She left, shutting the door behind her.
“Read it swiftly,” said Brian. “We can still go after her.”
Derek was already perusing the letter. He drew in a breath and let it out in a whistle.
“Well, what does it say?” Brian asked impatiently.
“The object is said to be in Icereach, in the possession of a wizard called Feal-Thas.”
“What is this object?”
“It is something called a ‘dragon orb’.”
“A dragon orb. I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Brian said. He sat down. “Now that we’re here, we might as well order dinner.”
Derek rolled up the paper, tucked it carefully into his glove. “Don’t get comfortable. We’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?”
“To see if you’re right, my friend. To see if I have been a fool.”
“Derek, I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t,” said Derek, and he almost smiled. He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Come along. We’re wasting time.”
6
The wrong entrance. Derek’s demand. Bertrem’s refusal.
Night had fallen by the time Derek and Brian left the Knight’s Helm. The streets were mostly deserted, for the shops were now closed; merchants and customers alike were either home with their families or making merry with friends in the taverns. Those few people walking about carried torches to light their way, though that was hardly necessary, for Solinari, the silver moon, was bright in the heavens.
Rising over the buildings of New City, the moon looked like a bauble caught and held by the finger-like spires reaching into the sky, or at least so Brian fancied. He watched the moon as he and Derek hastened through streets gilded with silver light. He watched the fingers play with the moon like a conjurer plays with a coin until the fingers let loose and the moon was free to drift among the stars.
“Mind where you are walking,” said Derek, catching hold of Brian and jerking him away from a large pile of horse manure.
“These streets are a disgrace!” Derek added in disgust. “Here, sirrah, what do you think you’re doing? Go clean that up!”
A gully dwarf street sweeper, his large broom tucked in the crook of his arm, was ensconced comfortably in a doorway, sound asleep. Derek shook the wretched creature into sullen wakefulness and sent him on his way. The gully dwarf glared at them and made a rude gesture before sweeping up the muck. Brian guessed the moment they were out of sight, the gully dwarf would go back to his slumbers.
“What were you staring at anyway?” Derek asked.
“The moon,” Brian answered. “Solinari is beautiful tonight.”
Derek grunted. “We have more important things to do than stare at the moon. Ah, here we are.” Derek laid a cautionary hand on Brian’s arm. “Let me do the talking.”
Emerging from a side street, they entered the street known as Second Ring, so called because the streets of Old City were laid out in concentric rings and were numbered accordingly. All the major buildings of Palanthas were located in the second ring; the largest and most famous of these was the great Library of Palanthas.
White walls, rising three stories into the sky, gleamed in the moonlight as if illuminated by silver fire. Semicircular marble steps led to a columned porch sheltering large double doors made of thick glass set in bronze. Lights burned in the upper windows of the library. The Aesthetics, an order of monks dedicated to Gilean, God of the Book, worked here day and night—writing, transcribing, recording, filing, compiling. The Library was a vast repository of knowledge. Information on any subject could be found here. Admittance was free. The doors were open to almost all—so long as they came at the appointed hours.
“The Library is closed this time of night,” Brian pointed out as they climbed the stairs.
“They will open for me,” stated Derek with cool aplomb. He beat on the doors with an open palm and raised his voice to be heard through the open windows above him. “Sir Derek Crownguard!” he shouted. “Here on urgent business of the Knighthood. I demand entrance.”
A bald head or two poked out a window. Novices glad for a break in their work peered down curiously to see what all the ruckus was about.
“You’re at the wrong entrance, Sir Knight,” called one, gesturing. “Go around to the side.”
“What does he take me for? A tradesman?” Derek said angrily, and he beat on the bronze and glass door, this time with his closed fist.
“We should come back in the morning,” Brian suggested. “If the information the woman gave you is a hoax, it’s too late to catch her now anyway.”
“I will not wait for morning,” Derek returned, and he continued to shout and beat on the door.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!” called a voice from within.
The words were accompanied by the slap of sandals and the sounds of huffing and puffing. The doors opened, and one of the Aesthetics—a middle-aged, shaved-headed man clad in the gray robes of his Order—stared out at them.
“The Library is closed,” he said severely. “We open again in the morning, and next time, come to the side entrance. Hey, there! You can’t come in—”
Paying no heed, Derek shoved past the pudgy man, who spluttered in indignation and fluttered his hands at them, but did nothing else to try to stop him. Brian, embarrassed, entered along with Derek, muttering an apology that went unheard.
“I want to see Astinus, Brother…” Derek waited for the man to provide his name.
“Bertrem,” said the Aesthetic. He glared at Derek in indignation. “You came in the wrong door! And keep your voice down!”
“I am sorry, but the matter is urgent. I demand to see Astinus.”
“Impossible,” Bertrem stated. “The Master sees no one.”
“He will see me,” said Derek. “Tell Astinus Sir Derek Crownguard, Lord of the Rose, wishes to consult with him on a matter of the utmost importance. It is not too much to say the fate of the Solamnic nation may well rest on this meeting.”
Bertrem didn’t budge.
“My friend and I will wait here while you carry my message to Astinus,” Derek said, frowning. “Why do you dawdle, Brother? Didn’t you hear what I said? I need to speak to Astinus!”
Bertrem looked them up and he looked them down. He was obviously disapproving. “I will go inquire,” he said. “You will remain here, and you will remain quiet!”
He indicated with a jabbing finger the alcove in which they were standing, then he raised that finger to his lips. Finally he departed, walking off with an air of injured dignity, his sandals slapping the floor.
Silence settled over them, soothing and tranquil. Brian glanced into one of the large rooms. It was lined floor to ceiling with books and filled with desks and chairs. Several Aesthetics were hard at work, either studying or writing by candlelight. One or two glanced in the direction of the knights, but seeing that Bertrem apparently had the situation under control, they returned to their work.
“You could have been more polite,” Brian said to Derek in a whisper. “Vinegar and flies and honey and all that.”
“We are at war for our very survival,” Derek returned, “though one would not think it to judge by this place! Look at them, scratching away, undoubtedly chronicling the life cycles of the ant while good men fight and die.”
“Isn’t this why we fight and die?” Brian asked. “So that these harmless souls can keep on writing about the ant and not be forced to mine ore in some slave camp?”
If Derek heard, he paid no heed to Brian’s words. He began to pace the floor, his booted feet ringing loudly on the marble. Several of the Aesthetics raised their heads and glared and one said loudly, “Shush!” Derek glowered, but he ceased his pacing.
The sound of slapping sandals on marble heralded the return of Bertrem, looking harried.
“I am sorry, Sir Derek, but the Master is not at liberty to speak to you.”
“My time is valuable,” said Derek impatiently. “How long am I to be kept waiting?”
Bertrem grew flustered. “I beg your pardon, Sir Derek, you misunderstand me. There is no need to wait. The Master will not see you.”