"Can I ask a few questions?"

"Yes, of course."

"What can you tell me about the Stain?"

"The Forbidden Territory?" the old man muttered. "The Order knows practically nothing about it. A white patch on the map of the city and a black stain on the reputation of magicians. We can see the streets and buildings from the tower, but you understand that in this case the eyes should not be trusted."

"Well, can you tell me at least something about it?"

"You already know how it appeared. ... Afterward, a black blizzard came swooping down on Avendoom. And then all sorts of things started appearing out of it. The Order of Magicians created the circle with the help of the only archmagician left alive. Artsis was his name. The circle made it possible to erect the wall, and that served as a boundary. No one can creep out of the Forbidden Territory into the residential quarters of Avendoom anymore, and the city folk don't go poking their noses inside the wall."

"But what's happening in there now?"

"Who knows, Harold? After the Rainbow Horn produced such a different effect from what the Order had calculated, the archmagician who had managed to save it died on the way out. His apprentice, who later became the Master of the Order, carried the Horn out of the territory while the blizzard was gathering. And another five magicians were left behind forever in the tower. What happened to them, I don't know. Or what happened to the inhabitants of the district. As he was dying the archmagician said they had been mistaken about someone."

"What did those words mean?"

"I don't know. In one day, or rather, night, the Order of Valiostr lost six archmagicians, including the master, Panarik. When everything calmed down and the wall was erected, they decided to get rid of the Horn, put it somewhere out of harm's way. Hrad Spein was the ideal place. By that time it was already abandoned and n.o.body ever went in there. They carefully added power to the Horn so that it would hold the Nameless One at bay, and took it there."

What a fascinating conversation this was! My head was spinning. How much nicer to be conversing with a pretty woman ... or with an exotic creature like Miralissa. "But then how did the information about the Horn end up in the tower?"

"After the artifact was buried in Hrad Spein, one of the magicians took the journals recording its hiding place to the old Tower of the Order. At least, I hope he got them there. He never came back from the Forbidden Territory. You see? I know no more than the old women gossiping in the Market Square. I can only give you one piece of advice. Set out at night. I know it seems far more dangerous, all the creatures of darkness are terrified of sunlight, and the night is their natural realm, but ... The thing is, thief, that those who have gone to the Forbidden Territory during the hours of darkness have sometimes actually come back."

Yes. I'd heard stories about that, too. Many men had decided to take the chance for the sake of the treasure. There used to be a gnomes' bank on the Street of the Sleepy Cat. And there was still a lot of gold in it.

"But those who went during the day have never come back."

"Where in the tower should I look for the information on Hrad Spein?"

"If it's there, it's on the second floor. In the archivist's room."

"Traps, locks, guards?"

"No need to worry about that," the master sniffed. "It all happened too suddenly."

The old man began coughing into his fist and Roderick came in again with a gla.s.s, but the archmagician frowned and waved it aside.

"I'm tired, Harold. The long years hang heavy on my bones. Relieve me of your presence, if you would be so kind."

When I was already out in the corridor and the archmagician's apprentice was closing the door, I heard the old man's weary voice again: "Hey, Harold."

"Yes?"

"When are you planning to set out for the Forbidden Territory?"

"In about three days, when I'm fully prepared."

"Good. Don't forget that the king is expecting you. Now be on your way."

I shrugged in irritation-I'd never had any trouble with my memory-and left Artsivus's apartments without saying another word.

Now I had to see about finding a new place to live, and I knew someone prepared to provide me with one for an unlimited period of time, absolutely free of charge.

"We're here, milord." The coachman decked out in velvet livery politely opened the door of the carriage and bowed.

It was several seconds before I realized that my own humble personage had been referred to as "milord." It felt strange, somehow-no one had ever called me that before.

Well, of course, I could understand the coachman. A man who had been visiting the sick archmagician couldn't be some kind of low thief, could he? He was more likely some rich count in disguise, someone who had decided to take a ride around Avendoom incognito.

I got out of the carriage and set off toward the main gate of the Cathedral of the G.o.ds on Cathedral Square, which was located at the meeting point of three parts of Avendoom: the Outer City, the Inner City, and the City of Artisans and Magicians.

The priests had managed to grab themselves a huge piece of the city, every bit as large as the grounds of the king's palace. In fact, to be perfectly honest, Cathedral Square could quite easily have held two of Stalkon's palaces.

The cathedral was the largest site in all the Northern Lands at which all the twelve G.o.ds of Siala were honored. So there was no need to tramp across half the city to find the particular shrine that you were interested in, the temporary residence of some individual G.o.d: You could simply come to the square, go in through the main gates that were open by day and night, and then choose the one to whom you wished to address your prayers.

The G.o.ds!

I smirked blasphemously.

The G.o.ds were not very generous when it came to gracing the world they had created with their own presence. In earlier times, when Siala was young, during the beginning of beginnings, when people had only just appeared, following the elves, the orcs, the ogres, the gnomes, and the dwarves, the G.o.ds still walked the roads, working wonders, punishing evildoers, and rewarding the righteous.

But eventually they tired of the vanity of earth, and they left to concern themselves with their own "important" affairs, as the priests called them, affairs incomprehensible to mere humans. I don't know, maybe they are important, but I don't have too much faith in the power of the G.o.ds. Nothing but stories for snot-nosed little kids, and the ravings of crazy fanatics. Well, naturally, I believe in Sagot and his power, but I don't really think he was a G.o.d. Some say he was just a successful thief in the old times and many stories about his adventures are still preserved to this very day. But the sly priests were quick to promote him to the rank of a G.o.d, in order to increase the flow of gold into the coffers of their shrines. Because thieves and swindlers are a superst.i.tious crowd, and they really need to believe in someone.

"Do you struggle with the Darkness within yourself?" one of the two priests standing at the main gates asked me.

"I annihilate the Darkness," I replied, with the standard ritual phrase.

"Enter then, and address Them," the second priest p.r.o.nounced solemnly.

Naturally, I followed this brilliant recommendation from these two old men who had nothing else to do but roast themselves in the hot sun while greeting and seeing off every visitor.

Interestingly enough, there were no guards at the entrance of the cathedral. I'd heard the priests had forbidden it. And in principle they were right, since the plug-ugly faces of the servants of the law could very easily frighten away half of the city's residents, depriving the cathedral of a substantial element of its income.

But there were guardsmen strolling about inside the grounds-around the flower beds and whispering fountains, the statues of the G.o.ds and their shrines-gradually going insane from the heat in their cuira.s.ses and helmets. Of course, they were all as bad-tempered as orcs on the march. And the reason for their bad temper was no great secret, either. The guards sent to the cathedral were those colleagues of Frago Lanten's who had committed some offense or been caught taking bribes and extorting money.

A pair of the poor souls in orange and white went parading past me. Their glances slid searchingly over my figure, probing for something to take objection to, an opportunity to stick the handle of a halberd in my side without a priest noticing. But I simply smiled amiably and couldn't resist giving the dourly furious martyrs a cheery wave.

Ah! How I love teasing a giant in a cage!

The guards frowned darkly, took a firmer grip on their weapons, and started toward me, with the clear intention of battering my sides. But, just as I expected, they didn't get very far.

A priest appeared in their path as if out of thin air and started reciting the divine moral teaching. The soldiers' unshaven faces immediately a.s.sumed such a bored and weary expression that I very nearly shed a tear for them. The lads were strictly forbidden to argue back or to show any disrespect to the servants of the cathedral. On pain of losing their pensions. And so all they could do was listen, listen, and listen again for the thousandth time.

I walked along a neat pathway paved with square slabs of stone, rounded a sparkling and foaming fountain in the form of a knight running his lance through a ma.s.sive ogre at full gallop, and came out into the cathedral yard, where the statues of the G.o.ds stood, with supplicants and visitors from the city and the neighboring regions constantly weaving around them.

There weren't many pilgrims from other parts of the kingdom to be seen as yet. They usually came flooding in for the spring festival of the G.o.ds, and so right now the yard wasn't very crowded. There were just a few men standing beside the statue of Sagra. From the way they were dressed I recognized them as soldiers.

I cast a casual glance over the eleven male and female statues, the G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses of Siala standing there before me. And then I looked at the empty pedestal where the twelfth statue ought to have stood, the statue of Sagot.

Somehow it had happened that in all the world there was only one image of the G.o.d of thieves. Evidently he didn't really welcome close interest in his own person.

This statue of Sagot was in the Forbidden Territory of the city. When the fiasco with the Rainbow Horn happened, it had wound up on the other side of the wall. And no one had been able to re-create the image of the G.o.d of thieves. Even the priests didn't know what Sagot was supposed to look like, and so they had decided not to take any risk of committing sacrilege, and for the time being the pedestal on which the G.o.d ought to stand had been left empty.

The patron of thieves and swindlers clearly had no objections to this. In any case, the priests had not seen any signs, except for a few after the fifth jug of wine, but they were so vague and mysterious that no one had taken them seriously. And so now empty marble pedestals stood in all of Sagot's shrines.

Right now, though, there was a vagabond in dirty boots sitting cross-legged on the pedestal in front of me and holding out a coa.r.s.e clay bowl. Strangely enough, the priests didn't seem to notice the blasphemy of it. Overcome by curiosity, I set off along the row of the other G.o.ds toward the beggar in the farthest section of the small green yard. As I walked along I took off my cloak and wrapped my crossbow in it.

"You have a fine seat there," I said in a friendly manner as I halted in front of the stranger.

He cast a rapid glance at me from under the dark hood concealing his face and shook his cup for alms.

"Are you quite comfortable? Haven't your legs turned numb?" I asked, pretending not to notice his gesture.

"I'm a lot more comfortable than you are just at the moment, Shadow Harold," a mocking voice said.

"Do I know you?" I was beginning to feel annoyed that every last rat in Avendoom seemed to know who I was.

"Oh no." The tramp shrugged and rattled his cup again. "But I've heard about you."

"Nothing but the very best, I hope." I had already completely lost interest in the beggar, and was about to set off along a barely visible path, overgrown with tall gra.s.s, into the depths of the cathedral grounds, when the beggar's voice stopped me: "Toss in a coin, Harold, and you'll get a free piece of advice."

"That's strange," I said, turning back toward the seated man. "If the advice is free, why should I give you a coin?"

"Come on, Harold, I have to eat and sleep somewhere, don't I?"

The stranger had intrigued me. I rummaged in my pockets, fished out a piece of small change, and laughed as I flung it into the bowl he was holding out toward me. The copper disk clattered forlornly against the bottom. The beggar raised the bowl to his nose to see what I had given him and heaved a sigh.

"Is that just the way you are, or are all thieves that mean?"

"You ought to thank me for spending time here and at least giving you something!" I exclaimed indignantly.

"Thank you. So shall I give you that advice, then?"

"If you would be so kind."

"Then pay in gold, I don't work for coppers."

I felt like taking him by the scruff of the neck and giving him a good shaking. This weasel could live well for an entire month on a gold piece. But I was already snared in the net that the cunning rogue had spread, and I was even willing to pay a gold piece to hear whatever raving nonsense he had to tell me.

"All right, here you are." I twirled the yellow coin between my fingers. "But first I'd like to see your face."

"Nothing could be simpler," said the beggar, and he threw back his hood.

An entirely unremarkable set of features. Coa.r.s.e, weatherbeaten, no longer young, covered with gray stubble. A pointed nose, bright eyes. I didn't know him.

"Here's your payment." I tossed the weighty little disk into the cup, and the tramp smiled triumphantly. "But bear in mind that if the advice is bad, I'll shake the money back out of you! Well?"

"This is the advice," said the beggar, pulling his hood back up again. "Don't stand on Selena. Walk on your own feet, your own feet, Harold, and then you might live to a ripe old age."

"Selena? What's Selena? And why shouldn't I stand on it?" I asked. "What kind of riddles are these?"

But the beggar had shut up as tight as a clam.

"Listen, I'm not joking. Either give me my money back, or tell me where you know me from and what this stupid riddle means."

"Eh-e-eb-b-m-a-a-a," the beggar moaned, making himself out to be a deaf-mute idiot.

But it didn't escape my attention that, as if by magic, the coin had disappeared from the tramp's hands into some secret place under his clothes.

"Stop playing the fool! Give me my money back!" I cried in fury, and took a step toward the swindler.

"Would you be mocking a holy fool?" a coa.r.s.e, rasping voice asked behind my back.

"May darkness reduce me to dust if he's a holy fool! He's a real swindler!" I just couldn't believe that I had been duped.

"Move on, my dear fellow, move on. People come here to commune with the G.o.ds, and you're creating a commotion," said the sergeant of the guard, standing slightly ahead of his morose subordinates. He gave me a menacing smile. "Otherwise we shall have to escort you out of this holy place."

"Moooooo," the "deaf-mute" lowed in support of the guard, and began nodding his head wildly.

There was nothing left to do but shrug and withdraw, seething with righteous fury and indignation. I was surrounded on all sides by thieves and swindlers.

I had been duped with deft skill, like some oafish peasant, caught out by one of the standard tricks practiced by swindlers ever since the dawn of time. Well, Sagot be with him! It won't bankrupt me.

The track wound between green gardens and flower beds. A couple of times I ran into priests going about their business, but they took no notice of me, as if visitors were always walking about in the inner territory of the cathedral.

The path wound to the left and rounded a bed of pale blue flowers reaching all their petals up toward the warm sunshine, then approached a ma.s.sive building made of huge blocks of gray stone. And there was the dark archway that led to the dwelling of my only friend in this world.

The shadows, afraid of the sunlight, had squeezed themselves tight up against the ancient gray walls, and after the heat of the summer day the coolness that pervaded the narrow tunnel seemed like a blessing from the G.o.ds.

My footsteps echoed off the low vaults. I had almost walked right through when my guts suddenly twitched in agony as a familiar grip took hold of me by the sides of my chest and lifted me up off the ground.

The hands were followed out of the wall by shoulders and a head. The rest of the body remained out of view.

"Vukhdjaaz is clever," said the demon.

"Hi there," I said with a joyful smile, greeting him like my own dear mom, and not a demon of the Darkness.

"Vukhdjaaz is clever." The vile beast decided to put me back down on the ground anyway, and then surveyed me suspiciously. "You have the Horse?"

"I was just working on that."

"Quicker!" the demon hissed, and his bright scarlet eyes glinted menacingly in the semidarkness. "I can't hold out for long."

"I need just a little more time."