question was simply begging to be asked.
“I don’t know where the Doralissians got the Horse from. Perhaps one of the gods gave it to them on a whim, but the Stone has a special property: No demon can take it in his hands unless a human or a Doralissian gives it to him voluntarily.”
Vukhdjaaz is clever. The voice in my head had a superior ring to it now.
“And now I have to find this bauble for you?”
“You get on with the king’s Commission,” the Master of the Order said dismissively. “We’ll search for the Horse ourselves, since you have nothing to do with the business.”
“That’s not what the Doralissians think,” I said, shaking my head.
The goat-men could be a real problem for me in the days ahead.
“I wonder why they decided that Shadow Harold was involved? Either they drew the same conclusions as I did, or someone has set you up, thief.”
“I’ve got plenty of enemies,” I admitted as casually as I could, but something clicked in my head. The cogwheels were already creaking and groaning as all the pieces of this dwarves’ puzzle gradually slipped into place.
“Be careful. The king needs you. Perhaps I ought to give you an escort of magicians of the Order?”
“No,” I retorted hastily. “Thanks for the offer, Your Magicship. It would only be an unnecessary burden for me. I’ll deal with the Doralissians myself.”
“Very well, very well.” Artsivus had recovered his good mood. “It’s your choice, and I shan’t insist, although I ought to.”
“Can I ask a few questions?”
“Yes, of course.”
“What can you tell me about the Stain?”
“The Forbidden Territory?” the old man muttered. “The Order knows practically nothing about it. A white patch on the map of the city and a black stain on the reputation of magicians. We can see the streets and buildings from the tower, but you understand that in this case the eyes should not be trusted.”
“Well, can you tell me at least something about it?”
“You already know how it appeared. . . . Afterward, a black blizzard came swooping down on Avendoom. And then all sorts of things started appearing out of it. The Order of Magicians created the circle with the help of the only archmagician left alive. Artsis was his name. The circle made it possible to erect the wall, and that served as a boundary. No one can creep out of the Forbidden Territory into the residential quarters of Avendoom anymore, and the city folk don’t go poking their noses inside the wall.”
“But what’s happening in there now?”
“Who knows, Harold? After the Rainbow Horn produced such a different effect from what the Order had calculated, the archmagician who had managed to save it died on the way out. His apprentice, who later became the Master of the Order, carried the Horn out of the territory while the blizzard was gathering. And another five magicians were left behind forever in the tower. What happened to them, I don’t know. Or what happened to the inhabitants of the district. As he was dying the archmagician said they had been mistaken about someone.”
“What did those words mean?”
“I don’t know. In one day, or rather, night, the Order of Valiostr lost six archmagicians, including the master, Panarik. When everything calmed down and the wall was erected, they decided to get rid of the Horn, put it somewhere out of harm’s way. Hrad Spein was the ideal place. By that time it was already abandoned and nobody ever went in there. They carefully added power to the Horn so that it would hold the Nameless One at bay, and took it there.”
What a fascinating conversation this was! My head was spinning. How much nicer to be conversing with a pretty woman . . . or with an exotic creature like Miralissa. “But then how did the information about the Horn end up in the tower?”
“After the artifact was buried in Hrad Spein, one of the magicians took the journals recording its hiding place to the old Tower of the Order. At least, I hope he got them there. He never came back from the Forbidden Territory. You see? I know no more than the old women gossiping in the Market Square. I can only give you one piece of advice. Set out at night. I know it seems far more dangerous, all the creatures of darkness are terrified of sunlight, and the night is their natural realm, but . . . The thing is, thief, that those who have gone