had happened, but I didn’t want any magicians who specialized in demons scurrying about after me in an attempt to capture Vukhdjaaz.
Of course, he had to be exterminated, but right now I had to take a necessary risk, otherwise the magicians would shut me away somewhere behind a hundred locks just in order to lure a real live demon into their clutches.
Demons, as everyone knows, are immune to almost all kinds of magic, and therefore represent a substantial and dangerous mystery. A mystery that many generations of magicians have puzzled over. After all, there’s nothing a battle magician would like more than to acquire immunity to his enemy’s spells. And if the Order had a real live demon, then it would do everything in its power to discover the secret of invulnerability to magic. It takes very special objects like the Stones to set the demons trembling. And, of course, demons can also be trapped using the spells on scrolls written by anonymous know-it-alls or the demonologists of the Order.
“How should I know?” I asked, shrugging and raising my honest glance to Artsivus’s face. “That brute disappeared. And what difference does it make now who has this Horse?”
“It can be used, not just to drive demons away, but also to summon them,” the archmagician said wearily, and started coughing again.
“But what have the Doralissians got to do with all this?”
“Well, it happens to be their artifact. The Filanders took it from the goat-men about twenty years ago for trying to cheat them in a horse sale. It was all fair and square, of course, according to the terms of the contract, but this Stone was something like a holy relic to the goat-men. They’ve been trying to get it back any way they can. Time and again they’ve tried to buy it back, offering immense sums of money and entire herds of the finest horses, but the Order of Filand has always refused. And it is right to do so. The Stone contains a great power, although only magicians with a diploma in demonology can control it. And also the demons themselves.”
“You mean to say that if this Stone falls into the hands of a demon . . .”
“No one knows what would happen then. The demon could release all his brothers from the Darkness or, if he’s clever, keep the Horse for himself. And then no spell in the world could do him any harm. He would be stabilized. Magically neutral, if you know what that term means.”
“Then why hasn’t one of those brutes already grabbed the Horse for himself?” The 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.”
“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
