"I know how it sounds, but I'm telling you, I can sense where everything is around us."

"I don't doubt you, my lord," said the captain.

Laysa was far more concerned. "Do you feel well? Do you have a fever?" She held the back of her hand against his forehead. "Are you sure these dreams haven't made you jumpy? That you're seeing things you want to see?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Something's happening to me. I don't know what it is, but it's real. I wish Gerin or Hollin were here. They might be able to explain it."

She took his hand and held it between her own. "I don't know what to tell you."

"I know you doubt this, and that's fine. I would doubt it, too. But tomorrow I'll show you."

"And if what you hope to show us doesn't work?" she asked.

"Don't worry. It will."

Rundgar was shoveling dirt onto their fire while Therain stared off into a line of trees to their left. "There's a wild dog in there that's been following us for a few days," he said. "It's hungry, and it's been hoping to find sc.r.a.ps in our camps."

"And you know this how?" Laysa asked.

"I told you. I can feel it. The way I sensed the deer. I'm going to call it to us."

She regarded him with a look of worry tinged with more than a little fear. She's concerned her new husband is insane. It's time to show her I'm not.

At least he hoped that's what would happen. Maybe he truly was crazy. Did crazy people ever understand that about themselves? Wasn't that lack of critical insight one of the signs of being crazy to begin with?

Enough of this. He could sense the dog keenly, hunched down just inside the tree line, waiting for them to leave.

Come here, he called out with his mind. Willing his thoughts toward the hidden presence in the trees. Come to me. You won't be hurt. Remain calm. Do not attack.

An undernourished, scraggly dog burst from the trees and raced toward him. He heard Laysa gasp. Rundgar watched its approach impa.s.sively, though Therain noticed the captain kept his hand on his sword hilt. G.o.ds above me, the man doesn't even trust a dog.

The mangy dog stopped in front of Therain and prostrated itself, its tail thumping in the gra.s.s. Therain bent down slowly and scratched it behind the ears.

Laysa was wide-eyed. "You called to it?"

"Yes, with my mind."

"My lord, perhaps the wizard blood in your family is causing this," said the captain.

"Maybe, though I'm no wizard, at least according to Hollin's crystal."

Laysa stepped forward and carefully extended her hand toward the dog. Therain cautioned the animal that she meant no harm and that it was not to bite or growl. It obeyed him, and he sensed contentment and happiness from it as she, too, scratched its ears.

"I'm amazed," she said. "It's like a story come to life."

Therain got some food from his pack and fed the dog, which devoured it greedily. "I'm going to keep him," he said. "I'll call you Kelpa."

"Why that name?" asked Laysa.

"When I was a five, I got a dog and named him Kelpa. He was one of the few things in our house that did not favor Gerin or Claressa. They both hated him, and he hated them. Which was why he was my favorite."

5.

The walled city of Urkein on Hreldol, the largest of the Pelkland Islands, still bore the scars of the siege it had endured at the hands of King Bessel Atreyano and his eldest son Abran more than two decades past. The ma.s.sive stones flung from the Khedeshian trebuchets had crushed the battlements in a score of places and gouged enormous pits in the face of the wall. A section of the northern expanse had completely collapsed after Khedeshian sappers dug their way beneath the foundations and lit a ma.s.sive fire beneath them. After King Qadir's surrender, the Pelklander stonemasons did their best to sh.o.r.e up the sagging section, but in the end they decided to demolish it and rebuild. The new section, and the repairs to the pits and gouges in the wall's face, were easily spotted, even from ships out in Heldekar Bay, like the mottled flesh on an old man's hands.

King Daqoros had been a child when the siege occurred and his father shamefully surrendered to the b.a.s.t.a.r.d king of the mainlanders; he himself had been taken as a hostage for five years to ensure Qadir's compliance with the treaty. When Daqoros first returned to Hreldol the repairs in the walls galled him, visible monuments to his people's everlasting shame. The sight of them never failed to make his breath catch in his throat, his heart thud almost painfully in his chest. He begged his father to tear down the entire northern face of the wall and rebuild it so it was complete and whole, the scars of the siege erased completely, obliterated from the physical world if not from his memory. But Qadir refused. The walls were strong, he said. That was all they needed. And the cost to do what Daqoros asked, on top of the tribute they were forced to pay to the Khedeshian throne, would bankrupt them.

If the walls were so strong, Father, why did you surrender? Daqoros thought as his carriage rolled along the cobbles of the Tureld Road toward the city's main gate. If the walls were strong enough, why was I taken away into bondage for five years to be humiliated in the house of a foreign king?

He kept the curtains of his carriage closed. He had no desire to see the walls that had failed them, though even without seeing them, the shame still burned hotly within him.

In one respect his father had been right. To level and rebuild the walls was too costly. The treasury could not support such an undertaking. Not with his other plans already in place and moving quickly to fruition.

Daqoros's well-guarded carriage reached the Tuothon, the palace built upon the very spot where their legends said the G.o.d Murakos had fashioned Father Hrona, the first Pelklander, from the mud and stone of the island. Murakos had cut open his wrist and let the blood drip on the lifeless statue, infusing it with life and will. Daqoros knew the tale. "You will be the father of a mighty people," the G.o.d said to Hrona. "I grant these islands to you and your descendants. Remain true to my faith and they will be yours until the end of time."

When settled in the palace, Daqoros summoned three of his wives to his bed, where he relieved himself of the s.e.xual urges that had been building in him so he could clear his mind. After spilling his seed into Jyunel, he sent them away, bathed, then retreated to his council chamber and sent for the Darom.

The four men who comprised the king's advisors arrived shortly and seated themselves after bowing low to Daqoros. He knew they had been gathered with their spies, who recently returned from the mainland, and he was eager to hear what they learned.

"Tell me, Kadahm, what is happening in the land of our enemies?" he asked.

The senior advisor of the Darom, an old man with a wind-burned face and a beard the color of rusty steel, inclined his head toward his ruler. "Your Grace, our most recent intelligence indicates the Khedeshians are vulnerable. Despite breaking the blockade of the Havalqa invaders and repelling the land invasion, they are fearful of incursions. The bulk of their fleet now patrols the waters north of Gedsengard, and the king's eyes are on the Threndish border."

"Are the rumors that these Havalqa invaders have taken Turen to be believed?"

"Yes, Your Grace," said Kadahm. "But I believe Ormo has more information in that regard."

"Your Grace," Ormo began, "these foreigners have indeed taken Turen, and much of Threndellen as well." He absently tapped his fat, bejeweled fingers on the table as he spoke. "They have not yet taken Trothmar, though it appears only a matter of time before it falls or King Kua'tani surrenders. These Havalqa are fearsome soldiers, and have not lost a battle since their defeat at Almaris. They have pushed all the way to the Bedan Plains in Armenos."

Daqoros clenched his jaw at the mention of a king surrendering to an enemy, even if the king was a despised fool. "Where are these Havalqa getting their men? They cannot have brought so many with them, even if their fleet is as big as reported. Are they using conscripts?"

Ormo leaned his round face over the table, as if about to impart a great secret. "No one knows for sure, Your Grace, but my spies have heard rumors of a magical door that opens into the heartland of these Havalqa far across the sea. Through it, they bring a nearly endless number of soldiers."

"Bah," said Kadahm with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Your spies are drunkards or liars, or both."

Ormo bristled. "I tell you, I heard from more than one of my men that soldiers march out of the royal compound of Turen day and night, but none go in! There is some black conjuring happening with these invaders, I am certain of it."

Kadahm rolled his eyes but made no further comment.

"What else do we know of these invaders?" asked the king. "Why are they here? Will they turn their eyes toward us?" The thought chilled him. If the Pelkland Islands were to face an invasion of their own, all of his plans would be for nothing.

"Unfortunately, we know little, Your Grace," said Kadahm. "They do indeed seem to have come from lands across the Maurelian Sea. They appear particularly interested in the Khedeshians, especially their new king, Gerin Atreyano."

"A sorcerer of some kind, is he not?"

"Yes, Your Grace. It was he who almost single-handedly broke the blockade and routed the Havalqa army about to lay siege to Almaris. The power he unleashed was said to have been formidable. Almost incomprehensible."

"And we have no counter for it, do we?"

"No, Your Grace. Yet his gaze is turned to the north, toward these Havalqa. We do not know exactly what they want with the young Khedeshian king, but our informers do not feel the Havalqa have given up trying to obtain it."

"Do you think they will come after us?"

Kadahm shrugged. "It is impossible to say for sure, Your Grace. But since fleeing Gedsengard, the invaders have kept their fleet at Turen and along the mainland coast. It does not seem they are aware of our existence. If they are aware, they seem disinterested."

Daqoros was conflicted. On one hand, he was relieved that the attention of the invaders was turned elsewhere. On the other hand, he was annoyed that if they were aware of the existence of the Pelklanders, they did not consider them a threat, or a people worth the attempt to conquer.

No matter. They are a distraction. All that matters is that they have drawn the might of our enemy away from us and left them vulnerable to my plans.

"We will launch our attack as soon as possible," he announced. There. It was said. There would be no turning back. A king did not change his mind about such matters.

Nolmaar cleared his throat and regarded Daqoros evenly through his spectacles. "Your Grace, would it not be prudent to wait until we have more ships?"

"I will wait no longer," said the king. "I have spoken, and you will see that my desires are carried out. The longer we wait, the more chance that Khedeshian spies will discover what we are doing, and then the element of surprise will be lost. I want only the coastlands that are rightfully ours. Not one acre more, but also not one acre less. I have no desire to steal from the Khedeshians the way their ancestors the Raimen stole from us."

"Your Grace, I must in good conscience point out that to hold as much land as you intend to recapture will leave our islands almost defenseless should either the Khedeshians or the Havalqa a.s.sail us."

"Once we have a firm foothold on the mainland, the Khedeshians will do nothing," said the king. "They cannot afford to leave their own waters defenseless against their enemy. And the Havalqa, as you have just pointed out, have taken no notice of us."

"That is true, Your Grace. They have taken no notice of us yet, but they might, especially if they learn that the bulk of our forces are on the coast."

"That is a risk we must take. Prepare our captains for war. I have dreamed of this day since I was a boy. We will return our people to the glory we once knew."

The men of the Darom rose as one, bowed to their king, and left to ensure that his will was done.

6.

The G.o.ds take me, Hollin. Look at this."

Abaru held up a shallow porcelain bowl decorated with an intricate spiral pattern. He had lifted it from a velvet-lined wooden cask partially hidden by vellum ma.n.u.scripts he'd been removing from a wide, cluttered shelf in the Varsae Estrikavis, where he and Hollin were working. His hands trembled with excitement.

Hollin craned his neck to look at the bowl. He was seated at a nearby table carefully sorting parchments and scrolls. "What is it?" he asked. "I mean, other than a bowl."

"This belonged to Demos Thelar! The wizard who created the awaenjir and methlenel!"

Hollin smiled. "Yes, I know who he is." He joined Abaru at his table and studied the bowl. "What does it do?"

Abaru gave him a withering look. "It doesn't do anything! It's just a bowl. But according to this inscription"-he tapped his finger on the tarnished bronze plate inset on the lid of the box-"Demos Thelar used it in some of his early experiments when he was trying to create the first methlenel."

"Ah. His soup bowl. I think I can still see some porridge in the bottom."

"You're utterly hopeless."

"I do my best."

Abaru looked around the gallery. "I still can't grasp the fact that we're not in Osseria. What would happen if we knocked a hole in the wall? What's out there? A void? A landscape? A sea?" The Varsae Estrikavis had no windows and no doors leading out of it save the one opened by the Scepter of the King.

"Gerin and I discussed that once, but decided there were no doors and windows for a reason and left well enough alone. Which surprised me."

"A case of prudence. Perhaps the lad is growing wise."

"We can only hope. Though his rashness and his intuitions have proved invaluable, I must admit."

"Do you think Naragenth ever added to the library himself?"

"I can't believe he wouldn't put his own contributions here. It's the safest place he could have kept them, since only he seems to have had access. And his staff was found here, arguably the most precious item in this entire place."

"Maybe they're hidden. Without the design of the library or a way to look around outside to see if there are missing s.p.a.ces, there could be an entire other wing devoted to the first amber wizard himself. We'll have to look for secret doors."

Hollin snorted. "You'd think Naragenth would have been satisfied with hiding the entire library in another world, Harel. But maybe you're right. Maybe he had some kind of secrecy fetish."

Abaru's heart skipped a beat when Hollin called him Harel by mistake. It was the third time since Abaru's arrival in Almaris that Hollin had called him by the wrong name. He'd thought nothing of it the first time and jokingly corrected Hollin, but the other wizard seemed not to hear. When he teased Hollin about it later, he was startled when Hollin quite sincerely claimed to have no recollection of it. The second time it happened, Hollin had been looking right at him and called him Versan. Abaru asked who Versan was, and added, "Come now, you can only have one friend as large and handsome as me!"

Hollin shook his head and asked Abaru to repeat himself. When he did, Hollin once again said he didn't remember calling him by the wrong name.

And now it had happened a third time. Hollin's eyes had an unfocused, faraway look in them that made Abaru's breath catch. The G.o.ds preserve me, what is happening to him? He was no longer willing to dismiss this as inconsequential. Something was wrong.

He feared his friend might be suffering from tevosa, a rare disease that sometimes afflicted wizards later in life. They began to lose their memories of the present, unable to recall who they were speaking to just moments before. They also confused the present with the past as distant memories became more and more real to them.

He knew that sometimes the effects never became worse than what Hollin suffered from now-the confusion of names, and the kind of faulty memory that also afflicted nonwizards of an advanced age. But the disease could also ravage, stripping away so much of a wizard's mind that his personality was destroyed, leaving little but a demented sh.e.l.l that could linger for years before finally, mercifully, dying.

Abaru had known only one wizard who suffered from it. Old Hop, as he'd been known, had lingered for almost five years after the disease made its undeniable appearance. The final year of his life he'd been confined to his bed, unable to care for himself, entirely unaware of those around him while he held conversations-and sometimes violent arguments-with the long dead ghosts of his past.

He was unsure if he should say anything to Hollin. There were no spells that could determine the presence of tevosa, and no magic to cure it. Telling his friend might only alarm him needlessly, make him wonder if normal forgetfulness for a wizard his age was a sign of something sinister. Was he certain enough to speak his fears aloud? Once said, such a thing could never be unspoken or forgotten.

He decided he would watch Hollin carefully for more signs of the disease, and have a candid conversation with Gerin. The more people keeping an eye on Hollin, the better.

Abaru returned the bowl to its box and continued to search for records pertaining to the Vanil. What little they had found was piled on the center of a table.

After a few more hours of fruitless searching, the two wizards took a break and went for a walk along one of the palace terraces to clear their heads before resuming the task at hand.

Returning, they read through the new writings they'd found about the Vanil, but the parchments held no information they hadn't already found elsewhere. Hollin finished reading the faded ink on a brittle scroll, then settled back into his chair and crossed his arms.