“Piteous devils,” Kusiph said, features bunched in mingled sorrow and disdain as he surveyed the wretched mass. “Do you think they remember? Possess some knowledge of who they were?”

Of course they do, the voice said with an amused snort. The ichor works differently on a human body. Dritch-wights remember but remain slaves to their hunger and hate. I find I admire the inventiveness of the Mad God’s punishments more and more.

“Just mindless beasts,” Pilgrim said, turning away. “What they were matters not.”

M aisha lit another of her glowing jars as night fully descended, the green light revealing a huge interior. The centre of the level they stood on lacked a floor, creating a black triangular void surrounded by platforms of numerous storeys ascending into darkened heights. This level was lined with numerous shelves from floor to ceiling, all laden with thick mounds of dust. He heard Book let out a soft groan of despair, watching his shoulders slump as he swept detritus from one of the shelves.

“Gone,” he hissed in an angry mutter. “All gone.”

“What is this place?” Pilgrim asked Priest.

“The Great Library of the Absolved.” The cleric moved to one of the shelves, dabbing his fingers to the dust. “Said to contain the wisdom of all the world. He sent emissaries to every land to buy books, recruited scholars to write yet more. For three centuries this was the greatest centre of learning known to humanity, surpassing even the colleges of eternal Valkeris.” He grimaced, working his fingers to banish the dust. “Now vanished forever at the order of the Absolved. As he cursed his people, so he cursed his books.”

He turned to the others. “Best eat and garner what sleep you can. After tomorrow, it’s likely to be a rare comfort.”

The company made their way deeper into the building to find a resting place, keen to get away from the unending hungry chorus of the horde. The wights had invaded the base of the spires, the cries echoing up through the building with aggravating clarity, but Priest assured the company the stairwells between the spires and the library proper had been destroyed long ago. They settled on a mostly bare expanse of floor dotted with the remnants of chairs and tables that Priest asserted must have been a workplace for the library’s scribes. Pilgrim crafted a small fire from fragmented sticks of furniture which proved dry and easily lit. Sleep came quickly for the others save for him and Book.