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The size of the chamber was difficult to determine. At first,
Palin had thought it small, logic telling him it couldn't be very
large, located as it was at the top of the Tower. But the longer he
stayed, the larger the chamber seemed to grow.
"Or is it me that grows smaller?" Palin whispered. "I am not
even a mage. I don't belong here," said his mind. But his heart
answered, "You never really belonged anywhere else. . . ."
The air was heavy with the odors of mildew and dust. There
lingered still a faint spicy smell, familiar to the young man. Palin
saw the light glint off rows of jars filled with dried leaves, rose
petals, and other herbs and spices lining one wall. Spell
components. There was another smell, too; this one not so
pleasant-the smell of decay, of death. The skeletons of strange
and unfamiliar creatures lay curled at the bottoms of several large
jars on the huge, stone table. Remembering rumors of his uncle's
experiments in creating life, Palin looked hurriedly away.
He examined the stone table, with its runes and polished
surface. Had it really been dragged from the bottom of the sea as
legend told? Palin wondered, running his fingers lovingly over the
smooth top, leaving behind a spidery trail in the dust. His hand
touched the high stool next to the table. The young man could
picture his uncle sitting here, working, reading. . . .
Palin's gaze went to the rows of spellbooks lining shelf after
shelf along one entire wall of the chamber
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