"Hear me out." She looked down at her hands and absently picked at her nails. The cuticles were torn, and some had bled recently. "It's no secret any longer that I love you, and have for a long while. I know you don't love me in return, and never will. Even if I were of n.o.ble birth, you would never want someone as damaged as I am. I can't change the feelings in my heart, but I also can no longer be a part of your life. As soon as I'm able, I'll return home. You'll never have to see my again, or be reminded of how I shamed you with my behavior."

"Elaysen, stop. You've brought me no shame." He reached for her hand, but she drew it away and held it curled to her chest. "I don't profess to understand what's happened to you, or what you're enduring. I wish I could help you more than I have."

"Do you love me at all? I know it's a terrible thing to ask, but I can't help myself."

He did not know what to say. His feelings toward her had changed so drastically in recent days he did not understand them himself.

"I care about you and want you to be well." He turned toward the door. There was nothing else he could say. "I need to return to the Hammdras, but I'll check on you as I can."

His mind was fully occupied with Elaysen as he made his way toward the wall. How did he feel toward her? Did he, perhaps, still love her? He admitted to himself that he had at one time-loved her spirit, her pa.s.sion. But she was nevertheless the daughter of an apostate priest who was considered a potential threat to the realm by the n.o.bility. There was simply no possibility of her ever being accepted as queen. He would undermine his kingship in a fatal way were he to marry Elaysen.

That realization had cooled his feelings toward her. The weight of ruling Khedesh had so occupied his thoughts that he gave little consideration to her, or any other woman-he simply did not have time. He had still cared for her, perhaps deeply, but was able to push those feelings aside as matters of state took over nearly every waking moment.

Now he had this disease of the mind to consider. A problem that caused her to become so delusional she had murdered the living incarnation of a servant of the G.o.d she and her father followed. He shook his head as he walked, dismayed. He could not understand how a mind could become so unhinged.

Who else might she kill if she doesn't get better? he wondered. Would she kill Balandrick, or Hollin, or even me? Is it possible for her to get well again after falling so far?

He had no answers. The only hope for her appeared to be a swift return to Almaris so she could fashion the proper medicines, but it would be some time before they could get there.

He found Balandrick talking to a group of Sunrise Guards in the courtyard behind the gates.

"It's pretty quiet right now, Your Majesty," said the captain. "They stopped lobbing rocks at us a while ago. I think they ran out of boulders and need to get more."

"Any sign of demons?"

"None at all."

"What about those circles of power?"

Balan shrugged. "They've kept the braziers going and set up what look like a couple of small altars. Kirin's worried, I can tell you that." Balan glanced at the Staff of Naragenth. "Too bad your magic stick doesn't still have the power around it like it did at Almaris. You could take out those circles and most of that army in short order."

Despite his words, Balan's tone was filled with derision, and he regarded the staff itself with a faint expression of disgust.

"Why don't you like it?" asked Gerin. "It's obvious you hate the staff, but I have no idea why."

Balandrick stiffened like a boy who'd been caught sneaking a treat. "I don't hate it. Why do you think so?"

Gerin rolled his eyes. "I don't care if you do or don't, but it's plain you do, so don't deny it. I just want to know what bothers you so much."

Balandrick folded his arms. "All right. I admit it. I loathe the b.l.o.o.d.y thing. Not what it can do, which is pretty helpful in a pinch, but what it...is. That Presence, as you like to call it. Well, that's not really it, either. I don't hate the Presence, because from what you've said, it is trying to be helpful. Like some b.l.o.o.d.y beagle eager to please."

He stepped closer to Gerin and lowered his voice. "I'm telling you, Your Majesty, there's something wrong with it. Wrong like that b.l.o.o.d.y awful horn you blew when you were here before. Just looking at that stick makes my skin crawl. I don't know how to explain it any better than that."

Gerin stared hard at the staff. What are you? he projected toward the Presence. How did you come to be? You must remember something of your origin. Tell me if you can. I need to know. I understand you may still have loyalty to Naragenth and his secrets, but he is long dead. Please. Tell me what you are.

To his surprise, the staff answered.

A series of images of a young boy flashed across his vision, accompanied by a sharp pain in his temples. The boy was young, no more than five or six, with thick dark hair that fell in curls past his shoulders. First he was laughing, running; then other images came, of the boy sick and in bed, feverish and shaking, a woman weeping beside him.

Another image, a man bending over him. Gerin recognized him as Naragenth. A pained expression on his face; sorrow, grief, but also a grim determination, a hardened, almost cruel resolve.

More images flashed by, almost too quickly for him to see and comprehend: Naragenth brandished a knife- The atrium of the Varsae Estrikavis, galleries rising all around him- Dizzying movement toward the marble pedestal on which they'd found the staff- The pedestal open, its top somehow removed- Naragenth placing a leather-bound book into the pedestal- The young boy cold and dead, his wrist slit- The vision ended. Gerin was soaked with sweat.

"What just happened?"

Gerin shook uncontrollably. Not all of it from the draining power of the visions. The G.o.ds above me, Naragenth, what did you do?

Gerin turned and headed away from the Hammdras. Balandrick hurried to catch up.

"Your Majesty, where are you going?"

"To my rooms. I need the Scepter of the King. I need to get into the Varsae Estrikavis."

"Why? What just happened? You saw something-I know it. The Presence communicated to you again."

"Yes." He told Balan what he saw while they walked together.

Balandrick needed no prodding to reach the same conclusion.

"You think Naragenth murdered a boy to make the staff?"

"I'm afraid it might be true."

"But why did it show you that now? Why not tell you before?"

Gerin pondered Balan's question. "I never directly asked the Presence how it was made, at least that I can recall. But even if I did, maybe it didn't trust me until now. Maybe it had to get to know me well enough before it would reveal that secret."

"Is the dead boy the Presence? Is that how Naragenth got it to be alive?" Balan could not disguise the disgust he felt.

"As horrible as that sounds-as horrible as that is-yes, I think that's right."

They reached Gerin's rooms. He retrieved the box containing the Scepter of the King from the wardrobe where he kept it-safely behind several lock spells, shields, and Wards-and removed the ivory rod from it.

Do I really want to know what Naragenth did? he thought as he regarded the symbol of his kingship. But he knew the answer. Yes. He needed to know what happened. Especially if Naragenth had done the unspeakable and sacrificed a child in order to make his staff.

A finger of ice slid down his spine as he saw Naragenth standing over the child, knife in hand.

How could anyone do such a thing? He did not understand the cruelty that existed in some men's hearts. He saw once more the battle atop the Sundering and the murdered Eletheros children, whose only crime had been their race. An entire people, extinguished in a holocaust of blood.

He drew magic into himself, then flooded the scepter with power. The spells within it drank his magic and unfolded with great precision. The final spell, the one that worked like the keenest of knives, cut its way into the world where the Varsae Estrikavis existed.

A door marked with Naragenth's sigil and a silver crescent appeared in the room, floating a few inches off the floor.

Gerin wasted no time. He yanked open the door and hurried down the short hallway to the atrium of the Varsae Estrikavis, with the dome high above painted to mimic a sky at dusk.

The black marble pedestal was in the center of the atrium. It stood alone so that Naragenth's great staff would draw all eyes to it, a symbol he had incorporated into his personal sigil. That symbol survived his death and had been one of the few clues of the staff's existence. Wizards had long pondered if the staff bisecting a rayed sun was the staff whispered of in legend.

Gerin knelt by the pedestal and felt around its top. He could find no seam, no joint, no hidden lever or releasing mechanism. How does the d.a.m.n thing open? he wondered.

Balandrick knelt across from him. "What exactly are we looking for, Your Majesty? In your vision, did you see how it opened?"

"Does it look like I know how it opens?" he snapped.

"Are there any opening spells you could try? Just a thought. It is a magic stick, after all."

Gerin created several unlocking and opening spells. They did not work. Next, he created a Seeing. At once, a hair-thin edge came into view about an inch down from the top. He moved slowly around the pedestal, examining the entire diameter with the Seeing-but despite finding the edge, he saw no latch or hinge.

He thought about how Naragenth had hidden the library itself. He'd used amber magic in such a fashion that no other wizard would ever be able to enter it even if they possessed the scepter.

Why should this be any different?

He placed his hand atop the pedestal and directed amber magic down through it, into the marble. He dispersed and diffused the power so it would not destroy the pedestal. He did not want to risk harm to the book he hoped it still contained.

He felt something within the marble drink in his magic.

The top of the pedestal rose up and swung outward on a silent hinge hidden inside the marble. He stopped the flow of magic and removed his hand, at which point the top ceased to move.

Gerin created a magefire spark above the pedestal and peered down into it. At first it looked empty, and his heart sank. Then he realized there was something wrapped in black velvet at the bottom.

He reached in and pulled out the book he'd seen in the vision.

It was surprisingly heavy. Preservation spells had been worked into it, so it looked virtually unchanged since the day it was placed there.

He felt a complex swirl of emotions from the Presence, stronger than anything he'd ever felt from it. Sorrow and exhilaration, antic.i.p.ation mingled with fear and doubt, excitement and a sense of eagerness.

"So that's it?" asked Balandrick. "All of Naragenth's secrets?"

"I doubt this is all of them, but I would guess the important things are here. This explains why we never found writings of his elsewhere in the library."

"We should probably get back. Who knows what the b.l.o.o.d.y Havalqa are up to by now?"

Gerin opened the book and saw densely written Osirin scrawled in a neat, angular hand. The achievements of Naragenth Ul-Darhel, amber wizard and King of Khedesh, as written in his own hand, was scrawled at the top of the first page.

He considered himself a wizard first, before being a king, Gerin thought. I wonder what the n.o.bility of his era thought of him? But with so many wizards in the world back then, they probably saw it as a blessing and an honor to have such a powerful man on the throne.

As much as he wanted to lose himself in Naragenth's book, he knew that Balandrick was right. They needed to get back.

Should he take it with him or leave it safely in the library? A part of him feared to take it from this place, worried that harm would somehow befall it. But he wanted to show it to Hollin and the other wizards as well, and he absolutely refused to carry the Scepter of the King with him while on the battlements. It was far too dangerous to risk damage to it simply to have easy access to the Varsae Estrikavis. Despite their studies of the scepter, so far they had failed to devise a means of duplicating its spells and properties. It was truly one of a kind. If it were damaged or destroyed, they would lose forever their means of entering the library.

He decided to take the book with him. He rewrapped it in the velvet and straightened. "All right. Let's go see what mischief our foreign friends have been making."

"So many?" asked Ezqedir when the Loh'shree commander, Arghen Helehba, told him how many men he would need.

The Loh'shree folded its arms and glared down at Ezqedir. The general forced himself to hold Helehba's gaze. The being's black eyes never failed to make the general uneasy, as if he were staring at two holes opening onto the Void, the realm of nonexistence where it was written in the Yar'eleta that all the enemies of Holvareh and the Powers would be cast on the Day of Doom.

"The fortress is strong, and not without powerful defenses," rumbled Helehba. His voice was dry, raspy, as if his vocal cords were stippled with sand. "If you wish to break it quickly, then we will need fifty men. Fewer, and you flirt with disaster yet again. How many men will you lose if you attempt a direct a.s.sault against these wizards? Our price is small, General. You should be grateful. Five hundred men would still be a bargain. Or have you forgotten already how the Loremasters and their escort perished before the walls?"

"I've not forgotten," Ezqedir snapped. "You'll have your men."

"Do not tally, General. Our power builds, but we cannot finish it without blood."

When the Loh'shree had gone, Meloqthes entered the tent. "What is your command, General?" He was troubled. Meloqthes knew quite well the price to be paid for using the power of the Loh'shree.

"They need fifty men. Choose them from the Ilmorr battalion. Line them up and pick every fifth man until you have what you need, then send them to the Loh'shree."

"Sir, we usually give them prisoners-"

"Helehba already inspected them and said they cannot use them. There is something in the blood of these foreigners that is at odds with their powers."

"Sir, if I may-"

"Now is not the time to argue with me, Meloqthes. I want those men to the Loh'shree within the hour."

"They may resist, sir."

"Then I expect you will go there with sufficient force to discourage any resistance. If they refuse to go willingly, tie them up and drag them. I don't like this any more than you, Lieutenant, but without the Loh'shree, we'll send thousands to their deaths with no guarantee they will ever pa.s.s the wall of fear these wizards have fashioned. As unpalatable as it may be, it is, in the end, for the good of the army and our mission.

"Send the battalion commander to me. I will explain to him the necessity of this action while you select the men. I plan to make it clear to him that if others under his command attempt to interfere, the first one to be hanged for insurrection will be him."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

While Ezqedir waited for the battalion commander to arrive, he sat and brooded. It was not that the lives of fifty men was so terrible a price. He'd sent thousands upon thousands of Herolen to their deaths in battle. That was their purpose in this world-to fight, and often to die, so that the light of Holvareh could shine where it otherwise did not.

But this is not battle, he thought. There is no honor in this. They will be slaughtered like pigs for a feast. A shameful death.

He had no choice. He hated the necessities of battle that forced his hand, but there was nothing else he could do.

The battalion commander was escorted into the tent. "You wished to see me, General?"

"Yes, Commander. Sit down. I have some unpleasant news to deliver."

37.

A red dawn was bleeding into the eastern sky when Gerin and Balandrick returned to the Hammdras with Naragenth's book.

They found Hollin and Abaru napping in one of the guard rooms at the base of the gate tower. Gerin debated with himself whether he should wake the wizards or let them rest awhile longer. It only took him a moment to decide to leave them be. Who knew what they might face that day? They all needed whatever rest they could get.

As soon as he stepped onto the wall-walk he could sense a subtle alteration in the air, like the change that preceded violent storms in summer. The sky was clear of all but a few undernourished clouds, so he knew this was no ordinary storm building.

They found Warden Khazuzili, the Archmage, Kirin, and Lord Commander Medril looking out toward the Havalqa camp. "What's that I feel?" he asked them. "Is that coming from the circles they made?"