‘But come! We must seek the means to undo what the Lore has become, before it is too late.’
‘Who would have the means?’ Mrann asked.
‘Perhaps no one,’ Haloch replied. ‘But we will seek out the Thane in Mirrindale. He at least can be trusted.’
Haloch led his son away from the staircase, towards the back of the room, and came to stand before a narrow closet. Mraan heard a quiet tinkling as his father fumbled about in his robes, presently producing a ring of keys. Then, Haloch opened the door and they stepped inside.
‘Hold the door open a moment . . . I need to see what I’m doing,’ Haloch told his son as he moved some old crates from the back of the closet. Mraan heard the groan of hinges as his father lifted a door in the flooring. ‘I have it! Now, close and lock the door behind you, and follow me. Careful! Mind your step. This is a long ladder . . . it is far to the bottom of the well.’
Their descent took them to a place in the Library Mraan had never been to before. It was clearly not the basement. Dim light filtered through iron grates, cleverly contrived to hide the presence of several interconnected narrow corridors. Presently, they were under the street at the rear of the building. On the corridor went, block after block, until at last, they were past the city walls. Even then the corridor went on. It was well made of closely fitting stone, well drained and dry. The purpose for its creation, however, was of little interest to Mraan, and the moment they made their way out the exit, it was soon forgotten altogether.