'Th-thank you,' murmured the monk, gazing at the weapon and Nikol in perplexity. Suddenly, he brought the sword, point-first, to her throat. 'Now… I s-s-suggest you.. you leave.'
'For the love of Paladine! We're on YOUR side,' said Nikol in exasperation, shoving the wavering blade away from her. Outside they could hear the mob raise its voice in response to the Revered Son's harangues.
'We want to help you,' Michael said, coming forward. 'We don't have much time. We're looking for the disks — '
'What is going on in here, Malachai?' questioned a stern voice. 'I heard glass breaking.'
A robed man who seemed old, but whose face was unlined, smooth, and devoid of expression, entered the library room. Calm and unruffled, he walked down the aisle between the bookcases.
'They… broke in, M-master,' the monk gasped.
The man's stern gaze shifted to the couple. 'You are responsible for this?' he said, indicating the broken window.
'Well, yes, Master,' answered Michael, astonished to feel his skin burning in shame. 'Only because we couldn't get in the front.'
'We don't mean any harm,' said Nikol. 'You must believe us. We'd like to help, in fact. Master — '
'Astinus,' said the man coolly. 'I am Astinus. Did I hear you say you were searching for the Disks of Mishakal?' His gaze went to Michael's breast.
The cleric had been careful to hide the medallion beneath his robes, but this man's ageless eyes seemed able to penetrate the cloth.
'The true clerics have all departed Krynn,' observed Astinus, frowning.
'I was given the chance,' said Michael, defensively. 'I chose to stay. I could not leave — '
'Yes, yes. It is all recorded. You've come for the disks. This — '
A howl rose from the mob outside. Shouts of anger and rage surged up against the library walls like the pounding of a monstrous sea. The monk, hearing that terrible sound, seemed likely to faint. He was sucking in breath in great gulps. His eyes were white-rimmed and huge.
'Sit down, Malachai. Put your head between your knees,' advised Astinus. 'And for the gods' sake drop that sword before you slice off your toe. When you feel better, fetch a broom and sweep up this glass. Someone could get cut. Now, if you two will come with me — '
Nikol stared at the man. 'You daft old fool! Listen to that! They're out for blood! YOUR blood! You should be preparing for your defense! Look, we can barricade these windows. We'cll overturn these bookcases, then shove them up against — '
'Overturn the bookcases!' Astinus thundered, his placid calm finally disturbed. 'Are you mad, young woman? These hold thousands of volumes, catalogued according to date and place. Do you realize how long it would take us to put every volume back in its proper position? Not to mention the damage you might do to some of the older texts. The binding is fragile. And the method of making paper was not as advanced — '
'They're about to burn you to ground, old man!' Nikol shouted back. 'You're not going to have anything LEFT to catalogue!'
Astinus pointedly ignored Nikol, shifted his gaze to Michael. 'You, Cleric of Mishakal, are, I take it, not here to overturn bookcases?'
'No, Master,' said Michael hurriedly.
'Very well. You may come with me.' Astinus turned, started to leave.
'Pardon, Master,' Michael said meekly, 'if my wife could accompany us…'
'Will she behave herself?' Astinus demanded, regarding Nikol dubiously.
'She will,' said Michael. 'Put your sword away, dear.'
'You're all mad!' muttered Nikol, staring from one to the other.
Michael lifted his eyebrows. 'Humor the old man,' he said silently.
Nikol sighed, slid her sword in its sheath. The monk, Malachai, was sitting on the floor, his hand still clasped over the hilt of the sword.
Astinus led them out of the room, into the main portion of the library. He walked at a leisurely, unhurried pace, pointing out this section and that as they passed. Outside they could hear the mob gathering its courage. Smoke, drifting in through the broken window, hung ominously in the still air.
Michael moved as if in a dream. Nothing seemed real. Inside the library, all was as quiet, calm, and unperturbed as Astinus himself. Occasionally, they caught sight of some monk running down a hallway, a scared look on his face, some precious volume clutched in his arms. At the sight of the master, however, the monk would skid to a halt. Eyes lowered before Astinus's frown, the monk would proceed at a decorous walk.
They passed from what Astinus said were the public reading rooms, through a small hallway, up two flights of stairs, into the private section of the library. Here, at high desks, perched on tall stools, some of the Aesthetics sat at their work, pens scratching, a ghastly counterpoint to the roaring outside. But a few had left their work, were clustered in a frightened knot at one of the windows, staring down at the mob below.
'What is the meaning of this?' Astinus barked.
Caught, the monks cast swift, apologetic glances at the master and hastened back to their seats. Pens scratched diligently. Work resumed.
Astinus walked among them, eyes darting this way and that. Pausing beside one pale-faced older man, the master of the library stared down at the manuscript, pointed.
'That is a blot, Johann.'
'Yes, Master. I'm sorry, Master.'
'What is the meaning of that blot, Johann?'
'I–I'm afraid, Master. Afraid we're all going to die!'
'If we do, I trust it will be neatly. Start the page over.'
'Yes, Master.'
The Aesthetic removed the offending sheet, slid a clean one in its place. He bent to his task, but, Michael noticed, the monk's fear had eased. He was actually smiling. If Astinus could be concerned over blots at a time like this, surely there was no danger — that's what he was telling himself.
Michael would have liked to believe that as well, but more and more he was becoming convinced that the master of the library was either drunk or insane or perhaps both.
They left the main library, entered what Astinus termed the living area. He guided them through long hallways, past the small, comfortless cells where the monks resided.
'My study,' said Astinus, ushering them into a small, book-lined room that contained a desk, a chair, a rug, a lamp, and nothing else. 'I rarely permit visitors, but today I will make an exception, since you seem unduly disturbed by the noise in the streets. You' — he indicated Michael — 'may sit in the chair. You' — he glowered at Nikol — 'stand by the door and touch nothing. Do you understand? Touch nothing! I will be back shortly.'
'Where are you going?' Nikol demanded.
He stared at her, face frozen.
'Master,' she added in a more respectful tone.
'You asked for the Disks of Mishakal,' said Astinus, and left.
'At last!' Michael said, sitting in the chair, glad to rest. 'Soon we'll have the disks and the answers — '
'If we live long enough to read them,' Nikol stated angrily. She left her place by the door, began pacing the small room, waving her hands. 'That old man is a fool! He'll let himself and these poor, wretched monks be butchered, his precious library torn down around his ears. When we get the disks, Michael, we'll take them and leave. And if that old man tries to stop us, I'll — '
'Nikol,' said Michael, awed. 'Look… look at this.'
'What?' She stopped her pacing, startled by the odd tone of his voice. 'What is it?'
'A book,' said Michael, 'left open, here, on the desk.'
'Michael, this is no time to be reading!'
'Nikol,' he said softly, 'it's about Lord Soth.'
'What does it say?' she cried, leaning over him. 'Tell me!'
Michael read the text silently to himself.
'Well?' Nikol demanded, impatient.
He looked up at her. 'He's a murderer, Nikol, and worse. It's all here. How he fell in love with a young elven
