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 to the Forbidden Territory during the hours of darkness have sometimes actually come back.”
Yes. I’d heard stories about that, too. Many men had decided to take the chance for the sake of the treasure. There used to be a gnomes’ bank on the Street of the Sleepy Cat. And there was still a lot of gold in it.
“But those who went during the day have never come back.”
“Where in the tower should I look for the information on Hrad Spein?”
“If it’s there, it’s on the second floor. In the archivist’s room.”
“Traps, locks, guards?”
“No need to worry about that,” the master sniffed. “It all happened too suddenly.”
The old man began coughing into his fist and Roderick came in again with a glass, but the archmagician frowned and waved it aside.
“I’m tired, Harold. The long years hang heavy on my bones. Relieve me of your presence, if you would be so kind.”
When I was already out in the corridor and the archmagician’s apprentice was closing the door, I heard the old man’s weary voice again:
“Hey, Harold.”
“Yes?”
“When are you planning to set out for the Forbidden Territory?”
“In about three days, when I’m fully prepared.”
“Good. Don’t forget that the king is expecting you. Now be on your way.”
I shrugged in irritation—I’d never had any trouble with my memory—and left Artsivus’s apartments without saying another word.
Now I had to see about finding a new place to live, and I knew someone prepared to provide me with one for an unlimited period of time, absolutely free of charge.
“We’re here, milord.” The coachman decked out in velvet livery politely opened the door of the carriage and bowed.
It was several seconds before I realized that my own humble personage had been referred to as “milord.” It felt strange, somehow—no one had ever called me that before.
Well, of course, I could understand the coachman. A man who had been visiting the sick archmagician couldn’t be some kind of low thief, could he? He was more likely some rich count in disguise, someone who had decided to take a ride around Avendoom incognito.
I got out of the carriage and set off toward the main gate of the Cathedral of the Gods on Cathedral Square, which was located at the meeting point of three parts of Avendoom: the Outer City, the Inner City, and the City of Artisans and Magicians.
The priests had managed to grab themselves a huge piece of the city, every bit as large as the grounds of the king’s palace. In fact, to be perfectly honest, Cathedral Square could quite easily have held two of Stalkon’s palaces.
The cathedral was the largest site in all the Northern Lands at which all the twelve gods of Siala were honored. So there was no need to tramp across half the city to find the particular shrine that you were interested in, the temporary residence of some individual god: You could simply come to the square, go in through the main gates that were open by day and night, and then choose the one to whom you wished to address your prayers.
The gods!
I smirked blasphemously.
The gods were not very generous when it came to gracing the world they had created with their own presence. In earlier times, when Siala was young, during the beginning of beginnings, when people had only just appeared, following the elves, the orcs, the ogres, the gnomes, and the dwarves, the gods still walked the roads, working wonders, punishing evildoers, and rewarding the righteous.
But eventually they tired of the vanity of earth, and they left to concern themselves with their own “important” affairs, as the priests called them, affairs incomprehensible to mere humans. I don’t know, maybe they are important, but I don’t have too much faith in the power of the gods. Nothing but stories for snot-nosed little kids, and the ravings of crazy fanatics. Well, naturally, I believe in Sagot and his power, but I don’t really think he was a god. Some say he was just a successful thief in the old times and many stories about his adventures are still preserved to this very day. But the sly priests were quick to promote him to the rank of a god, in order to increase the flow of gold into the coffers of their shrines. Because thieves and swindlers are a superstitious crowd, and they really need to believe in someone.
“Do you struggle with the Darkness within yourself?” one of the two priests standing at the main gates asked me.
“I annihilate the Darkness,” I replied, with the standard ritual phrase.
