40
ANTI-CLIMAX
Elor yawned. He was still in his nightshirt, shawl and slippers, although he had no idea what time it actually was. The oil in his study lamp had long since sputtered dry, the thin stream of sun pushing through his grimy window was the only source of natural light in the room. It didn't matter. He was using what he liked to call his patent global rototractiler, and it was genius in its simplicity even though he would never have said so.
It consisted of a very large engraver's lens suspended on a stand with a small fuzzy of magical light hovering over it, directed at the most detailed map of the continent that the Scribes and Cartographers Guild could provide, on to which he sprinkled pinches of various powdered minerals in order to map out the euloberlz coils, the aunopho
