The steady ticking of the clock roused the wizard from his studies as he sat among the books of the Archives. Absalom rubbed his eyes, wearily looking at the face of the water clock. A dwarf creation was the only means of measuring time in the windowless library.
Though he did not understand how it worked, it was as accurate as a sundial. He stood, stiff from long hours of sitting. His back and joints cracked as he leaned against his gilded staff. Slowly, he turned away from the book-laden table and the parchment that had been the focus of several hours of candlelit study.
He hobbled through the maze of ceiling-high shelves. An acrid scent he long associated with magic burned his nostrils, reminding him of the enchantments preserving the books. He paused at the exit to study the nearest
