[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
study the engravings on a fragment of masonry. The glyphs, which depicted
dinosaur-headed men and women, were unlike any he'd seen before.
"Do they serve food in libraries?" Lugg asked, nosing through the rubble.
"No," Byrt replied. "You get books from libraries, not baked goods. That
question makes me wonder if you have lived a tome-free life, old man."
Lugg snorted. "All the tomes in the world won't 'elp my stomach now . . .
though I might stoop to nibbling on a picture book of onions and radishes, if
one 'appened to present itself."
They continued on, though the next room and the one following proved to be
very much like the first crumbled columns, topless tables, and empty brackets
hammered into the walls. Eventually, though, they came to a stout wooden door,
around which a halo of light shone brightly. Artus pushed it open . . . and
what lay beyond took his breath away.
The room was huge and utterly deserted. Thin stone columns stood at even
intervals along the walls, supporting globes that burned with a magical
radiance. Smaller globes rested upon each of the dozens of tables set in
orderly rows across the floor. Books of every sort stood upon sturdy shelves,
row after row, more volumes than even the much-lauded library of the Stalwarts
held. Artus slipped through the door and grabbed the nearest book. The words
were totally foreign to him a mixture of symbols and picture-glyphs like the
ones on the ruined columns.
"I don't suppose either of you can read?" Artus asked.
"Most certainly I can," Byrt replied. When Artus held the book down to him, he
smacked his lips and sighed. "I stand corrected."
All the other books on the shelves nearby proved to be written in the same
unusual language. Artus was trying to decide which tome to take for more
careful study when the door on the opposite end of the room swung open.
Even at such a distance, the stranger's beard proclaimed him a man, despite
the flowing tan robe that hid his frame. Close-cropped and white as snow, the
beard met up with the shock of silver hair atop the man's head, making a
bright halo around his darkly tanned face. Engrossed as he was in the large
volume open in his hands, he didn't immediately notice Artus. He read as he
walked, shaking his head in vehement disagreement every few steps.
Page 77
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
With his nose buried in the pages before him, the silver-haired man walked to
a table close to the still-unnoticed strangers and sat down. He leaned toward
the glowing globe at the other end of the table and said something Artus could
not hear. Four tiny legs sprouted from the globe, and it ran to the man's
side, coming to rest only when it was right next to his book.
It was then that Artus got his first good look at the man. "Lord Rayburton!"
he exclaimed. He took a step toward the long-lost explorer, amazement clear in
his eyes. "You're alive!"
The book slipped from the table and slammed to the floor as the silver-haired
man spun about. Theron was right the man was a ringer for the statue in the
society's study. The famed explorer looked no older than that representation,
though the sculptor had captured him at the age of sixty, more than twelve
hundred years ago.
At the commotion, the globe light hefted itself from the table and dashed to
safety far away from the noise. "Who are you?" Rayburton demanded. His
features were sharp, and his mouth turned down in a frown, but kindness lurked
in his clear eyes.
Seeing the apprehension on Rayburton's face, Artus stopped and looked down at
his torn clothes and the dried blood on his injured hand. "I must look pretty
frightening," he said in his best Old Cormyrian. As he put aside the unstrung
bow, he added, "I came a long way to find you, sir. My name is Artus Cimber,
from
Cormyr. I'm a member of the Society of Stalwart Adventurers, an explorer like
you."
"Your grammar is terrible for a native speaker of Cormyrian," Rayburton noted.
"Do you speak Tabaxi?"
he asked, switching effortlessly to that Chultan tongue.
Artus could only shrug and shake his head.
Rayburton studied him carefully, his brows knit in consternation. Finally the
hard line of his mouth softened, replaced by a smile that matched the kindness
in his eyes. "A Stalwart, you say?" He sighed. "I
should have known someone from that bunch of well-meaning crackpots would find
me one day. You're a friend of that other fellow, the one we saved from the
Batiri when we rescued Kwalu?"
"Yes, Theron Silvermace. He Crackpots?" Artus stammered. "You founded the
society, didn't you?"
"I let them use my name," Rayburton said. "Biggest mistake of my life. I never
was one for clubs just an excuse for back-slapping and group inertia. Rather
talk about the past than go out and look for it. And the society's still going
you say? Amazing." He lifted the book from the floor. "How do you know me? A
portrait?"
"A statue," Artus corrected. "In the main library."
"And how did you get in here?" Rayburton asked. He crossed his arms and leaned
back against the table.
Artus had the uncomfortable feeling of being back in the House of Oghma, held
captive in the prefect's study because of some transgression. "Through a
tunnel," he said. "It led into the ruined part of the library...
."
Lugg struggled to the top of a nearby table. He spoke neither Tabaxi nor Old
Cormyrian, but he could make himself known quite clearly in the trade tongue
known as Common. "Look," he said, "if you two are going to yap all day, we
want to know where the kitchens are."
From the floor at Artus's feet, Byrt added his approval. "A meal really is in
order. Lugg gets rather cross if he's not fed regularly. Not that he isn't
cross at other times. You know, bites when tugged and all that."
"In a moment," Artus said as he studied Rayburton's hands. They were wrinkled
and beginning to spot with age. Ink stains covered the fingers of his right
hand, the sure mark of a scholar or scribe, but there was no ring to be seen.
Page 78
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Artus stepped forward and grabbed Rayburton's shoulders. "The Ring of Winter,"
he said, his eyes gone wild, "You have it. That's how you made it snow. It
kept you alive all these years."
With one solid shove, Rayburton freed himself. "I don't have the ring." For
the first time, anger showed on his kindly face. "If that's what you're here
for, you'll go back to the society empty-handed."
Artus felt the world fall away under his feet. Before he knew it, he was
sitting on the floor next to Byrt.
The little gray wombat looked him in the face, worry in his vague blue eyes.
"But you must have the ring," Artus whispered. "You're still alive. It makes
the wearer immortal...."
Rayburton kneeled beside the younger explorer. "The ring didn't keep me
alive," he said. "It was the magic in this place. Mezro has quite a lot of
wonderful things in it."
"Mezro?" Artus managed to gasp. "I discovered the lost city of Mezro?"
Rayburton's gentle laughter filled the library. "It's hardly lost to the
people who have lived here for four thousand years," he noted. "But if you
want to put it that way, the Mezroans probably won't mind. I said the same
thing when I stumbled across the place, and they haven't thrown me out yet."
He looked into Artus's glassy eyes and mentally catalogued the cuts and
bruises on his arms and face.
"You've had a time of it, eh?" Helping the younger man to his feet, Rayburton
added, "The thing for you now is rest, and maybe a surgeon's attention. After
that, we can talk about how you managed to 'discover'
Mezro."
Ten
From
The Eternal Life of Mezro by King Osaw I, called "the Wise" by his beloved
subjects: ruler of all
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]