"I am Marek Thaleborn."
The older man gave a slight nod. "You are a long way from home, stranger."
"I was told you have maps," Marek said.
"As you can see, young man, I am a cartographer. I have many maps." Eryndor gestured a frail, age-spotted hand at the chaos around him.
"I need one," Marek said, getting straight to the point.
"What specific geography are you hoping to chart?"
Marek stepped closer to the desk but did not remove his hood. "A map that can lead me to Drakwyne."
The change in the room was immediate. Eryndor's expression shifted from a weary one to a curious look. His gaze focused on Marek with new intensity. He studied the figure under the hood, trying to pierce the shadow and see the face of the man who would utter such a name. The silence stretched.
Eryndor lowered his gaze back to his book. "I do not have such a map," the old man said calmly.
