Arvin shook his head to clear it and realized that Tanju was staring warily at him.
“My mother carried a crystal with her,” Arvin said. “Until… recently I didn’t realize what it was.”
“A single crystal?” Tanju asked, buckling his pack shut.
Arvin nodded, remembering. “An amethyst.”
“How large was it?”
Arvin held his hands about three palm’s widths apart.
“A dorje, then,” Tanju said. “And not a power stone.”
“What’s the difference?”
Tanju rebuckled his backpack. “A dorje is like a wizard’s wand. It contains a single power, and enough psionic energy to manifest that power up to fifty times. A power stone can contain more than one power-I’ve heard of some with as many as six inside them. But each power can be manifested only once.”
“So a dorje is more valuable,” Arvin guessed.
Tanju shook his head. “A dorje can hold only low-level powers,” he said. “A power stone, on the other hand, can hold powers that could normally be manifested only by a master psion. Using a power stone, however, is dangerous. If the psion makes the slightest error during the manifestation, the result can be brain burn.”
Arvin nodded. Whatever brain burn was, it didn’t sound healthy.
“A power stone is smaller than a dorje, then?” he asked.
“Typically, about half the length of a finger,” Tanju answered, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
Arvin thought of the lapis lazuli in his pocket, wondering if it might be a variant on a power stone. If so, perhaps it would allow him to do more than merely manifest a sending. “How do you know what powers a stone contains?”
“The psion must hail it,” Tanju said. “He must send his mind deep into the stone, address it by name, and link with it. Only then will the stone give up its secrets.”
“But how-”
Tanju held up a hand. “I’ve taught you enough for this morning,” he said. “And I must go. I’ve already tarried here too long. Look me up again, when I get back to Hlondeth, and I’ll tell you more.” He paused. “Unless…”
“Yes,” Arvin said softly. “The mind seed.”
“Tymora’s luck to you,” Tanju said. “I hope you find a cleric who can help.”
26 Kythorn, Highsun
Arvin stood and watched the psion and the militiaman trudge up the road, wondering if he’d see Tanju again. The pilgrims had departed from the quarry at dawn; Arvin would be the last to leave the crude stone huts baking under the intense, midday sun. Stepping back inside the hut in which he’d spent the night, Arvin touched a hand to his breast pocket, reassuring himself that the lapis lazuli was still there. He’d already decided what he’d do next. He would use it to send a message to Nicco, to ask the cleric if he did indeed know the restorative prayer that Tanju had mentioned. But first Arvin wanted to try something. If the lapis lazuli really was a power stone, perhaps it might hold other, even more useful powers.
Arvin pulled the lapis lazuli out of his pocket and stared at it, trying to penetrate its gold-flecked surface. Meanwhile, the morning grew hotter. Arvin hooked a finger under the collar of his shirt, fanning himself with it. For just an instant, his mind brushed against something cool and smooth-and multifaceted, like a crystal. But though he tried for some time to connect with it, he was unable to get beyond this point. Eventually, thirst-and the knowledge that time was sliding past-made him put an end to the experiment.
He touched the lapis lazuli to his forehead. Atmiya, he thought, and felt it adhere. Then he imagined Nicco’s face. It took even less time to contact the cleric than it had to contact Naulg or Tanju-within heartbeats, Arvin felt a tingle of psionic energy at the base of his scalp as his visualization of Nicco solidified. Arvin was surprised to see the cleric’s face twisted in a mixture of grief and barely controlled rage. Nicco was staring at something Arvin couldn’t see. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to be an opportune time for Arvin to be asking a favor. Quickly, he amended the message he’d been about to send.
Nicco, it’s Arvin. I’m a day’s journey from Hlondeth. I need to meet with you-tonight. Where will you be at Sunset? And… what’s wrong?
Nicco startled. A moment later, however, his reply came back-terse and angry. You want to meet? Then be at the execution pits at Sunset-if you dare.
Abruptly, the connection was broken.
“Atmiya,” Arvin whispered. The lapis lazuli fell into his palm.
The execution pits? Arvin shuddered. That was what Nicco had been staring at with such a look of grief and loathing on his face. Someone was being publicly executed-and Arvin could guess who.
CHAPTER 15
26 Kythorn, Fullday
Hot, footsore, and thirsty, Arvin hurried through the city. Hlondeth lay under a muggy torpor; the storm clouds that were gathering over the Reach had yet to break. The public fountains he passed tempted him with their cool, splashing water, but he passed them by, wary of drinking from them. Instead he wiped the sweat from his brow and trudged on.
Though Arvin had returned to the city as quickly as he could, it was almost Sunset. But before he met Nicco, there were two stops Arvin had to make. The first was the bakery up the street from his warehouse.
As he drew near the warehouse, he noticed a half-dozen militia standing guard outside. At first, he thought they were looking for him-then he saw the yellow hand painted on the door. Someone had finally reported the stench of the dead cultist. A crowd of people stood across the street from the warehouse, murmuring fearfully to each other in low voices. From inside the building came the sound of a chanted prayer. Arvin found himself making an undulating motion with his right hand-the sign of Sseth. He jerked his hand back and thrust it in his pocket.
He circled around the block to the bakery. Kolim stood on the sidewalk, crumbling a stale loaf of bread for a cluster of tiny brown birds at his feet. They took flight as Arvin approached. The boy looked up, and a wary expression came over his face. He tossed the bread aside and backed up a pace.
“Hi, Kolim,” Arvin said, halting a short distance from the boy. “What’s wrong?”
“They found a dead guy in your warehouse.”
“Really?” Arvin asked, rubbing his aching forehead.
“They say he died of plague.”
Arvin looked suitably grim and glanced up the street. “That’s bad. That means I can’t go back to my warehouse. I wonder what he was doing in there.” His breath caught as the militia turned in his direction. When they glanced away again, he hissed in relief.
Kolim stared up at him. “Why are you breathing funny?”
“It’s nothing,” Arvin hissed angrily. Then, seeing Kolim flinch, he hurriedly added, “I’m fine, Kolim, really. I’m just having trouble catching my breath. I’ve been walking all day. I’m hot and tired-and I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
Kolim nodded, uncertain. “There’s a cleric inside your warehouse,” he continued. “They say everything in it has got to be burned.”
Arvin nodded. He’d expected that. Fortunately he had cached his valuables well away from the warehouse-one of them, at this bakery. “Kolim, remember the ‘monkey fist’ I asked you to keep for me?”
Kolim nodded.
“I need it. Can you go and-”
“Kolim!” a shrill voice cried from within the bakery. “Get inside this instant!”
Kolim’s mother, a dark-haired woman with a chin as sharp as a knife blade, stepped out of the bakery and grabbed Kolim by the ear, yanking him inside. Then she rounded on Arvin. “How dare you come here? Get away from my son.” She glanced up the street and waved, trying to catch the eye of the militia.
Arvin took a step forward, wetting his lips. “I knew nothing about the dead man until just now, when Kolim told me about him,” he said, holding up his hands. “I haven’t been inside my warehouse in days. There’s no danger of-”