Ferret nodded. "The mage Morhion. And it was the fault of the mage that the two of them were discovered within Darkhold. They were forced to flee before Caledan could confront Ravendas. And by what secret route they managed to escape the fortress, I would give my left hand to know. There are any number of thieves who would pay quite a sum in gold in exchange for that particular information." "Why did Morhion follow Caledan to Darkhold?" Ferret shook his head. He didn't know. "To help Caledan? To hinder him? Who can say, with the mage? Thieves may be treacherous, Mari, but at least with us you always know where you stand. No one ever really knew what Morhion's motives were, except himself, I reckon."
Mari bit her lip in thought. "So Morhion's actions prevented Caledan from gaining his revenge upon Ravendas?" "Exactly."
"And Caledan has never forgiven the mage for that?" "Or himself."
The two were silent for a time. Finally Mari reached out and touched the gouge that Ferret's dagger had made in the wood of the table. "Estah will be mad at you for this, you know."
The thief smiled, displaying crooked teeth. "I know. But she'll forgive me."
Mari paused a moment. "Do you think Caledan will ever forgive Morhion?"
Ferret gazed at her flatly.
"No."
Mari barely saw Caledan at all the next day. He shut himself in his room upstairs after breakfast and did not emerge. Mari helped Estah in the kitchen during the morning and occupied the afternoon with her baliset, strumming softly as Pog and Nog listened drowsily until finally they drifted to sleep on a rug before the fire. It was verging on evening when Caledan appeared suddenly at the foot of the stairs, walking purposefully into the inn's back room. "Get your cloak, Harper," he said. "Where are we going, Uncle Caledan?" Pog asked in a sleepy voice, looking up at him.
"Finish your nap, Pog. You, too, Nog," Caledan told the halfling children. "Mari and I are going to visit someone, that's all."
Mari looked at Caledan in curiosity. "Well, we have to get a look at that damnable book, don't we?" he told her gruffly.
Mari set down her baliset and pulled her cloak about her shoulders. "I wasn't arguing." "That's a change."
The two slipped down the back alley behind the inn and into the city, making certain they weren't observed.
Mari was thankful Caledan had changed his mind. Now they just had to find the mage. None of the companions had seen Morhion in the last seven years, but they knew the place to start looking for him was the laboratory tower to which he had moved after the Fellowship disbanded. The tower stood on the eastern side of the Tor on the Street of Runes, not far from the Temple of Selune. By the time they reached the quiet avenue, the westering sun had sunk behind the tower of the city lord, casting a premature twilight over the Street of Runes.
Caledan brought Man to a halt.
The tower was dilapidated. Dead vines clutched at the timeworn stones like skeletal fingers trying to pry the walls apart. Weeds and witchgrass grew wildly amidst the piles of rubble that had tumbled down from the tower's crumbling buttresses. The high windows stared out over the city like dark, empty eyes, and the peaked roof looked as if it had caved in years ago. A pall hung over the place, a mantle of dusty silence, of decay.
"This is it," Caledan said grimly. "Or was it, anyway."
Man shook her head. It looked as if Morhion's tower had been long abandoned.
"Maybe he's dead," Caledan said with a mock laugh. He gathered his patched cloak about him against the evening chill.
Mari circled the base of the tower, looking for a way inside. The arched doorway had collapsed into a pile of jagged rubble, but there was a dark, gaping crack to one side of the doorway. It looked almost wide enough for her to squeeze through. She shrugged off her heavy cloak.
"What are you doing?" Caledan demanded.
"Something useful," she snapped.
She ducked her head to peer into the crack-and stars flashed before her eyes. She cried out in pain, taking a dizzy step backward as she rubbed her aching head.
"You're right," Caledan said drily. "That's the most useful thing you've done in ages."
"Shut up, Caldorien." Something was wrong here. Very wrong. She began running her hands along the tower's wall. The cracked and weathered stones felt strange, smoother under her touch than they looked. An idea glimmered in her head. She tried to stick her hands into the crevice in the wall.
Her fingers met solid stone.
"It's an illusion!" she whispered in sudden understanding.
"What are you talking about, Harper?"
"The wall, scoundrel. I know it's difficult, but try not to be so dense. Here, feel it for yourself." She grabbed his hand and held it against the stones. "It looks like it's crumbling, but it feels solid."
Caledan's eyes widened in surprise as he felt along the wall.
"I'm willing to bet the rest of the tower is the same," Mari went on. "Someone is using magic to make it look as if it's moldy and abandoned."
Caledan shook his head, frowning.
They heard the sound of a heavy iron bolt, and suddenly a door swung open where a moment ago there had been only blank wall. Golden torchlight spilled out onto the street. Mari and Caledan stared in shock.
A man clad in a simple but expensive-looking robe of pearl gray stood in the doorway. He was tall-far taller than even Caledan-and his face was lost in the shadow of a cowl. The man stood in silence for a long moment, then lifted his hands slowly to push back the robe's heavy hood.
"Caledan Caldorien. It has been some time," the man said, his tenor voice as burnished as brass. He gestured to the open doorway. "Enter."
Minutes later Mari found herself sitting in the study of Morhion the mage, an octagonal chamber at the top of the tower, anxiously clutching a goblet of crimson wine in her hand. She had always thought a mage's work chamber would be a dark and cluttered place, littered with stacks of moldering scrolls and myriad jars filled with foul concoctions. However, Morhion's study was a surprisingly clean and pleasant room. Neatly kept bookshelves lined the walls, and intricate Sembian rugs covered the floors. A small fire burned on the hearth, and dozens of candles bathed the room in a warm glow of light. The air was sweet with the faint, dusty fragrance of dried herbs.
Caledan paced the room in agitation, having drunk the wine the mage offered him in one swift gulp. His shaggy eyebrows were drawn down over his pale eyes. The tension seemed to hang in the air between the two men, an almost palpable thing. Mari did not dare say anything.
Morhion sat at an uncluttered table of polished rosewood, sipping his wine calmly. The mage was a handsome man, one of the handsomest Mari had ever seen. His features were fine and noble, and his golden hair fell about his broad shoulders like a lion's mane. Yet his deep blue eyes were so cold and calculating that Mari found it disturbing to gaze at him for any great length of time.
"You have come seeking something, Caledan," the mage said. "Perhaps you can stop for a moment and tell me what it is before your pacing wears a hole in my floor."
Caledan snorted in disgust and sank down into a leather armchair, glaring at the mage. "That's one thing I never did like about you, Gen'dahar. You always pretended you didn't understand things you knew perfectly well. You know why we're here. It's the book, the one you took from the monastery of Oghma in the Sunset Mountains."
The mage nodded. "The Mal'eb'dala? I suspected as much."
"What do you want with it?" Caledan asked accusingly.