The bargain. The Library of Khrystann. efore the Cataclysm, Tarsis had been known as Tarsis the Beautiful. When she looked into her mirror, she saw reflected there a city of culture and refinement, wealth, beauty, and charm. She spent money lavishly, and she had money to spend, for ships brought rich cargos to her ports and laid them at her feet. Lush gardens of flowering plants adorned her like jewels. Knights, lords, and ladies walked her tree-lined streets. Scholars came from hundreds of miles away to study at her library, for Tarsis was not only elegant and refined and lovely, she was learned, too. She looked out over her glittering bay and saw nothing but joy and happiness on her horizon.
Then the gods hurled the fiery mountain on Krynn, and Tarsis was forever changed. Her glittering bay vanished. The water receded. Her ships were stranded in the mud and muck of a wrecked harbor. Tarsis looked in the mirror and saw her beauty ruined, her rich clothes soiled and torn, her jewel-like gardens withered and dead.
Unlike many who suffer tragedy and adversity and have the grace and dignity and courage to rise again, Tarsis let tragedy sink her. Wallowing in self-pity, she blamed the Knights of Solamnia for her downfall and drove the knights from their homes into exile. She blamed wizards, too, and dwarves and elves and anyone who was not “one of us.” She blamed the wise men and women who had come there to study in the ancient Library of Khrystann, and she drove them out. She left the library in ruins and forbade anyone from entering it.
Tarsis turned mean and mercenary, covetous and grasping. She took no joy in beautiful things. The only beauty in her eyes was the glitter of steel coins. Her seaport was gone, but she still maintained overland trade routes and used her wiles to foster trade with her neighbors.
At last, more than three hundred years later, Tarsis could look in the mirror once again. She would never regain her former beauty, but she could at least dress herself up in her borrowed finery, rouge her cheeks and paint her lips. Sitting in the shadows where no one could see her clearly, she could pretend that she was once more Tarsis the Beautiful.
The city of Tarsis had been guarded by a twenty-foot-high stone wall, pierced by towers and gates at intervals, and by the sea. The wall ended at the harbor where the sea took over. Where the sea ended, the wall resumed. The wall remained, but the sea’s absence left an unfortunate gap in the city’s security.
A reduction in the population caused by the departure of sailors and ship builders, sail makers and merchants and all those who had depended on the sea for their living meant a drastic drop in tax revenues. Tarsis went from wealth to poverty literally overnight. There was no money to build a new stretch of twenty-foot-high wall. Five feet was about as much as could be managed. Besides, as one Tarsian lord said gloomily, they didn’t need protection anyway. Tarsis had nothing anyone wanted.
That had been years ago. Tarsis was more prosperous now. The Tarsians had heard rumors of war in the north. They knew Solamnia had been attacked (“Snooty knights! Serves them right!”), and they had heard that the elves had been driven out of Qualinesti (“What could you expect of elves? Simpering cowards, all of them!”). There was talk that Pax Tharkas had fallen (“Pax what? Never heard of it.”) Tarsis paid little heed to any of this. With prosperity had come complacency. Tarsis had been at peace forever, and her people saw no threat on their horizon, so why waste money on something as dull and prosaic as a wall when they could build fine houses and showy municipal structures? Thus the five-foot-wall remained.
The wall had two main iron-clad gates located in the north and the east. Derek was to enter by the northern gate, where traffic was deemed to be heaviest. Aran rode in through the eastern gate, and it fell to Brian to try to make his way on foot through the gate at the southern part of the city-the Harbor Wall, as it was known.
Being the weakest part of the city’s defenses, the knights assumed the Harbor Wall would be the one most closely guarded. Derek’s choice of Brian for this route was something of a back-handed compliment. He cited Brian’s calm and unruffled demeanor, his quiet courage. He also mentioned that, of the three of them, Brian looked the least like a knight.
Brian accepted the truth of Derek’s statement and was not offended. Although of noble birth, Brian had been raised to hard work, not privilege, as had the wealthy Derek. Brian’s father had not inherited his bread; he’d been forced to earn it. An educated man, he had been hired as Derek’s tutor, and he and his family were given housing at Castle Crownguard. Aran, son of a neighboring lord, was invited to come study with the other boys, and thus the three friends became acquainted.
Brian’s lineage was not as long or as noble as Derek’s and Aran’s, and Brian felt the difference between them. Aran never alluded to it or thought anything about it. If Brian had been a fishmonger’s son, Aran would have treated him the same. Derek never mentioned his background, never said an unkind or uncivil word to Brian or demeaned him in any way, yet, perhaps unconsciously, Derek drew a line between the two of them. On one side was Derek Crownguard and on the other side the son of the hired help. When Derek said that Brian didn’t have the look of a knight, Derek wasn’t being arrogant. He was just being Derek.
The day was sunny and cold, the air calm. Brian walked across the plains at an easy, measured pace, taking note of all who came and went. Each gate was guarded by two or three men, and these were all members of the Tarsian guard. He saw no signs of draconians.
Brian approached the gate cautiously, searching the shadows of the tower for anyone taking an unusual interest in people entering the city. A few loiterers were standing about, all of them bundled up against the cold. If one was a draconian, he would be difficult to spot.
The Tarsian guards stood huddled near a fire in an iron brazier and seemed reluctant to leave it. Brian continued walking toward the gate, and no one challenged him. The guards looked him over from a distance and didn’t appear much interested in him, for they continued to hold their hands over the blaze. When Brian reached the gate, he came to a halt and looked at the guards.
Two of the guards turned to a third. Apparently it was his turn to deal with those who wanted to enter. Annoyed at being torn away from his warm place by the fire, the guard pulled a fur cap down about his ears and walked over to Brian.
“Name?” the guard asked.
“Brian Conner,” said Brian.
“Where from?”
“Solamnia,” said Brian. The guard would be able to tell as much by his accent.
The guard scowled and shoved the fur cap away from his ear to hear better.
“You’re not one of them knight-fellows?” the guard demanded.
“No,” said Brian. “I am a wine merchant. I heard there was the possibility of obtaining some very fine wines in Tarsis these days. What with the fall of Qualinesti and all,” he added nonchalantly.
The guard frowned and said loudly, “No elf wine here. Nothing like that going on in Tarsis, sir.” In a low voice, the guard added, “I’ve a cousin deals in that sort of ‘hard-to-find’ merchandise. Go to Merchant’s Row and ask for Jen. She’ll fix you up handsome.”
“I will, sir, thank you,” said Brian.
The guard gave him directions to find Merchant’s Row and said, “Remember Jen,” and told him he could enter. Brian tried, but the guard continued to stand in the gate, blocking his way.
Brian wondered what was going on, then he saw the guard surreptitiously rub his thumb and two fingers together. Brian reached into his purse and brought out a steel coin. He handed it to the guard, who snapped his hand shut over the coin and then stepped to one side.
“Have a pleasant stay in our fair city, sir,” said the guard, as he touched his hat.
Glad that the scarf over his face hid his smile, Brian walked through the gate. He headed toward Merchant’s Row, just in case the guard was watching him. The streets were crowded, despite the cold, with people going to work or to market or simply out for a walk now that the snow had ceased falling.
Once there, he’d make his way to the Upper City which, according to the Aesthetic Bertrem, was the last known location of the lost library. Brian glanced back over his shoulder occasionally to see if anyone was following him, but as far as he could tell, no one seemed the least bit interested in him. He hoped his companions had entered the city with similar ease.
The three knights met up with each other in the old part of the city. Derek and Aran had each gained access to the city without difficulty, though Derek had discovered, as had Brian, that entry came with a cost. The guard at the main gate had demanded two steel in payment, terming it a “head” tax. Aran had not been “taxed” at all, so perhaps there were still honest people in Tarsis, or so he said. He was the last to arrive; he’d stopped on the way to refill his flask and he was in a much better mood.
Both Aran and Derek had seen people standing about the gates, but they might have been nothing more than the usual idlers curious to see who came and went. That led them to talk of Sturm Brightblade and his strange companions.
“I never understood why you dislike Sturm Brightblade so much, Derek,” Aran said, as they sat down on a crumbling garden wall to eat bread and meat, washed down-for Aran’s part-with brandywine. “Or why you opposed his candidacy for knighthood.”
“He did not have the proper upbringing,” said Derek.
“You could say that about me,” said Brian. “My father was your tutor.”
“You were raised in my father’s house among your peers,” said Derek, “not in some border town on the edge of nowhere among outlandish folk. Besides, Brian, your father was a man of honor.”
“Angriff Brightblade was honorable. He was just unfortunate,” said Aran, shrugging. “According to Lord Gunthar-”
Derek snorted. “Gunthar was always an apologist for the Brightblades. Would you seriously recommend for knighthood a man who never knew his father? If Angriff was Sturm’s father…”
“You have no right to say that, Derek!” stated Brian angrily.
Derek glanced at his friend. Brian was generally easy-going, slow to anger. He was angry now, and Derek realized that he’d gone too far. He had, after all, impugned the reputation of a noblewoman and that was very much against the Measure.
“I didn’t mean to imply that Sturm was a bastard,” Derek said gruffly. “I just find it damn odd that Sir Angriff suddenly packed off his wife and child to some place where he knew they would never have contact with anyone from Solamnia, as if he were ashamed of them.”
“Or as if he were trying to save their lives,” suggested Aran. He offered the flask around, got no takers, and so enjoyed it himself. “Angriff Brightblade had made some very bad enemies, poor man. He did what he thought he was best by sending his family away. I think it is to Sturm’s credit that he made the journey all the way back to Solamnia to find out what happened to his father-”
“He came to find his fortune,” said Derek scornfully, “and when he discovered there was nothing left, he sold the family property and went back to live in his tree house.”
“You put everything into the worst possible light,” said Brian. “Sturm sold the family property to pay off the family’s debts, and he went back to Solace because he found a harsh welcome in Solamnia.”
“Give it up, Brian,” said Aran, grinning. “Sturm Brightblade could be another Huma and single-handedly drive Queen Takhisis back into the Abyss and Derek would still think he was not worthy of his spurs. It all goes back to that feud between their grandfathers-”
“That has nothing to do with it!” said Derek, growing angry in his turn. “Why are we even discussing Sturm Brightblade?”
“Because if there is a chance that he is in Tarsis and he needs our help, we are bound to help him,” said Brian. “Whether he is a knight or not, he is a fellow Solamnic.”
“To say nothing of the fact that our enemies are eager to get their scaly hands on him,” added Aran. “The friend of my enemy is my friend… or is it my enemy? I can never remember.”
“Our mission comes first,” said Derek sternly, “and we should end this conversation. You never know who might be listening.”
Brian glanced at their surroundings. The old city was a dump. The pavement of the street was cracked and broken, littered with chunks of stone and rubble. Mounds of rotting leaves lay in odd corners of broken stonework, all that remained of abandoned buildings that were either wholly or partially demolished. Large oak trees growing from the crevices in the middle of the shattered streets were evidence that this part of the city had been lying in ruins for many years, perhaps ever since the Cataclysm.
“Unless the dragonarmies have found a way to recruit rats, I’d say we’re pretty safe,” commented Aran, dislodging one of the creatures with a chunk of a stone. “We haven’t seen another living thing in the last hour.”
Brian stood with his hands on his hips and looked up and down the dusty street. “I think Bertrem sent us on a wild kender chase, Derek. There’s no sign of a library anywhere around here.”
“Yet this is valuable property,” Aran remarked. “You’d think the good people of Tarsis would either rebuild or at least clear out the rubble and turn it into a park or something.”
“Ah, but then that would mean they’d have to remember what they once were. Remember the beauty, remember the glory, remember the white-winged ships, and Tarsis can’t let herself do that,” said a woman’s voice coming from behind them.
The knights grasped the hilts of their swords, though they did not draw them, and turned to face the eavesdropper. The woman’s voice was high-pitched, bright and effervescent, and her looks matched her voice. She was slender, short and brown-skinned, with a pert smile and russet-colored hair that fell about her face and shoulders in a wild and haphazard manner.
Her movements were quick and quiet, and she had a wide, ingenuous smile enhanced by a roguish dimple in her left cheek. Her clothes were plain and nondescript and appeared to have been put on without much thought, for the color of her blouse clashed with her skirt and her thick cloak was at odds with both. Judging by her speech, however, she was well-educated. Her accent was Solamnic. She was somewhere between twenty and thirty years of age, or so Brian guessed.
She stood in the shadows of an alleyway, smiling at them, not in the least disconcerted.
Derek made a stiff bow. “I beg your pardon for not giving you proper greeting, Mistress.” He spoke politely because she was a woman, but coldly because she had been eavesdropping on them. “I had no idea of your presence.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said the woman with a laugh. “You must be Sir Derek Crownguard.”
Derek’s jaw dropped. He stared at her in astonishment, then he frowned.
“I beg your pardon, Mistress, but you have the advantage of me.”
“Didn’t I introduce myself? I’m so forgetful. Lillith Hallmark,” she replied and held out her hand.
Derek regarded her in shock. Well-bred Solamnic women curtsied. They did not offer to shake hands like a man. He eventually took her hand in his-to do otherwise would insult her. But he did not seem to know what to do with her hand and released it as soon as possible.
“Would you by any chance be related to the Hallmarks of Varus?” Aran asked her.
“I’m Sir Eustace’s daughter,” Lillith said, pleased. “His fourth daughter.”
Derek raised an eyebrow. He was certainly not having much luck with knights’ daughters these days. First the Uth Matar woman in Palanthas, who’d turned out to be a thief. Now this young woman, the daughter of a knight, walking about in garb she might have stolen from a kender, and talking and acting as boldly as a man.
“How is my father, sir?” Lillith asked.
“I have the honor to report that the last time I saw him, your noble father was well,” said Derek. “He fought bravely at the battle of Vingaard Keep and left the field only when it was apparent we were heavily outnumbered.”
“Dear old Daddy,” said Lillith, laughing. “I’m surprised he had sense enough to do that. Usually he stands around like a big dummy just waiting to get hit on the head.”
Derek was shocked beyond words at such disrespectful talk, especially from a woman.
Aran laughed loudly and shook hands jovially with Lillith, and Brian kissed her hand, which caused her to laugh again. He noted, as he held her hand in his, that the index finger and thumb were stained dark purple and there were similar purple splotches, both faded and fresh, on her woolen blouse and her skirt. Brian let go her hand reluctantly. He thought he’d never seen anything so enchanting as the dimple in her left cheek. He wanted to make her laugh again, just to see the dimple deepen, see the gold flecks in her hazel eyes.
Derek frowned at his cohorts, considering they were encouraging bad behavior. He had to speak to this lady, but he would speak coldly, to express his disapproval.
“How did you know me, Mistress Hallmark?” he asked.
“Bertrem sent word to me to keep watch for a Solamnic knight searching for the fabled Library of Khrystann,” Lillith answered. “You’re the first, last, and only knights I’ve seen in these parts for years, and then I heard you mention Bertrem’s name, so I assumed you must be Sir Derek Crownguard.”
“I did not give the Aesthetic Bertrem leave to proclaim our coming,” said Derek stiffly. “Indeed, I ordered him to maintain the strictest secrecy.”
“Bertrem didn’t tell anyone except me, and I haven’t told anyone else, Sir Derek,” said Lillith, her dimple flashing. “It’s a good thing he did. You would have spent years searching for the library and never found it.”
“You’re an Aesthetic!” Aran guessed.
Lillith winked at him; something else highly improper for a well-bred Solamnic woman. “Do you gentlemen want me to take you to the library?”
“If it’s not too much trouble, Mistress,” said Derek.
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all, sir,” returned Lillith, folding her arms across her chest. “But in return, you must do something for me. I need a favor.”
Derek scowled. He did not like this young woman and he certainly did not like being blackmailed into serving her. “What would you have us do, Mistress?”
Lillith’s dimple vanished. She seemed troubled and suddenly motioned them to come near and, when she spoke, she kept her voice low. “Something is very wrong in this city. We’ve heard rumors-”
“Who is ‘we?’ Derek interrupted.
“Those of us who have the interests of the world at heart,” Lillith replied, meeting his gaze steadfastly. “We’re on the same side in this war, Sir Derek, I assure you. As I was saying, we’ve heard rumors that draconians have been seen inside the city walls.”
The three knights exchanged glances.
“Outside the city walls, too,” said Aran.
“So the rumors are true. You’ve seen them?” Lillith said, looking grave. “Where?”
“On the road to Tarsis. They were camped out by a bridge. They were watching those who crossed…”
“That makes sense,” said Lillith. “Someone is circulating a bounty list for the assassins of Dragon Highlord Verminaard. I happened to get hold of a copy.” She reached to her waistband and drew out a document similar to the one they had taken from the draconians.
“I’ve been searching for a person a long time, only to find him at last on this list. I want you to apprehend him and bring him to me.” Lillith held up a warning finger. “You must do this without anyone’s knowledge.”
“You have the wrong people, Mistress,” said Derek. “You should speak to the local Thieves Guild. They are experts at kidnapping-”
“I don’t want him kidnapped! And I certainly don’t want thieves to get hold of him, or the draconians.” Lillith flushed in her earnestness. “He carries something of great value and I’m very much afraid he doesn’t appreciate its importance. He might give this object to the enemy out of sheer ignorance. I’ve been trying to think of some way to get hold of him ever since I saw his name on this list. You gentlemen are a godsend. Give me your word of honor as knights that you will do this for me and I will show you how to find the library.”
“That is blackmail-unworthy of the daughter of a knight!” said Derek, and Brian, regretfully, couldn’t help but agree with him. This was all very vague and shadowy.
Lillith was not daunted. “I think it’s unworthy of a knight to refuse to help a knight’s daughter!” she said spiritedly.
“What is the object this person carries?” Aran asked curiously.
Lillith hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. If it were my secret, I would tell you, Sir Knight, but the secret is not mine to share. My information came from one who would be in great peril if he were discovered. He’s not supposed to be talking to us. He risked a great deal revealing this much, but he’s worried about this valuable object and also the person carrying it.” Derek continued to look grim.
“Which person on this bounty list do you want us to find?” Brian asked.
Lillith put her finger on a name.
“Out of the question!” barked Derek.
“Derek…” said Brian.
“Brian!” said Derek, glowering.
“I’ll just leave you gentlemen to discuss this among yourselves.” Lillith walked off out of ear-shot.
“I do not trust this hoyden,” said Derek, “even if she is the daughter of a knight, and I have no intention of kidnapping a kender! She is playing some sort of prank on us.”
“Derek, we’ve tramped up and down this blasted street most of the morning and we haven’t seen hide nor hair of a library,” Aran said, exasperated. “We could spend the rest of our lives searching for it. I say we agree to do this little errand of hers in return for her helping us locate the library.”
“Besides, if the draconians are keen to get their claws on the kender, that alone should give us reason enough to want to save him,” Brian pointed out. “He was one of those who killed the Highlord, apparently, along with Sturm.”
“He might be able to tell us where we could find Sturm,” said Aran.
Brian shook his head, signaling to Aran that this argument was the last one to use to induce Derek to go along with Lillith’s plan. Quite the opposite, in fact. For his part, Brian was eager to help Lillith regardless, if only to see her smile again.
Derek was obviously not happy about the situation, but he had to face facts: they could not find the library and, with draconians lurking about the city there was no time to waste.
He called to Lillith. “We will undertake this task for you, Mistress. Where do we find this kender?”
“I have no idea,” she said brightly. Seeing Derek’s brows come together, she added, “My fellow Aesthetics are keeping an eye out for him. They’ll let me know. In the meantime, I will show you the library. See there? I can be honorable, too.”
“What are draconians doing in Tarsis, Mistress?” Brian asked. She was leading them down an alleyway that appeared to be a cul-de-sac, with no library in sight.
Lillith shook here head. “Maybe nothing more than searching for these people. We don’t know.”
“Have you reported this to the authorities?”
“We tried,” said Lillith, making a face. “We sent a delegation to see the lord. He scoffed at us. He claimed we were imagining things. He termed us rabble-rousers, said we were trying to start trouble.”
Lillith shook her head. “There was something odd about him, though. He used to be a gracious man, always taking his time to listen to supplicants, but when we saw him this time, he was brusque, almost rude.” She sighed deeply. “If you ask me, trouble’s already started.”
“What do you mean?”
“We think the enemy has him in their control. We can’t prove it, of course, but it would make sense. They have some sort of hold over him. That’s the only reason our lord would allow those monsters to even get near our city.”
The alley ran between a large building which had fallen into such decrepitude it was hard to tell that it had once been an elegant mansion. The walls looked as if they would tumble down if someone breathed on them and they kept clear, though Lillith assured them the building had been standing for hundreds of years. She continued down the alley, pausing every now and then to glance over her shoulder, to make sure they were not being followed.
“Mind the sewer grate,” she said, pointing. “The bolts are rusty, and it’s not to be trusted. You could take a nasty tumble.”
Aran, who had been about to step on the grate, hopped nimbly over it.
“Why don’t the Tarsians clean all this up?” he asked, gesturing. “It’s been over three hundred years, after all.”
“At first they were too busy just trying to survive to rebuild what was lost,” Lillith answered. “They took the bricks and granite and marble blocks from ruined structures and used them to construct houses. I think they meant to rebuild their city at first, but what with hardship, danger and people leaving the city to find work other places, there was always a lack of money and, perhaps more important, a lack of will.”
“In later years, as they grew more prosperous, they must have considered rebuilding this part as they did other parts,” said Brian. “I saw some magnificent structures on my way here.”
Lillith shook her head. “It’s because of the library. This part of the city came to be associated with those the people blamed for their woes-wizards, clerics, scholars, and Solamnic Knights like yourselves. The citizens feared that if they rebuilt the library and universities troublemakers like us would come back.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t destroy the library,” said Aran.
“The Aesthetics feared the worst. When word of the trouble occurring in Tarsis reached our Order, they were deeply concerned. They sent a group to the city-a dangerous journey back then, what with the lawlessness in the land-with instructions to either save the books or, if they were too late, salvage what they could.
“When they arrived, the Aesthetics found that the clerics of Gilean working here prior to the Cataclysm had received warnings that something terrible was about to occur. The clerics could have left Krynn safely with the clerics of the other gods, but they chose to remain to guard the books. Fortunately the library had been built below ground, so that when the fiery mountain struck, the library was spared. All they had to fear now was men.
“When the mobs came to burn and loot the library, they found the Aesthetics guarding it. Many of them were slain in the battle, but they kept the mobs at bay until they could seal up the library entrance. After that, they concealed the entrance so that no one could find it or open the door unless they knew the secret. The books have thus remained safe all these centuries, guarded by those who love them.”
“Such as yourself,” said Brian admiringly. He took hold of her hand, indicating her ink-stained fingers.
Lillith blushed, but she gave a matter-of-fact nod. Brian kept hold of her hand, as if by accident. Lillith smiled at him, the dimple flashed, and she gently slid her hand out of his grasp.
“What book or reference are you looking for, Sir Brian? Perhaps I can help you find it. I’m familiar with most of what’s down here, though not all, mind you. That would take several lifetimes.”
Derek gave Brian a sharp glance, silencing him.
“It is not that we do not trust you, Mistress Hallmark,” Derek said coolly. “But I believe we should keep this information to ourselves. We might put you in danger otherwise.”
“Just as you choose,” said Lillith. She came to a halt. “Here we are.”
“A blank wall,” Aran stated.
They walked through a shadowy archway that led to a dead end. A wall made of multicolored stones, rounded and weathered and set in mortar, butted up against a hillside covered over with long grass.
“The Library of Khrystann,” said Lillith.
She placed her boot on a flagstone in front of the wall and pressed on it. To the knights’ amazement, the solid stone wall gave a sudden jolt and slid off to one side.
“It’s not stone at all,” exclaimed Aran, reaching out his hand to touch it. “It’s wood painted to look like stone!” He laughed. “What a masterpiece! It fooled me completely!”
The knights looked back down the alley and saw it in a far different light.
“The alley is part of the library’s defenses,” said Brian. “Anyone trying to reach the library has to walk down it.”
“And the sewer grate I almost stepped on-it’s a trap!” Aran regarded Lillith with more respect. “You and your Aesthetics appear ready to fight and die to defend the library. Why? It’s only a bunch of books.”
“A bunch of books that contain the bright light of wisdom of past generations, Sir Aran,” said Lillith softly. “We fear that if this light is quenched, we will plunge into a darkness so deep we might never find our way out.”
She shoved aside the wooden door painted to look like stone. Behind it was another wooden door, this one of very old workmanship. Carved into the wood were the scales of balance resting on a book.
“The symbol of Gilean, God of the Book and Keeper of the Balance.” Lillith reached out her hand to touch the scales.
“You speak of him with reverence,” said Brian. “Do you believe the gods have returned?”
Lillith opened her mouth to reply, but Derek cut her short. “We have no time for such nonsense. Please proceed, Mistress.”
Lillith gave Brian a sidelong glance and a secret smile.
“We will speak of that later,” she said.
She pressed on one of the scales twice, then the other scale three times, then pressed four times on the symbol on the book. The second door slid open. A long staircase extended straight down into darkness. A lantern hung on a hook on the wall near the door. Lillith removed the lantern and, opening a glass panel, lit the stub of a candle inside. The flame burned clear. She shut the glass panel carefully and lighted their way down the stairs.
The air grew warmer. The stairway smelled of old leather and sheepskin and the dust of time. At the bottom of the stairs was another door, again decorated with the scales and a book. Lillith pressed on each again, only in a different order. The door slid into the wall. She entered the room, holding her lantern high.
The room was enormous. Long and wide, it extended far beyond the reach of the lantern light. And it was filled, floor to ceiling, with books. Shelves of books lined the walls. Shelves of books marched in long rows across the floor, row after row, on and on into the darkness. It was a veritable forest of shelves, and the books on those shelves were as numerous as the leaves on a forest of trees.
The three knights stared at the books in awe mingled with growing dismay.
“Are you sure you don’t need my help, Sir Derek?” Lillith asked serenely.