“You know who, and you know when.”
The iron grip vanished. Tol spun, but the fellow was quick-and lost in the throng of people.
The fellow must have meant Valaran and her customary visit to the fountain four marks before sunset. Yet how could the murderer know of Tol’s rendezvous with Valaran, unless she’d been forced to tell him? Fear and fury filled Tol.
He would keep the date. If Valaran were harmed in any way, the hooded stranger and any who aided him would pay severely This Tol vowed as he remembered his man Gustal, victim of his last encounter with the smooth-voiced killer.
All Daltigoth took on a festival air that afternoon. The streets were full of people celebrating the beginning of the new Tower of Sorcery. They gathered in huge crowds outside the Inner City, gazing up at the vast surrogate tower. Most cared not a whit about the magical orders or their progress, but gladly seized upon the ceremonial day as an excuse for revelry. People danced in every street, and wine flowed.
Tol consulted with Narren about his coming meeting. Narren agreed the masked killer was hardly the sort of go-between a gently raised girl like Valaran would use, so the meeting was likely a trap. Narren also agreed Tol had no choice but to go. In the end, his only practical advice was that Tol should wear a mail shirt under his jerkin, to fend off back-stabs and thrown knives.
When the sun dipped into the foothills west of the city, Tol clasped hands with Narren and bade him farewell.
“May the gods go with you,” Narren said. Grinning, he added, “Better yet, may the Dom-shu sisters go with you. They’re the equal of any masked strangers!”
Tol took his leave without comment. He had no intention of involving Miya and Kiya-and risking their lives, too.
The vast palace square was nearly empty when he arrived. The guards at the gate knew him by sight now, and waved him through. In the plaza was a line of head-high iron tripods; each would hold a burning torch after nightfall. The double line of tripods ran from the palace steps to the edge of the wizards’ garden.
Tol entered the west end of the garden, hurrying to reach the fountain on time. To his surprise, he spotted couples strolling along the shadowed paths inside the sorcerers’ sanctuary-courtiers with ladies on their arms. Apparently Yoralyn and her colleagues had opened the grounds to the emperor’s guests for this occasion, suspending their sleep spell.
Tol circled the large fountain quickly. The water in the basin was dotted with windblown flower petals. He rounded the end of the fountain and saw three people ahead, by the brim of the stone-lined pool. Yoralyn, Oropash, and Helbin seemed to be waiting for him; they watched his approach. Tol slowed to a walk.
“Welcome,” the elderly sorceress said. “I regret having to lure you here under false pretenses, but we needed to speak with you, and the matter is sensitive.”
“You sent for me? I thought this involved Valaran-where is she?” Tol said sharply.
“With her family, I assume. Lord Valdid must be consumed with preparations for the banquet tonight.”
Some of Tol’s tension eased. He’d mistaken the hooded messenger’s words. The message had come from the wizards, not Valaran.
“Where is the hooded spy who brought your message?” he asked. “Do you know he murdered one of my men?”
The three mages exchanged looks of concern.
“He’s merely a courier. I am sorry if he caused trouble,” Yoralyn said with apparent sincerity. “He’s useful, but volatile and dangerous when cornered, I admit. Perhaps your man unnecessarily provoked him? In any event, we asked you here for a good reason-so we could return Morthur’s ring to you.”
Helbin stepped forward to offer Tol the sapphire ring, saying, “It’s harmless now. Its power has been dispelled.”
Tol put the ring in his belt pouch. Angry at the casual dismissal of Gustal’s death, he gave the mages a quick nod and moved to leave.
“Wait.”
Yoralyn, suddenly bereft of her all-knowing air, said, “Master Tol, we must admit we cannot determine why you are immune to magical influence. It’s most perplexing to us. Will you stay a while-that we might ask you some questions?”
“Be brief,” he said curtly.
“Have you always been immune to magic?” asked Oropash.
Tol tersely related his encounter with Morthur at the family farm. “Since that first time, I’ve not felt any magic,” he finished.
“Have you undergone any ritual or treatment, or drunk a potion?” Oropash said, sounding desperate.
“No.”
“Were you ever given an amulet or artifact?” Yoralyn asked. “Of any sort, no matter how small?”
“No.” As soon as the word was out of his mouth, Tol remembered the Irda relic. “Well, maybe,” he amended. “I found this, years ago, in some ruins overlooking the Caer River.”
He dug into his belt pouch and produced the small circlet of braided metal and black glass. All three sorcerers looked thunderstruck.
“Merciful Mishas!” Oropash exclaimed, his pink face growing redder. “Is that-?”
“It is,” said Helbin, nodding gravely.
Tol said, “I was told it was a relic of the Irda, but no one in Juramona knew just what it was.” He held it out to them. They shrank from the artifact as from a deadly snake.
“It’s called a millstone,” Yoralyn said, pale blue eyes fastened on the small circlet. Her voice fell to little more than a whisper. “I’ve seen drawings of them in very ancient palimpsests. They were made by the Irda to protect their temples and palaces from malefic forces, like dragons and angry gods. Nullstones absorb magical power. They consume it, as a starving man devours food.”
Shrugging, Tol put the millstone away. “So I guess that explains my immunity.”
“Young man, what you possess is very dangerous! I advise you to get rid of it!” Oropash said.
Tol folded his arms. “Seems a very useful thing to me.”
“Listen to me, Master Tol!” said Yoralyn. “Long, long ago, in the time the bards call the Age of Dreams, the mighty Irda flourished in a power and glory that not even the empire of Ergoth can match. Created by the Dragonqueen herself, they feared neither mortal being nor god. To protect themselves against the powers of Light and Neutrality, they made these millstones-some as large as the Imperial Palace! Thousands of small ones, like yours, were used in every building the Irda erected. Most have been lost or destroyed in the terrible wars since the Irda fell. I am ninety and five years old, and this is the first I’ve ever seen.”
Yoralyn paused to draw a deep breath, staring into Tol’s eyes. “Do you understand?” she asked. “Nullstones are extremely rare now and, because of what they can do, much sought after by those few who know their power. The emperor himself does not possess such an artifact! There are forces abroad in the world who would level an entire city to obtain an Irda millstone. If it becomes known you have one, you’ll be hunted and hounded to your death, along with everyone you care about!”
Her words hung in the air, sharp as daggers. Tol was amazed to think he’d been carrying such a thing for two years, unrecognized, in his pouch. It certainly explained his odd immunity to magic, as well as his inability to make Morthur’s. ring work for him. But should he get rid of it now, when he’d only just learned of its power?
“Can it be destroyed?” he finally asked.
“Smashing or melting it should do it. Nullstone metal is not as hard as ordinary iron, and the band’s power resides not in the metal itself, but in the wholeness of shape and the spells laid on it in construction,” Helbin said.
There was silence again as Tol pondered this information.
“Yes, destroy it,” Yoralyn said, reading the uncertainty in his face. “It will be the death of you if you don’t.”
He bowed to them. “I will take care of it. Will you pledge to keep this a secret among us?”
She put out her bony hand, and Oropash and Helbin clasped it. “We swear not to speak of this to anyone else,” Yoralyn intoned. The two men echoed her oath.
