Room 7 was ominously quiet, but the door was unlocked. Alasdair nudged it open with his toe, wincing when the hinges creaked slightly.
But the sorceress slumbering on the bed did not stir.
Alasdair crept into her lair on silent feet, closing the door securely behind himself. The room was filled with the soft rhythm of her breathing. The last rays of sunlight slanted orange through the windows and gilded the edges of the papers spread on the table.
Curious, Alasdair went to look, then gaped in amazement.
Pages of intricate, fanciful drawings spilled across the surface. Script rolled between the images, evidently some verse written in an elegant hand.
’Twas like the great illuminated Bible that the monks consulted and had shown Alasdair once when he was but a boy. He reached out as thou
