Zelgadis's hands shook as he lifted the tattered book from the chest. How many years had it been? How many leads, failed searches, moments of false hope? It was almost bizarre, just standing there, holding it, and even as he ran his fingers over the worn leather cover he could hardly believe it was real.

He, Lina, Gourry, and Amelia had been traveling together for quite some time when the news had reached him: a bandit gang was rumored to posses a piece of the Clair Bible. Of course they all had had their doubts, given the smiling, purple haired source of the information, but still, a lead was a lead.

So they had tracked the bandits, fought off the occasional monster or bounty hunter, and drove them off from their meager camp.

And meager it was, consisting of only a few tents, a fire, and a dank cave. As soon as they saw it, they knew the lead was false. Still, they had come all this way; searching the camp thoroughly was the least they could do.

But the cave was deeper than it looked. Full of paths and corridors it twisted and turned and branched off again and again, its chambers littered with pottery, its walls inscribed with ancient runes the bandits couldn't possibly have written. And when, at the center of it all, they'd broken down the stone doors, there was all they had searched for and more.

The hall was gigantic. In the center was a fountain: a bubbling spring in the rock encircled in black marble, with runes inlaid in silver. The walls were streaked with azurite, and swirling designs of opal and mother of pearl danced around the chamber. And riches literally littered the floor.

The others gawked.

Then smiled.

Then laughed.

Piles upon piles of treasure: ancient, priceless, and glimmering. There were crowns made of gold so pure that you could bend them with your hands, and diamonds big enough to juggle. Magical amulets, gem stones, mountains of coins, both current and antique, and enough ornate weapons to fill a small armory.

The hall echoed with the curious clinking sound of metal on metal and stone, and the occasional yelp of delight as yet another item was unearthed, or yet another scroll discovered.

Zelgadis ignored them.

There was one thing in this room which interested him, and one thing alone. He'd known it the instant he'd laid eyes on it. The symbol was impossible to miss, and to someone who had grown up seeing it constantly, unmistakable.

There, at his feet, lay a simple wooden chest, unadorned save by the stylized letter R carved into its lid.

"Zel. . . is that?"

He weighed the parchment in his hand, carefully opening the battered cover. "No. . . not the Clair Bible. At least I don't think so. But. . . I'm almost sure it's what I've been looking for."

"Really? How can you tell?"

"Look."

Opening the cover of Transmutations and Chimeras, Zelgadis shakily pointed at a small note, illegibly scrawled at the bottom of the cover page.


Rezo,

Here's the compiled work you've been looking for.

Happy Birthday!


"By the gods. . ."