"That's what I was thinking," the halfling said.

He pulled out a tindertwig, struck it on the cobbles, and lit up.

"Dark," Cale oathed again.

Riven scoffed, but Cale heard the doubt in it.

"That makes it all the more important that we learn what this sphere really is," Cale said. "I want to know what in the Nine Hells is going on."

Vraggen's remark about not needing sleep seemed more ominous. What was the mage after?

Riven shifted from foot to foot, as though full of anxious energy. He still had not sheathed his blades.

"Then let's stop standing around in this damned alley and get to where we're going," said the assassin.

"Take us to this loremaster, little man," Cale agreed.

"All right, but . . ." Jak said, pausing to blow out a cloud of smoke. "There's something else, Cale. Your sword. Did you see how it made some kind of connection with the sphere."

"I did," Cale said.

He could no longer deny that his blade's contact with the sphere had changed it somehow.

"So?" asked Riven.

Cale put his hand on the blade's hilt and said, "That's a question for later, not now."

For now, all he needed to know was that its edge could still draw blood.

CHAPTER 9

REVELATIONS

Moving quickly through the broad avenues and daytime street traffic, Cale, Riven, and Jak made their way uptown. Before long, the two-story brick and wood buildings of the Foreign Quarter gave way to the more elegant and architecturally varied worked-stone residences near the Temple District.

While far from the manses of Selgaunt's Old Chauncel, the homes near Temple Avenue, mostly those of academics, artists with wealthy patrons, and priests, nevertheless indicated the relative wealth of the owners. Cut stone facades, glass windows, covered gardens, lacquered carriages, and gated, well-tended patios and walkways were the rule. Sculptures of magical beasts loomed in every plaza and perched on the corners of most roofs, often carved from the black veined marble imported from the nearby Sunset Mountains. Even the sewer grates, into which the road channels drained, were of cast bronze, with stylized dragons as lift handles.

Selgaunt soared skyward on all sides of the neighborhood. Against the skyline to the north, Cale could see the octagonal bell tower of the House of Song towering over the cityscape. Near it stood Lliira's Spire, the elegant, limestone-faced tower of the Temple of Festivals, festooned as always with long, streaming pennons of green and violet.

To the north, on a high rise overlooking Selgaunt Bay, stood the many-towered, sprawling palace of the Hulorn. The complex looked as twisted and warped as the late ruler's mind. The palace was slowly being abandoned by the dead Hulorn's staff, while agents of the Old Chauncel looted its secrets and argued over who would be its next tenant.

"Nearly there," Jak said. "That's it. At the end of the road."

Ahead, alone in a cul-de-sac, stood a stone house of the Colskyran style, called such after the mage-architect who had pioneered the style two decades earlier. Characterized by elaborate, magically-shaped stonework around the doors and windows, stylized downspouts, and colorful tiled roofs, Colskyran buildings could look as grand as any manse. Not so that home, where there were gaps in the roofing—broken tiles that had never been replaced—unrepaired cracks in the stone scrollwork around the windows, and crumbling mortar between the river stones in the low wall that surrounded the property. Broken statuary lay untended in the courtyard. Shrubs, creepers, and ivy had overgrown the lot. Cale thought that the flora must have grown wild and untended for years.

"This is where you Harpers keep your sage, Fleet?" Riven sneered. "Small wonder your people never knew what was going on."

Jak turned on the assassin and his green eyes flared. "You keep your mouth shut, Drasek Riven." In a softer voice, he added, "And I'm not a Harper anymore."

Surprised, Riven looked as though he wanted to say something further but held his tongue.

In truth, Cale too wondered what sort of sage lived in a house like that.

"Jak," Cale asked, "who is this loremaster?"

Jak pursed his lips. His hands went to the pockets of his trousers and he said, "His name is Sephris. Sephris Dwendon. He assisted the Harpers sometimes ..."

Riven chuckled at that.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" snapped the halfling.

Cale interposed before Riven could make a reply.

"Assisted?" asked Cale. "He doesn't anymore?"

"No. Listen, Cale." Jak took a deep breath and said, "He's was a priest of Oghma ... until they forbade him from performing services."

Riven smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but a fierce glare from Jak kept him from saying whatever he'd been contemplating.

"Why?" Cale asked, increasingly dubious.

Jak shifted from foot to foot and said, "Well ... he holds to some unusual ideas. About numbers, mostly, but other things too. I think they think he's insane. Healing spells didn't help him, though."

Cale squatted down to look Jak in the eye and asked, "Numbers? How do you mean?"

"You'll see."

Cale was doubtful, but kept it from his face so as not to hurt Jak's feelings. Still, perhaps Jak's loremaster was not their best play. Maybe Elaena at Deneir's temple would remember them and would help.

"Little man—" Cale began.

Jak shook his head and put a small hand on Cale's shoulder.

"Cale," he said, "I wouldn't have brought us here if I didn't think he could help. Just trust me. I don't think he's insane. I mean—" Jak's eyes found the ground—"he might be, but . . . he's a genius, Cale. Really. The church still takes care of him, despite his illness. It's because he's such an asset to them. He knows things."

Cale looked past Jak to the poorly maintained house. His doubt must have shown on his face.

Jak went on, "He doesn't care about things like the house, and the church doesn't want to pay for a groundskeeper. He doesn't even see people much anymore, but he'll see me. We were friends a long time ago, before he ... started to think the way he thinks."

"And this loremaster is expensive?" Riven asked, amusement in his voice.

Jak stared daggers at Riven. "He doesn't charge, Zhent. But the church requires a 'donation' to see him."

Riven's one eye narrowed and fixed on Jak.

"I'm not a Zhent any more than you're a Harper, Fleet."

"And I believe that as much as I believe that black is white," Jak spat.

"Believe what you will," Riven said, low and dangerous.

"Enough," Cale ordered, before the argument went out of control.

Riven eyed Cale and said, "If I cared what this sphere was—and I don't—I'd tell you you're both fools to consult this so-called 'loremaster.' "

Cale looked him in his one good eye and replied, "And if I cared what you thought, I'd ask."

To that, Riven only stared.

Jak looked at Cale, awaiting a decision.

Cale made up his mind quickly—they really had no other option. He had no reason to think that Elaena could help them, even if she was willing. He would trust the halfling's judgment.

"Let's see what he has to say," said Cale. "It's only coin. If it's a waste of time, we'll know it soon enough." He looked to Riven and added, "You can wait here if you like."

"Oh, no," Riven sneered. "I wouldn't miss this."

With that, the three of them strode for the house. The small gateman's shack stood empty and overgrown, the iron gate unlocked and rusted. They walked a cracked flagstone path through the overgrowth and approached the house. If Cale hadn't known better, he would have thought the place abandoned. He wondered if the loremaster might have died some time before, unbeknownst to Jak.