before he reached his hundredth year, even if construction began in full this very summer and Ivan and Pikel delivered a thousand dwarves to help with the work.
Cadderly, so filled with divine faith, certainly did not fear his death. Then why had he awakened, and why was his forehead cold with sweat?
He looked back into the dream, forced the image to linger. Even though it was clear, it took Cadderly time to discern what might be out of place.
It was he, the old dean of the library. He looked as if he had lived a century or more, but Danica, sitting beside him, seemed no older than she was now, barely in her twenties.
Cadderly let go the surreal scene and looked up at the stars, reminding himself that it had been just a dream. The Bouldershoulders' wild snoring - Ivan snorting and Pikel whistling in response - calmed him somewhat, told him that all was as it should be.
Still, many hours passed before Cadderly found his slumber again, and that image of an old, dying priest leading a service in the cathedral went into his dreams with him.
Two of the five Oghmans sat awake, chatting quietly and keeping a halfhearted watch on the dark trees surrounding their encampment as the darkest hours of the night passed. None in the group was really afraid of trouble this far south in the mountains. The trails between Carradoon and the Edificant Library were well traveled, and these were powerful clerics - behind Bron Turman, the most powerful of the Oghman order at the library. They had lined the perimeter of their camp with wards that would not only alert them of the presence of monsters, but would send jolts of lightning into the creatures, probably destroying them before they ever crossed into the opening.
So these two Oghmans were awake more to enjoy the night than to guard the camp, and their eyes were more often on each other, or on the fire, than on the dark and ominous trees.
Kierkan Rufo was in those trees, along with Druzil, watching the priests' movements and listening to the rhythmic snoring of the other three, fast asleep.
Rufo nodded and began his steady approach, but Druzil, still in many ways the wiser of the two, scanned the camp's perimeter, his knowing eyes looking for the revealing emanations of magic.
He kicked off the ground and flapped his wings to land hard against Rufo's shoulder. "It is guarded," he whispered into the vampire's ear. "All the way around."
Rufo nodded again, as though he had suspected that all along. He jerked suddenly, throwing Druzil from his shoulder and lifting his black robes high into the air about him. As the material descended, Rufo's corporeal form seemed to melt away. As a bat, Rufo zipped up into the treetops, Druzil following closely.
"Did they think to guard from above?" the vampire bat asked the imp in a voice so high-pitched that it hurt Druzil's ears, and though Rufo had spoken loudly, the men on the ground could not even hear the sound.
The two picked their way down the branches. Rufo noticed that Druzil had turned invisible, as was the imp's way, but the vampire was surprised - pleasantly so - to learn that he could still see the imp's vague outline. Another benefit of this undead state, Rufo decided. One of many, many benefits. A few moments later, the vampire was hanging upside down from the lowest branch over the encampment, barely fifteen feet above the heads of the two seated guards. Rufo had thought to swoop right down on them, but paused, wondering if something valuable might be gained from their conversation.
"Bron Turman's going to be surprised when we walk unannounced into Carradoon," one of them was saying.
"His own fault," answered