A bed was made for me in the middle of the floor, the blankets so flea-ridden that I could scarcely sleep at all. In the middle of the night I was awakened by a small hand touching my face, and when I sat up in alarm, discovered the boy Plekto, who told me that he thought there were robbers trying to get in. Worried for the family, I roused myself and looked around, but found no sign of intruders. When I returned, I found the boy rooting through my possessions again. When I demanded that he stop, he saucily asked me what I was hiding, that I was so secretive.

My good lord Tiamak, I think that your trusted guide Madi is not so trustworthy as you thought, or at least his family is not. Should I find another guide instead? I fear we will have to leave Meremund before this will reach you, but perhaps you can send a letter for me to Kwanitupul advising me what to do.

Against Madi’s urging, I moved the second night to St. Agar’s and found there much more comfortable surroundings. In fact, I have been at the abbey since, and this letter is written in the refectory, which is wonderfully free of vermin. Best of all, the abbot kindly gave me permission to use the abbey’s library, and I found something of interest there.

The book of which we spoke before I left the Hayholt is not to be found here, of course, but I did discover a volume by Tertissis of Gemmia that discusses it. He says of it, ‘the great sin of Fortis is not that he describes the devilish methods of the Old Ones’—by this he means the Norns and their cousins, the Sithi—‘but that he speaks of those methods as though they can teach something to Godly men. These snares of the Devil have driven men mad before. It is said they drove Bishop Fortis himself mad, and it is rumored that he spent his last days in confinement in his own abbey.’ I tell you this, Lord Tiamak, not because I think you do not know the dangers already, but because I fear for any others who might come into contact with it. Have you told the king and queen? I know they would be most anxious for any knowledge of their son, even this, but I would feel very sad if they were exposed to this dreadful book because of me.

Also, although I went to the Princess Idela to examine Prince John Josua’s books on Lord Pasevalles’ behalf, in the course of many distractions and worries in those days I never told Pasevalles what I found. I leave it to you whether he should know about it.

Do please advise me whether I should seek a new guide when I reach Kwanitupul. I remain your servant in God.

Etan Fratilis Ercestris

•   •   •

“Well?” said Aengas.

Tiamak looked up, more than a little startled. Although he had been reading aloud, he had all but forgotten that he had company. “Well what? Am I going to tell Lord Pasevalles about the Treatise? I think not. I think that I will speak only to those who need to know.”

“Like the king and queen?”

“Yes. Eventually. But before I worry and upset them with news about their dead son, I would like to know a bit more about the book, and take time to review the rest of his library.”

Aengas stretched his arms. His large wooden chair, which his servants had erected in a spare bedchamber with all the ceremony of builders raising a miniature cathedral, took up a great deal of room, and although it could be wheeled from place to place, it took two men to do so—three if Aengas was in it. This made for many complications, but Tiamak did not mind them because there were few scholars in all of Osten Ard who knew more about forbidden and ancient books than the former viscount. “In any case,” Aengas went on, “all this about the book was not the question I was trying to ask you, dear fellow. I wanted to know whether you had intentionally given poor Brother Etan into the hands of Hyrka thieves.”

“Oh, that.” Tiamak made a sour face. “I am not pleased to hear about Madi’s family, nor do I doubt I will be dunned for the miserable night’s lodging he gave Brother Etan. Despite what Etan has seen, though, I think Madi is a good man. I have known him for years, ever since my first journey back to Kwanitupul. He is a bit of a rascal, and clearly not the best father, but I swear his heart is good. I have known him a long time.”

Aengas rearranged the Treatise atop the large board that lay on his armrests as a makeshift table. “And you are certain there is no one else you wish to bring into our discussion, like Lord Pasevalles?”

“I am fairly certain, yes. Lord Chancellor Pasevalles is a good man—a very clever man, too—but I think that the fewer folk who know we have this book, the smaller the chance of it slipping out by mischance. Beside, Pasevalles is a devout Aedonite. I do not wish to demand his secrecy and pit his faith against our friendship.”

“But your own faith does not trouble you about it?”

Tiamak smiled. “My faith, old friend, applies only to Wrannamen and is all but mute on the subject of drylanders, let alone the Sithi. He Who Always Steps On Sand enjoins us to seek boldly but not to abandon caution entirely. I think that makes for a reasonable approach. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. The book, what little of it I have managed to translate, is full of ideas both inspiring and terrifying.”

“Lucky for you that you have no faith to be outraged.”

“Oh, I have faith,” Aengas said. “Would you hand me my cup? Bless you. I have faith that mortal Man cannot be trusted with gold or with power over other men. I have faith that learning will always frighten stupidity, and that stupidity will often strike back, sometimes murderously.” He took the cup from Tiamak. Because he could not easily lift it to his lips, he sipped instead from the hollow reed, drawing watered wine to his mouth. “Now, shall we continue?”

Tiamak smiled again. “You renew my own faith that some things truly are eternal, Aengas. You are as cynical as ever you were.”

“More so. My cynicism grows like a weed. Someday it will choke all the weaker flowers like charity and hope that live in my garden.” He cleared his throat. “Now be quiet if you wish me to read this to you.

“Beside these great scrying-stones, which the elders only may use, there are other charms and tokens that can carry such whispers through the aetheric fluids and across great distances. It is said that some of the adepts can speak not just over earthly spans, but across the boundary or veil between the world of living and the cloudy halls of death.”

“God give you good day, Your Majesty.”

Simon looked up. “Ah, Lord Pasevalles. Good to see you.”

“And you, Majesty. May I trouble you for your royal hand and seal on these?”

The king shuffled through the curling rolls of vellum. “What am I signing my name to?”

Pasevalles smiled. “A dozen different things, all of them rather boring, as you may see if you examine them—confirmations of land titles, a report from the royal mint, three petitions begging you for tax relief. And of course the letter from our ambassador at the Sancellan Mahistrevis about the visit of Lector Vidian’s legate. I showed you that already.”

The king frowned. “S’Bloody Tree! Ah, forgive me, Pasevalles, I forget myself when I’m vexed, and this matter is vexing me fiercely. Why must I sign something for our own ambassador? The damnable legate is on his way whether I want it or not.”

“I took the liberty of writing a reply for you to Count Froye, thanking him for his letter. These are the things I must do with Count Eolair gone from the castle.”

Simon thought he heard a note of self-pity. “And you do them very well, man. I realize we ask a great deal of you, between the Chancelry and all else that has fallen to you with the Hand of the Throne gone off with the prince. Don’t think the queen and I will forget this service.”