Garalt awoke to find himself where he had laid down to rest the night before.  The dwarves had been kind enough to give him and his friends rooms for the night in their castle, and especially kind, Garalt thought, to give Tundrock the funeral they gave him.  Garalt had decided to sleep in a little bit that morning, until the first rays of morning shown in upon his face.  His thoughts soon moved to Alyia, who had taken the loss of Tundrock especially hard.  Tundrock had been with them for quite some time now, his only charge was to protect her.  She would need some time alone now, he thought, he'd just have to go on without her for the day.  
    They had not asked any of the questions they wanted to the night before, nothing about their quest to find the last dragon, Vildegraas.  Garalt especially had wanted to ask about the two statues in the middle of the courtyard where they had given Tundrock his funeral, but he had decided that it could all wait for the next day.  
    Garalt decided he had enough time to brood.
    "The quest does not stop for anyone," Garalt said quietly to himself.  For the most part, he knew he was right.  The quest was bigger than any of them individually.  No matter what would happen to any, or even all of them, the black dragon must be stopped, and the plot to overthrow Ulmerad as well.  Personal wants and needs would have to wait till later.
    A noise from outside his room made Garalt peek out into the hallway.  The castle was not terribly big, nothing like Illana castle, but it was still large enough to have that musty, stony smell that large castles tended to get as they aged.  Garalt smiled at the familiar aroma.  Garalt slowly walked down the hallway to the anteroom that separated the two upstairs rooms where Garalt and Alyia had been given rooms.  Garalt hadn't noticed it the night before, but there were to huge bookcases there in the small nook.  Greylen had to be there, Garalt smiled.
    Sure enough, with his nose stuck in a book, Greylen stood there before the great bookcase.
    "Good morning, Greylen," Garalt said, stretching sleepily.
    "Oh, Garalt, I didn't see you there," Greylen answered, his eyes never leaving his book.
    "I noticed," Garalt smirked, "any luck deciphering that book of yours?"
    "A little.  The dwarves told me I could look at their library if I wanted to.  They have several books in the language mine is written in, but none of the dwarves know how to speak it.  They say it was an ancient human language that died out."
    "That sure must make it hard to read the text, then," Garalt said, rubbing the back of his neck.
    "Yes, but I've been able to come up with a few things, like I've written here on this scroll.  Some of the books the dwarves have had illustrations, so I've been able to come up with a few translations.  These have been a big help."
    "That's great Greylen..." Garalt trailed off, noticing an odd looking fixture to the side of the small library, "Greylen, do you know what this is?"
    "Oh, yes, one of the dwarves is an ingenious inventor.  That there is a water basin that can fill itself."
    "But we're up on the top floor!" Garalt said, amazed, playing with the handles of the faucet.
    "You should see his workshop," Greylen grinned.
    "Has anyone asked about our quest yet, Greylen?" Garalt asked, shifting his attention back to the bookworm mage.
    "I haven't, but I don't know about the others."