The Dawnflower and the Rose: Chapter 3

Armed with the knowledge that the library had been trapped, Philippe cautiously made his way inside. As he moved, he could hear a voice reciting some unknown magical incantation. However, the moment he stepped into the archway leading to the central part of the structure, the chanting stopped.

Philippe assessed the scene before him, cognizant that glyphs of warding were ready to erupt in a conflagration at the slightest misstep. Upon the sculpted relief walls were sconces glowing with magical light—for fire was forbidden within the structure. They illuminated a large ornate rotunda domed with magnificent stained glass that bathed the room in brilliant colors. A stadium arrangement of curved shelves surrounded a collection of marble desks dominated by a single circular table. The path between shelves created a focal point that ended—perhaps intentionally—upon the occupant of that table.

A lone figure in black robes sat at the table smiling at Philippe.

Philippe ignored Izac as he searched for glyphs of warding.

“You won’t find them,” said the Magus plainly. He was middle-aged with short brown hair. His expression was one of excited amusement, and he pulled himself to stand with the aid of a staff. The wizard was unassuming, and without knowledge of his heinous deeds, no one would suspect him of being a murderous fiend in league with demonic forces. “Your best shot is to rush me and hope you avoid the fireballs.”

Philippe took a cautious step toward his quarry with a reasonable certainty he would not trigger a glyph. “I will not destroy this place unless I must. Good people died to protect it.”

“You mean you killed them.” Izac took a step back. Though there were fifty feet between him and the champion, he would maintain what distance he could.

“They did not understand how dangerous you are.” Philippe took another step; this time he was less certain he would not trigger a glyph. “It is tragic, but evil men exploit virtuous people for their own ends. It is a terrible sacrifice that we cannot shrink from if we are to confront the wicked.”

“Their sacrifice, not yours… to be clear.” Izac chuckled. “Perhaps Rovagug and Sarenrae have some common ground after all.”

“Their only common ground is an interest in your execution, Magus.” Philippe spat. “Prepare yourself. Even if you defeat me… even if this library burns to the ground, I have an insurmountable force mustered against you. Your trail of devastation ends here. Why don’t you deliver yourself to my blade as your final sacrament to your vile god?”

Izac’s expression brightened further. “I like your perspective, Champion. I cannot lose, can I? Whether I die at your hand, or escape your ire and destroy this place, I still serve the Unmaker.”

Certain that conversation would only serve Izac’s interests, and not his, Philippe scanned the area for glyphs, and took a calculated risk. He readied himself for a lunge and sprang forward with blade in hand.

The expression of delight upon Izac’s face did not fade as Philippe crossed the span between them and swung his blade. The scimitar cut through empty air as the image of the Magus vanished instantly. Philippe swung wildly, hoping to hit something invisible, but he knew that the chance of Izac being within striking distance was low.

A deep laughter rose from across the library where Izac—presumably the real Izac—now stood.

Philippe readied for another lunge but stopped himself. A tiny rune etched upon the floor before him glowed faintly. There was no doubt as to what destructive power the seemingly insignificant glyph held.

“Come and get me, Champion of Sarenrae,” Izac taunted, as some magical force pulled him a few feet off the ground. “This is your only chance. Charge toward me and kill me before I take my leave to sow further devastation.”

“Sarenrae protects!” Incensed, Philippe steeled himself against the impending conflagration and sprang forward.

An explosion of fire erupted around him. Protected as he was through divine power, wooden shelves and paper books were not. A blazing inferno erupted through the rotunda, consuming everything it touched and spreading like a glowing orange and red flood. Roiling black smoke filled the dome and colorful glass shards fell like rain.

Once again, Philippe swung his scimitar through Izac.

This time the blade struck an invisible barrier. The air shimmered with the impact and deflected the attack harmlessly.

Izac rose into the air and well out of reach of Philippe. “Farewell, Philippe Ambrose. I have no doubt I will see you again.”

Philippe searched in vain for a way to reach the Magus, but the heat from the firestorm was beginning to overwhelm even his divine protection. Despite his commitment to exact justice, he could only move toward the exit. He shouted with fury as he withdrew, “I will hunt you to the edge of Golarion and beyond! In Sarenrae’s name I swear I will find you and destroy you!”

“Perhaps someday,” Izac nodded with a grin. “As you stated, my death would serve both my master and yours. Meanwhile we can both revel in the glorious destruction your zealotry has reaped.” As he rose further into the air, the Magus spread his arms wide to gesture at the burning contents of the Grand Codex Library. “You see, whether it is the Forge Father, the Master of Masters, or even the Dawnflower or the Eternal Rose, we all serve my master. We all serve Rovagug.”

Philippe could only glare with contempt as Izac vanished through the shattered stained-glass dome.

“And the Worldbreaker thanks you for your service.”