A lone figure trod softly
toward the distant light. Walking unheard, his footfalls were
sucked into the vast darkness all around him. Bertrem indulged
in a rare flight of fancy as he glanced at the seemingly endless
rows of books and scrolls that were part of the Chronicles of
Astinus and detailed the history of this world, the history of
Krynn.
"It's like being sucked into time," he thought, sighing as he
glanced at the still, silent rows. He wished, briefly, that he were
being sucked away somewhere, so that he did not have to face
the difficult task ahead of him.
"All the knowledge of the world is in these books," he said to
himself wistfully. "And I've never found one thing to help make
the intrusion upon their author any easier."
Bertrem came to a halt outside the door to summon his cour-
age. His flowing Aesthetic's robes settled themselves about
him, falling into correct and orderly folds. His stomach, how-
ever, refused to follow the robes' example and lurched about
wildly. Bertrem ran his hand across his scalp, a nervous gesture
left over from a younger age, before his chosen profession had
cost him his hair.
What was bothering him? he wondered bleakly - other than
going in to see the Master, of course, something he had not
done since... since... He shuddered. Yes, since the young
mage had nearly died upon their doorstep during the last war.
War... change, that was what it was. Like his robes, the
world had finally seemed to settle around him, but he felt
change coming once again, just as he had felt it two years ago.
He wished he could stop it....
Bertrem sighed. "I'm certainly not going to stop anything by
standing out here in the darkness," he muttered. He felt uncom-
fortable anyway, as though surrounded by ghosts. A bright
light shone from under the door, beaming out into the hallway.
Giving a quick glance backward at the shadows of the books,
peaceful corpses resting in their tombs, the Aesthetic quietly
opened the door and entered the study of Astinus of Palanthas.

Though the man was within, he did not speak, nor even look
up.
Walking with gentle, measured tread across the rich rug of
lamb's wool that lay upon the marble floor, Bertrem paused
before the great, polished wooden desk. For long moments he
said nothing, absorbed in watching the hand of the historian
guide the quill across the parchment in firm, even strokes.
"Well, Bertrem?" Astinus did not cease his writing.
Bertrem, facing Astinus, read the letters that - even upside
down - were crisp and clear and easily decipherable.
This day, as above Darkwatch rising 29, Bertrem entered my
study.
"Crysania of the House of Tarinius is here to see you, Master.
She says she is expected...." Bertrem's voice trailed off in a
whisper, it having taken a great deal of the Aesthetic's courage
to get that far.
Astinus continued writing.
"Master," Bertrem began faintly, shivering with his daring.
"I - we are at a loss. She is, after all, a Revered Daughter of Pal-
adine and I - we found it impossible to refuse her admittance.
What sh -"
"Take her to my private chambers," Astinus said without
ceasing to write or looking up.
Bertrem's tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, rendering
him momentarily speechless. The letters flowed from the quill
pen to the white parchment.
This day, as above Afterwatch rising 28, Crysania of Tari-
nius arrived for her appointment with Raistlin Majere.
"Raistlin Majere!" Bertrem gasped, shock and horror prying
his tongue loose. "Are we to admit hi -"
Astinus looked up now, annoyance and irritation creasing
his brow. As his pen ceased its eternal scratching on the parch-
ment, a deep unnatural silence settled upon the room. Bertrem
paled. The historian's face might have been reckoned hand-
some in a timeless, ageless fashion. But none who saw his face
ever remembered it. They simply remembered the eyes - dark,
intent, aware, constantly moving, seeing everything. Those
eyes could also communicate vast worlds of impatience,
reminding Bertrem that time was passing. Even as the two
spoke, whole minutes of history were ticking by, unrecorded.

"Forgive me, Master!" Bertrem bowed in profound rever-
ence, then backed precipitately out of the study, closing the
door quietly on his way. Once outside, he mopped his shaved
head that was glistening with perspiration, then hurried down
the silent, marble corridors of the Great Library of Palanthas.

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