“Where is the hooded spy who brought your message?” he asked. “Do you know he murdered one of my men?”
The three mages exchanged looks of concern.
“He’s merely a courier. I am sorry if he caused trouble,” Yoralyn said with apparent sincerity. “He’s useful, but volatile and dangerous when cornered, I admit. Perhaps your man unnecessarily provoked him? In any event, we asked you here for a good reason-so we could return Morthur’s ring to you.”
Helbin stepped forward to offer Tol the sapphire ring, saying, “It’s harmless now. Its power has been dispelled.”
Tol put the ring in his belt pouch. Angry at the casual dismissal of Gustal’s death, he gave the mages a quick nod and moved to leave.
“Wait.”
Yoralyn, suddenly bereft of her all-knowing air, said, “Master Tol, we must admit we cannot determine why you are immune to magical influence. It’s most perplexing to us. Will you stay a while-that we might ask you some questions?”
“Be brief,” he said curtly.
“Have you always been immune to magic?” asked Oropash.
Tol tersely related his encounter with Morthur at the family farm. “Since that first time, I’ve not felt any magic,” he finished.
“Have you undergone any ritual or treatment, or drunk a potion?” Oropash said, sounding desperate.
“No.”
“Were you ever given an amulet or artifact?” Yoralyn asked. “Of any sort, no matter how small?”
“No.” As soon as the word was out of his mouth, Tol remembered the Irda relic. “Well, maybe,” he amended. “I found this, years ago, in some ruins overlooking the Caer River.”
He dug into his belt pouch and produced the small circlet of braided metal and black glass. All three sorcerers looked thunderstruck.
“Merciful Mishas!” Oropash exclaimed, his pink face growing redder. “Is that-?”
“It is,” said Helbin, nodding gravely.
Tol said, “I was told it was a relic of the Irda, but no one in Juramona knew just what it was.” He held it out to them. They shrank from the artifact as from a deadly snake.
“It’s called a millstone,” Yoralyn said, pale blue eyes fastened on the small circlet. Her voice fell to little more than a whisper. “I’ve seen drawings of them in very ancient palimpsests. They were made by the Irda to protect their temples and palaces from malefic forces, like dragons and angry gods. Nullstones absorb magical power. They consume it, as a starving man devours food.”
Shrugging, Tol put the millstone away. “So I guess that explains my immunity.”
“Young man, what you possess is very dangerous! I advise you to get rid of it!” Oropash said.
Tol folded his arms. “Seems a very useful thing to me.”
“Listen to me, Master Tol!” said Yoralyn. “Long, long ago, in the time the bards call the Age of Dreams, the mighty Irda flourished in a power and glory that not even the empire of Ergoth can match. Created by the Dragonqueen herself, they feared neither mortal being nor god. To protect themselves against the powers of Light and Neutrality, they made these millstones-some as large as the Imperial Palace! Thousands of small ones, like yours, were used in every building the Irda erected. Most have been lost or destroyed in the terrible wars since the Irda fell. I am ninety and five years old, and this is the first I’ve ever seen.”
Yoralyn paused to draw a deep breath, staring into Tol’s eyes. “Do you understand?” she asked. “Nullstones are extremely rare now and, because of what they can do, much sought after by those few who know their power. The emperor himself does not possess such an artifact! There are forces abroad in the world who would level an entire city to obtain an Irda millstone. If it becomes known you have one, you’ll be hunted and hounded to your death, along with everyone you care about!”
Her words hung in the air, sharp as daggers. Tol was amazed to think he’d been carrying such a thing for two years, unrecognized, in his pouch. It certainly explained his odd immunity to magic, as well as his inability to make Morthur’s. ring work for him. But should he get rid of it now, when he’d only just learned of its power?
“Can it be destroyed?” he finally asked.
“Smashing or melting it should do it. Nullstone metal is not as hard as ordinary iron, and the band’s power resides not in the metal itself, but in the wholeness of shape and the spells laid on it in construction,” Helbin said.
There was silence again as Tol pondered this information.
“Yes, destroy it,” Yoralyn said, reading the uncertainty in his face. “It will be the death of you if you don’t.”
He bowed to them. “I will take care of it. Will you pledge to keep this a secret among us?”
She put out her bony hand, and Oropash and Helbin clasped it. “We swear not to speak of this to anyone else,” Yoralyn intoned. The two men echoed her oath.
Tol saw the torches in the plaza had been lit, as twilight had fallen. With hasty politeness, he took his leave. “My thanks for all your advice and wisdom. I must go. The crown prince expects me to dine at his table tonight.”
When Tol had departed, Oropash rubbed his sweating palms together. “Will he do it?”
Yoralyn said, “No, I do not think so.”
“He’ll suffer then,” Helbin said darkly.
“Yes, he will.” Yoralyn glanced at the towers of the Imperial Palace, jutting above the darkening trees. “But if that young man manages to keep his artifact a secret, he will transcend his suffering, and one day he may sit upon the throne of Ergoth.”
“Tol has no such ambitions,” scoffed a voice from the deep shadows. A black-garbed figure moved out from the trees. He wore a close-fitting hood.
“Why are you lurking there?” Yoralyn demanded angrily.
“You asked me to come, lady,” the hooded man replied.
“What do you know of Master Tol or his ambitions?” asked Oropash contemptuously.
The masked man put a hand to the back of his neck and untied the string there. With a flourish, he whipped off his hood, revealing ebon skin and closely trimmed curly hair. “Tol and I were boys together in Juramona. We were friends once. I know him as well as anyone.”
Yoralyn’s hand gripped her staff tightly. “Crake, is it true-did you kill in our service?” she said, voice grating harshly.
“A necessary act, lady.”
“Necessary!” Oropash’s round face reflected his obvious disgust.
Crake looked from the horrified face of one mage to another, and he shrugged. “I did it to preserve the secret of our relationship.”
“I made a mistake to hire you,” Yoralyn said. “You are released from our service. Never come here again!”
She departed with haste. Oropash followed her, but Helbin lingered.
“You say you were once a friend of Tol’s, yet you’re willing to fight him, kill him, perhaps. Why so, Crake?”
“That’s my business. I didn’t become what I am by giving away advantages,” Crake said.
“What are you? A soulless spy? A mercenary?”
“We all must live as the gods decide.”
Helbin gave up trying to understand. Shaking his head, he followed his compatriots.
The sky had darkened to dusk. Crake watched the stars emerge for a moment, then brought his attention earthward again, looking the way Tol had taken only moments before.
No, his old friend was not ambitious. But Crake himself certainly was.
Tol strode along the pebbled path, his thoughts racing in many directions. The fear that something might have happened to Valaran had ordered his thoughts at last. He would declare his love to her, tonight. He would find her father and ask permission to wed her. As for the Irda nullstone, he would not destroy it. No, it would be his secret forever. Only a few people back in Juramona even knew he had it: Egrin and Felryn hadn’t recognized it, and no one else had seen it, not even Narren.