Derek’s face flushed, his brows constricted, his jaw tightened. He was used to snapping his fingers and watching people jump and lately he’d been snapping his fingers only to find people turning their backs on him.
“You told him who I am?” Derek asked, seething. “You gave him my message?”
“There was no need,” said Bertrem simply. “The Master knows you and why you have come and he will not see you. He did, however, ask me to give you this.”
Bertrem handed over what appeared to be a crude map drawn on a bit of paper.
“What is this?” Derek demanded.
Bertrem looked down at it and read aloud the notation at the top. “It is a map to the Library of Khrystann.”
“I can see that! What I meant is what in the Abyss do I want with a map to some blasted library?” demanded Derek.
“I do not know, my lord,” said Bertrem, shrinking from the knight’s fury. “The Master did not confide in me. He said only that I was to give it you.”
“Perhaps that’s where you’ll find the dragon orb,” suggested Brian.
“Bah! In a library?”
Derek reached for his purse. “How much money will Astinus take to see me?”
Bertrem drew himself up to his full height, which put him about level with Derek’s chin. The Aesthetic was deeply offended.
“Put away your money, Sir Knight. The Master has refused to see you and his word is final.”
“By the Measure, I will not be treated in this manner!” Derek took a step forward. “Stand aside, Brother. I do not want to do you an injury!”
The Aesthetic planted his sandaled feet firmly. Though clearly frightened, Bertrem was prepared to make a valiant stand to block their way.
Brian felt a sudden desire to burst out laughing at the sight of the pudgy, anemic scholar facing down the furious knight. He swallowed his mirth, which would only make Derek angrier, and rested his hand on Derek’s arm.
“Think what you are doing! You can’t go barging in on this man when he has refused to see you. You put yourself in the wrong. If all you seek is information about the dragon orb, then perhaps this gentleman could assist you.”
“Yes, certainly, Sir Knight,” said Bertrem, wiping sweat from his brow. “I would be glad to help in any way I can—despite the fact that the library is closed and you came in the wrong door.”
Derek wrenched his arm free. He was still furious, but mastered himself. “Whatever I say to you must be kept secret.”
“Of course, Sir Knight,” Bertrem replied. “I swear by Gilean that I will hold all you say in confidence.”
“You ask me to accept an oath to a god who is no longer around?” Derek demanded in scathing tones.
Bertrem smiled complacently and folded his hands over his pudgy belly. “The blessed Gilean is with us, Sir Knight. You need have no worries on that score.”
Derek shook his head, but he wasn’t about to be drawn into a theological discussion. “Very well,” he said grudgingly. “I seek information regarding an artifact known as a ‘dragon orb’. What can you tell me about it?”
Bertrem blinked his eyes as he thought this over. “I fear I can tell you nothing, my lord. I have never heard of such a thing. I can, however, do some research on the subject. Can you tell me in what context the artifact is mentioned, or where and how you heard of it? Such information would help me know where to look.”
“I know very little,” said Derek. “I heard of it in connection with a Black Robe wizard—”
“Ah, then it is a magical artifact.” Bertrem nodded his head sagely. “We have little information on such things, Sir Derek. The wizards tend to keep their knowledge to themselves. But we do have a few resources I can consult. Do you need this information right away?”
“If you please, Brother,” said Derek.
“Then make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen. I will see what I can find. Oh, and please do keep quiet!”
Bertrem pattered off, making his way over to a large section of shelves. He rounded those, and they lost sight of him. They sat down at a table and prepared to wait.
“This is why I wanted to speak to Astinus,” muttered Derek. “He is said to have the knowledge of all things at his fingertips. I wonder why he won’t see me?”
“From what I hear, he doesn’t see anyone—ever,” said Brian. “He sits at his desk, day and night, recording the history of every living being in the world as it passes before his eyes. That’s how he knew you were here.”
Derek gave a loud snort. Heads raised, pens ceased their writing. He made a motion of his hand in apology and the Aesthetics, shaking their heads, returned to their work.
“Some say he’s the god Gilean,” Brian whispered across the table.
Derek gave him a disgusted glance. “Not you as well! The monks foster such nonsensical beliefs so they can collect more donations.”
“Still, Astinus did give you that map.”
“To a library! Useless. It must be some sort of joke.”
Derek drew out the scroll he’d purchased to read it over again. Brian sat quietly, afraid to move for fear of drawing down the ire of the scholars. He heard the street crier call out the hour, and then, putting his head down on the desk, he went to sleep.
He woke to Derek’s hand shaking him and the sound of slapping sandals—two pairs of sandals. Bertrem came hastening toward them, accompanied by another monk, who bore a scroll in his hands.
“I hope you do not mind, Sir Knight, but I consulted Brother Barnabus, who is our expert on magical artifacts. He recalled having read a reference to a dragon orb in an old manuscript. I will let him tell you.”
Brother Barnabus—a taller, thinner, younger version of Brother Bertrem—unfurled the scroll and laid it down in front of Derek. “This was penned by one of our monks who was in Istar about a year prior to the Cataclysm. It is an account of his time there.”
Derek looked down at the scroll, then looked back up. “I cannot decipher these chicken scratchings. What does it say?”
“Brother Michael was Ergothian,” Brother Barnabus explained, “and thus he wrote in that language. He writes that the soldiers of the Kingpriest were given lists of magical artifacts and sent to raid mageware shops in search of objects that were on these lists. He obtained one of these lists and copied down the objects. One of these is a dragon orb. A description was provided to the soldiers, so they’d know what to look for: ‘A crystal orb, ten inches in diameter, filled with a strange swirling mist.’ Brother Michael writes that the soldiers were ordered to handle the orb with caution for no one knew exactly what the orb did, though, as he writes here, ‘It is believed that it was used during the Third Dragon War to control dragons’.”
“Control dragons,” Derek repeated softly. His eyes gleamed, but he took care to hide his rising excitement. “Were any found?” he asked in a careless tone.
“Brother Michael does not say.”
“And this is the only information you have on these dragon orbs?” Derek inquired.
“That is all we have here in our library,” said Brother Barnabus. “However, I did find a cross reference.” He pointed to a small notation placed in the margin of the scroll. “According to this, another book said to provide more information on dragon orbs can be found in an ancient library in Tarsis—the lost Library of Khrystann. Unfortunately, as the name implies, few now remember where the library is located. Only we Aesthetics know and we do not give out—”
Derek regarded the monk in astonishment. Then he drew out the map he had so angrily crumpled up and smoothed it out on the table. “Is this it?” he asked, pointing.
Brother Barnabus looked down. “The Library of Khrystann. Yes, that is it.” He regarded Derek in suspicion. “How did you come by this map, my lord?”
Bertrem plucked Barnabus’s sleeve and whispered something to him. The brother listened then relaxed and smiled. “Ah, of course. The Master.”
“Strange,” Derek muttered. “Damn strange.” He folded the map, treating it with much greater care, and placed it along with the letter in his belt.
“You might want to leave a donation,” suggested Brian, having trouble keeping a straight face.