Mask of Power : Spyro Versus the Mega Monsters (9781101610954) Page 4

  “Glummy old pal, old chum, old friend,” screamed Kaos, pulling his butler into a bear hug, his voice dripping with concern. “Where have you been?”

  Spyro had never seen Glumshanks look so uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to his master being nice to him.

  “Er, I got caught beneath that boulder when the…er…mega troll knocked over a column. I had to dig myself out.”

  “You poor thing,” fawned Kaos, never taking his eyes off Spyro. “Let’s get you home. Bye-bye, SKYLOSERS!”

  Spyro could still see Kaos’s smug smile, even after he’d conjured up a Portal to magic them away.

  Brushing dust from his shoulders, Diggs tottered up to Spyro. “Oh dear. Has Kaos gone? I wanted to thank him.”

  Chapter Eight

  DARKNESS FALLS

  Stealth Elf was waiting for them when they returned to the Portal Chamber, and Trigger Happy hopping from one foot to the other in excitement now that they had returned. The gremlin always loved hearing about his friends’ exploits. Stealth, on the other hand, could see something was wrong. She took one look at Spyro’s face and frowned.

  “Let me guess. Kaos?”

  “There’s only one thing worse than having your life saved by that odious little creep,” snarled Spyro.

  “Having it happen more than once?” Stealth suggested.

  “You got it. I’ve never seen him looking so smug.”

  “What was it this time?” Trigger Happy asked excitedly. “A mammoth-size mouse? An elephantine ant?”

  “It was worse than that, old girl.” Jet-Vac hopped down from the Portal, followed closely by Drill Sergeant.

  “Bop-bo-bop. Much worse.” The Arkeyan whirred, turning toward Stealth Elf. “It was a towering troll, sir.”

  Stealth Elf’s glowing eyes narrowed.

  “Sir?” she spat, hands on hips. “Do I look like a sir?”

  Drill Sergeant’s gears whirred in panic as he realized his gaffe.

  “Beep. Sorry, sir. Not at all, sir. My mistake, sir.”

  Noticing her rising anger, Jet-Vac placed a feathered arm around Stealth’s shoulders. “My dear, trust me—some arguments just aren’t worth having.”

  “Where’s Master Eon?” Spyro asked, already starting across the chamber. “I need to talk to him. Drills is right. It was a huge troll, but also a very familiar one. I think I know what is happening.”

  “What is happening?” shrieked a voice from outside the door. Spyro skidded to a halt as Hugo careened across the threshold, his head in his hands. “Master Eon!”

  “Hugo? What’s wrong?”

  “Spyro. Thank the Portals that you are here. Something dreadful has happened! Something awful!”

  “Hugo, if this has something to do with sheep…” Spyro warned, throwing a glance at the sniggering Trigger Happy, but the little librarian shook his head so hard his glasses nearly flew off.

  “No, it’s worse than even that. Look!”

  Hugo pointed at the stained glass windows with a shaking finger. Spyro followed his gaze and let out a gasp. Usually light streamed through the thousand-year-old glass, illuminating images of the Skylanders of old. The colors sparkled and danced across the Chamber’s cold stone floor, brilliant blues, rich reds, and glorious greens. You could feel the heat of the sun on your skin wherever you stood.

  Not today.

  Today the windows were dark. Today the colors were dull and lifeless. Today a chill fell over the chamber.

  The light had gone.

  “Darkness has fallen!” wailed Hugo. “Darkness has fallen!”

  The five of them ran outside, a thousand and one fears racing through Spyro’s mind. Was it Kaos? Had he finally shown his true colors? Had he found a way to destroy the Core of Light? If Darkness had really fallen, what next? Spyro had read the warnings found in the ancient scrolls, the prophecies about what would happen if Darkness ever prospered. All light would be extinguished. Plants would wither and die. Birds would never sing again. The undead would inherit the land and the seas would turn to treacle. Okay, so that last one was a little bit farfetched, but Spyro didn’t want to take any chances.

  Whatever happened, he knew they would fight. The Skylanders would stop at nothing to bring back the light and…

  His mouth dropped open when he saw what was outside the citadel, stopping so suddenly that Stealth Elf almost barreled into his back. Only her training stopped her crashing into him.

  Hugo wasn’t as nimble as the elf. He didn’t notice that Drill Sergeant had slammed on his brakes, and he piled into the bulldozer with a clang. He bounced back and landed in a heap on the ground, his glasses skittering across the grass. Muttering to himself, the Mabu felt around for his specs and, finding them, pushed them back onto his nose. It was only then that he looked up and let out a quiet, mournful, “Oh!”

  Darkness hadn’t fallen. The Core of Light was still where it had always stood, but its beacon was hidden behind the massive airship that hung above the citadel.

  The ship was huge, bigger than an entire flotilla of Drow Zeppelins, its jet-black hull casting a dark shadow over everything. Weapons bristled across its flanks: cannons, harpoons, and guns jostling out of hundreds of portholes.

  “Who are they?” Stealth Elf asked, her daggers already drawn—not that they would do much good against such a mighty warship. “The Drow?”

  “I don’t think so,” Spyro replied honestly. “I’ve never seen a ship like it. Is it Arkeyan?”

  Drill Sergeant’s rockets were spinning on his arms, preparing to fire. “Be-beep. No, sir. My ancient masters built terrible weapons, but nothing like that.”

  “If it’s not the Drow or the Arkeyans,” Jet-Vac said, air cannon at the ready, “then who? Kaos?”

  Hugo whimpered. “It’s worse than that, I’m afraid.”

  “Worse than Kaos?” Trigger Happy positively beamed, reveling in the thought of a showdown with a new enemy.

  Hugo nodded. “Yes. They’re…”

  His voice faltered.

  “Yes?” prompted Spyro, sparks flying from his mouth.

  “They’re…”

  “YES?”

  “Librarians.”

  Spyro couldn’t believe his ears. “Librarians?” he repeated, astonished.

  “With a warship?” added Stealth Elf.

  “And more weapons than a troll’s birthday party?” finished Trigger Happy.

  Hugo shuffled his feet. “They’re very special librarians,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

  “Indeed they are,” came a voice from behind them. Eon was standing in the doorway to the citadel, his eyes fixed on his assistant. “The Warrior Librarians of the Eternal Archives, keepers of the most dangerous books ever written. Archivists of forbidden knowledge. Curators of the arcane. The kind of people you don’t want to cross.”

  He swept toward them, his face like thunder.

  “What have you done?”

  Hugo squirmed beneath his master’s gaze.

  “I tried to tell you, oh great one, but things kept getting in the way. This business with the mega monsters and Kaos. Spyro and Stealth Elf’s injuries…”

  “Hugo…”

  The furry assistant plunged his hand into his light brown satchel.

  “I found it when spring-cleaning the cellars, sir. It was at the bottom of a dusty crate.” He pulled out a small, leather-bound book. “I must have borrowed it years ago. I—I thought I’d returned it.”

  Eon sighed, his shoulders sagging beneath his robes.

  “A book from the Eternal Archive.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Where no books are supposed to leave.”

  “I know, Master. I’m sorry, Master.”

  “Show it to me.” Eon held out a hand and took the thin volume from Hugo. He turned it over and looked at the title.

  “What is it?” asked Spyro. “A book of spells?”

  “Secret writings?” asked Stealth Elf.

  “Ancient prophecies?” asked Drill Se
rgeant.

  Eon shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Tell them, Hugo.”

  Hugo peered up at them over his glasses. “It’s 101 Ways to Rid Yourself of Sheep and Other Wooly Nuisances.” He shuffled his feet in the grass. “Volume Two.”

  Spyro groaned. Typical.

  “It wasn’t even very good,” Hugo continued. “Someone had ripped out the last page.”

  Before anyone could say anything, a trapdoor opened in the keel of the Librarians’ airship. Three ropes tumbled down, their long ends piling up on the ground in front of the Skylanders.

  “Oh no!” Hugo whimpered, fighting the urge to run. “Here they come.”

  Sure enough, three bulky figures were sliding down the ropes, speeding toward them. Spyro crouched, ready for action. One by one, the Warrior Librarians hit the ground and stomped forward. They were immense, clad in intimidating silver armor from head to toe. Domed helmets with a single slit for eyes sat atop broad shoulders, the seal of the Eternal Archives emblazoned across their barrel chests. Powerful arms swayed as they marched in unison, each with a blaster gun mounted on one of their hands, an energy blade attached to the other.

  They came to a halt, the tallest at the front. This one sported an elaborate crest on its chest, and a long purple cloak hung beneath wide shoulder pads. It had to be the leader. Even its energy blade was bigger than the others, electric-blue lightning crackling along its length. It stood in silence.

  No one spoke.

  No one even dared to move.

  Then, Eon stepped forward, holding his head high, and greeted the newcomers.

  “Welcome, oh Warrior Librarians. How may we be of assistance?”

  The leader of the group stared back at Eon, cocking its head. Its arms flexed, the sword sizzling in its hand, and then with the sound of tearing metal, a crack appeared down the middle of its capacious chest. Pistons hissed as the armor swung open like two great doors, steam gushing through the gap.

  When the smoke cleared, Spyro couldn’t believe what was sitting within the Librarian’s terrifying torso.

  Chapter Nine

  THE ETERNAL ARCHIVES

  “Greetings, Master Eon,” wheezed a tiny voice. “It is good to see you again.”

  Eon’s face broke into a dazzling smile.

  “I don’t believe it!” the Portal Master exclaimed, raising his hands in delight. “Chief Curator Wiggleworth, my old friend. How wonderful to see you.”

  Spyro and Stealth Elf glanced at each other, dumbstruck. Nestled in the middle of the hulking mechanical armor, curled up on what looked like an incredibly comfy chair, sat a worm. Granted, it was a worm with a tiny gray beard, a large forehead, and massive glasses resting on its nose, but it still wasn’t what Spyro had expected.

  Behind Wiggleworth’s armor, the chests of the other two Librarians were swinging open to reveal similar creatures. Each was no bigger than a banana and was surrounded by an array of pulleys and levers—obviously how they piloted their robotic suits.

  “It is good to see you too, Eon,” said Wiggleworth in his high, shrill voice. “I just wish it was in more pleasurable circumstances.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Eon. “I believe my assistant has something that belongs to you. Hugo?”

  Hugo shuffled by Spyro and offered the small leather book to the chief curator. Wiggleworth squirmed in his chair, manipulating the controls. His suit of armor then reached down to pluck the tome from the Mabu’s quaking hand. He peered through his thick glasses at the title page.

  “101 Ways to Rid Yourself of Sheep and Other Wooly Nuisances. Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Awful book. Plus, someone has ripped out the last page. You can keep it.”

  He tossed the book back down to Hugo, who fumbled to catch it and ended up falling backward into a flower bed.

  “But if you’re not here to collect the book…” Spyro began expectantly. Wiggleworth scrutinized Spyro with curious eyes.

  “My, my. Is that who I think it is, Eon?”

  The Portal Master nodded proudly, and a smile spread beneath Wiggleworth’s bushy mustache.

  “Spyro the Dragon. As I live and breathe. It’s a pleasure to meet you, my young pup. A pleasure indeed. I’ve read so much about you. We all have.”

  Behind him, the other bookworms were nodding furiously.

  “You’ve read about me?” Spyro asked, glancing up at Eon, unsure. “Where?”

  “In the scrolls of the ancients,” the Curator replied, writhing excitedly in his chair. “Your exploits are legendary. Skylands’s greatest champion.”

  “They are?”

  “Indeed. Absolutely thrilling. I’ve read all of them, tales of adventures past, present, and yet to come. You shall do astonishing things, Spyro. Astonishing things indeed.”

  Spyro felt himself blushing. He didn’t know what to say.

  “I never knew we had a celebrity in our midst,” Jet-Vac whispered, raising his eyebrows.

  “I shall have to remember to curtsy next time I see you, Spyro,” teased Trigger Happy, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Shut it, you two,” hissed Spyro, embarrassed.

  “I always said you chose your Skylanders well, Eon,” continued Wiggleworth. “Yes indeed. A great judge of character. Which is why we need your help.”

  Eon’s expression hardened, suddenly getting down to business.

  “Of course, my friend. What do you need?”

  “The Eternal Archive is in terrible danger, Eon. Our darkest hour. The Skylanders are our only hope.”

  Even though Spyro enjoyed traveling via Portal, there was nothing like soaring through the sky onboard an airship. The dragon stood at the prow of the Warrior Librarians’ vast warship, his eyes closed, enjoying the wind rushing between his spines.

  He had traveled on many such ships in his time, but nothing like this. The majestic ship thundered through the clouds, its twin propellers whirling at the stern, the vast purple balloon fastened firmly above their head. Its speed and agility were amazing for a vessel so large, and almost as soon as they had left Eon’s citadel, Drill Sergeant had trundled off excitedly to explore the engine rooms. Like all Tech Skylanders, Drills was fascinated by machinery. Stealth Elf had stayed with Spyro, and even though, as a Life Skylander, she preferred to keep her feet firmly on the ground, he could tell she was enjoying the flight as much as he was. He opened his eyes to see her standing beside him, her blue hair blowing in the wind. Above them, Trigger Happy was hanging off one of the masts by his long tongue, like a crazy giggling flag.

  The crank of gears and hiss of hydraulics told them that a Librarian was approaching. They turned to see Chief Curator Wiggleworth’s robot armor stomping toward them. The bookworm himself was safely enclosed within the armored chest now, protected from the elements. His cloak flapped in the breeze as he lumbered to a halt.

  “I have sent my assistants down to retrieve your colleague from the engineering section,” Wiggleworth said, his voice amplified through the armor’s speaker system. “We are almost at our destination.”

  Proudly, Wiggleworth raised his robotic arms as the ship broke through the clouds. Spyro turned and grinned as he saw the island rushing toward them. “Behold, the Eternal Archive.”

  The great lump of rock hung in the sky, surrounded by smaller floating islands. It was covered by an awe-inspiring building. Marble towers rose majestically from behind a thick jewel-encrusted wall, each topped by a graceful onyx spire. They flew toward the sturdy-looking iron gates, which were emblazoned with the same emblem the Librarians wore on their robotic chests: a gigantic figure eight, the symbol for eternity.

  You couldn’t help but be impressed. Spyro whistled at the sheer scale of the place. He’d thought Eon’s own library had been big until he had seen this. It was mind-boggling.

  “Every book that has ever been published finds a home within our walls,” Wiggleworth was explaining, obviously enjoying the look on the Skylanders’ faces. “From every corner of the universe.”

  “B
ut Master Eon said you look after the most dangerous books ever written,” said Spyro, remembering the Portal Master’s words.

  “And he is right, as usual,” Wiggleworth replied gravely. “Deep with the bowels of the island, safe within our high-security vault, is our collection of the most terrible books creation has ever seen.”

  “As in badly written?” Stealth Elf asked.

  “No, my dear.” Spyro could imagine the bookworm within the armor shaking his head. “As in dark secrets and restricted knowledge. Powerful books. Magical books. Evil books. We have vowed to keep them safe for all eternity, so that they can never fall into the wrong hands.”

  Spyro could think of at least one pair of hands that would want that kind of knowledge, no matter how heroic he now appeared to be.

  Kaos.

  “But you still haven’t explained why you need our help,” Spyro said, feeling a cold shiver pass down his tail. “You said you were facing your darkest hour.”

  Wiggleworth didn’t reply at first, but slipped his energy blade into its scabbard. He tapped at a set of controls embedded into his arm and opened a communication channel with the ship’s captain.

  “Captain, take us about the Archive. Our friends need to see the extent of our problem.”

  The deck lurched as the airship came about, the hull creaking with the change in air pressure. Spyro leaned to keep his balance, never taking his eyes from the Archive walls.

  “Beep-be-be-beep. You should see the engines, sir,” said Drill Sergeant, trundling up behind them. “Absolutely marvelous. All gleaming brass and…” His voice trailed off. “What are you all looking at?”

  Spyro’s heart was beating against his ribs. He couldn’t speak. He could hardly move. Now it was obvious why the Warrior Librarians wanted their assistance.

  “Oh,” said Drill Sergeant as they cleared the walls and saw what was sitting next to the Archive.

  “Oh indeed,” repeated Wiggleworth.

  There, in the gardens of the Archive, dwarfing the collection’s massive walls, sat a gigantic, enormous, stupendously large Chompy Pod.