The mansion itself was in the human style; Urdli had forgotten just how unattractive it was. Its only saving graces were the superbly rendered gargoyles and the delicate tracery of protective sorceries. At least the gardens had grown into their promise. Urdli had the young elves lead him to the library, ignoring their protests that he should retire to his room and freshen up. Matters were advanced well beyond such niceties, and he intended to use his waiting time constructively. Laverty’s collection of books and manuscripts was even better than he had remembered. Perhaps there was some merit to relying on the written word instead of organic memory. He was deep into a disk copy of Vermis’ Liber Viridis when Laverty arrived.