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.
Derek glanced at him sharply, then fumbled in his purse for several coins and handed them to Bertrem. “Put this toward some worthy cause,” he said gruffly.
“I thank you, my lord,” Bertrem said. “Can I be of further service to your lordship this night?”
“No, Brother,” said Derek. “Thank you for your help.” He paused then said stiffly, “I apologize for my behavior earlier.”
“No need for that, my lord,” said Bertrem kindly. “It is already forgotten.”
“Maybe Astinus is the god Gilean after all,” Brian said, as he and Derek were descending the moonlit steps of the Great Library.
Derek muttered something and continued walking at a rapid pace down the street.
“Derek,” said Brian, almost running to keep up, “could I ask you a question?”
“If you must,” Derek said shortly.
“You hate wizards. You hate all things having to do with wizards. You cross the street to avoid passing a wizard. This dragon orb was made by wizards. The orb is magic , Derek. Why do you
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