[Orual]

"This way," Anuion said. Arethin was glad that he seemed so calm and sure, because Arethin was anything but.

He touched his ribs gently, and winced. Broken ribs were not new to him, but they had always come one at a time before.

The corridor ended abruptly at a spiraling staircase. Arethin looked up at it warily, and also dizzily; the stair was at a breakneck angle, or at least it looked so. He took a deep, painful breath. "Well, I guess there's no way to go but up, right?" he said, trying to sound jovial and unworried. He hesitantly set his foot on the first step, then looked sharply left and right to make sure no traps had been tripped. None had, and he let out his breath.

Carefully and slowly the company made its way up the stairs, Angalos and Arethin looking down queasily more than once. They exchanged sheepish grins and kept a tight grip on the rails.

The smell of rotting wood greeted them, and they filed in through a heavy wooden door into the library. "What a place," Arethin breathed. He went and opened a tome that seemed to be a history book, though in a language that Arethin did not speak. He gazed in wonder at the illustrations, which were rich, if faded by time.

"This must be the library," he added lamely.