Mirrortor shook his head and turned back to the door. There's no need to be snippy. The texts are always open for all to see. We have no secrets here. You need only ask "

You need only ask? What did that mean? If the books were readily available, why did no one ever come here? Perhaps the other loremasters read Mirrortor's books and simply never mentioned it.

Chane dismissed the notion as impossible. Anyone in his right mind would have attempted to remove the books and lay claim to them. Chane knew the contents of the Twilight Hall library by heart. There were no texts as priceless as the ones surely stored here. Perhaps Mirrortor's books were written in languages so old the loremasters could not translate them. Chane smiled slightly in the darkness. Dead languages were his specialty.

As he followed the gnome through the exit and into a narrow hallway, Chane found himself puzzling over the entire situation. Could it be this easy? If the texts were available to all, how were thieves held at bay? And what did Mirrortor hope to gain by sitting on such treasures like a fat little spider, only to allow any ignorant peasant to come in and see the books, as though Oghma's temple were some second-class library? None of this made any sense.

"I wish to see your oldest collection, the most archaic you have," Chane repeated. "Nothing originating after 902 DR, when the Rotting War decimated Chondath."

"Couldn't your quest wait for morning? We could have breakfast before we start. I'm not a bad cook, you know."

"No. I must see the books tonight."

At the hall's end stood another door. It opened with a creak when the gnome touched it, and they both began descending a curved rock staircase. Dim lamplight made for poor visibility, and the endless circles as they made their way lower caused Chane to lose track of time and distance.

"How far?" he asked.