"No, but you must not despair," Nysander told him, patting his shoulder kindly. "If he were dead, I would know it. The force of the prophecy is binding us closer with every passing day."

Micum kicked together a pile of driftwood sticks and fished a firechip from a pouch at his belt. "Well, I haven't had any great visions or dreams, but the more I see of this business, the more

I believe it. By the Flame, Nysander, look at you. How can you have gotten here at all?"

"Look at me, indeed," Nysander replied rather ruefully. "One does not return from such a journey as the dyrmagnos sent me on without showing a bit of wear. But there was some value to it. While my body healed, my mind floated free among dreams and visions. I believe I know how to find the temple we seek. It is marked by a large white stone surrounded by black ones. And it is near the sea."

Disappointment settled in Seregil's belly like a bad dinner. "That's it? You're telling me in all the hundreds of square miles around that mountain we have to find one rock?"

"That's not much to go on," Micum noted, echoing his skepticism.

Yet Nysander appeared perfectly complaisant. "We will find it," he assured them. "It does not guarantee our success, but we will find it."

"I've been having dreams of my own," Seregil told him.

"You've done more than that," Micum snorted. "Show him your chest."

Seregil peeled off the bandage and showed Nysander the crusted yellow scab that had formed around the scar. "It must be some kind of sign. Leiteus claimed this was the night the comet would appear."

"Undoubtedly," Nysander agreed. "Whether it is an omen of good or ill remains to be seen. What was your dream?"

Seregil picked up a knife-shaped stone and rubbed it between his hands. "I can never remember much of it, just the image of a figure with a misshapen head looking down at me through water while I drown. Isn't there something you could do to sort of pull more of it out of me?"

Nysander shook his head. "I must conserve both my strength and my magic. What little I have was hard-won and will be needed for what lies before us now. Even the fire I used to signal you was from a spell

Magyana made for me. As for the dream, it must be some sort of preparation for the task ahead."

Micum ran his hands back through his thick red hair and sighed. "Do you think you could be a bit more specific?"

Nysander nodded. "Before the attack on the Oreska I hoped I would never have to tell you. Afterward, I was unable to."

"As Seregil has told you, there is a prophecy which names four persons, the Guardian, the Shaft, the Vanguard, and the Guide. I am the Guardian, and have been since the days of my apprenticeship with Arkoniel. What we have guarded, there below the Oreska House, was a fragment of a necromantic object called the Helm of Seriamaius."

"The bowl," Seregil interjected.

Nysander glanced at him in surprise. "How on earth did you learn that?"

"More visions," said Micum, tossing wood on the fire. The sun was disappearing into the western sea, leaving the stars spread like a diamond veil above them.

"Yes, it was a bowl," Nysander went on. "And then Seregil and Alec brought me the wooden disk. Just before the Festival of Sakor, I sent Seregil after a third object, a crown which had been hidden deep in the Ashek mountains. He knew at once, both by the condition of the bodies of sacrificial victims he found there and the evil magic that surrounded it, that it was related to the disk.

However, I told him nothing and swore him to secrecy. Not even Alec knew."

"I still don't see how you'd get any sort of helmet out of those odds and ends," said Micum.

"Their appearance hides their true form. A powerful protective glamour was placed on them by the necromancers who created them. Who would guess, even having all the pieces in hand, that a lopsided clay bowl, a crystal crown, and a handful of wooden disks could be parts of a common whole?"

"What does it do, when it's all put together?"

"It was created to channel the power of the dark god. No one knows how long it took to forge the different elements, or what magicks were used. It first appeared near the end of the Great War, when it was assembled and placed on a man they called the Vatharna, or chosen one. Fortunately, the wizards of Skala and Aurenen overcame the first Vatharna before he had the opportunity to fully manifest the magic of the Helm."

"You mean to say that this Vatharna of theirs would eventually have all the powers of their death god?" asked Micum.

"No one knows what the extent of its abilities might have been, but there is evidence that even in the short time it existed, the Helm granted its wearer terrible necromantic power. If it had not been dismantled when it was, I doubt anyone could have overcome it."

Seregil shook his head slowly. "Then those old tales of walking dead, armies of them, were true?"

"It is likely there is at least a kernel of truth in them."

"You said dismantled, not destroyed," Micum noted.

"So it was, to the great sorrow of subsequent generations. The wizards managed to reduce it to its component parts, but before they could learn how to destroy them, Plenimaran forces attacked to reclaim them.

When it was clear that the Skalan position would be overrun, six wizards were chosen to flee with the pieces and hide them. Only one was ever seen alive again."

"The one who took the bowl," said Seregil. "Reynes i Maril Syrmanis Dormon Alen Wyvernus. It was he who eventually created that chamber in the lowest vault of the Oreska, and he who passed the onus of Guardianship down to his successor, Hyradin, who passed it to Arkoniel, who passed it to me. Neither the Queen nor the Oreskan Council ever knew of its existence there. Any who tried to learn their secret were killed."

"These Guardians didn't even trust the other wizards?" said Micum.

"Who could be trusted with such knowledge? The Empty God understands nothing better than the dark corners of a mortal heart. Fear, pity, remorse, greed, the lust for power-these are the Eater of Death's most potent weapons."

"Did Thero know?" asked Seregil.

"No, he was not ready for such knowledge." Nysander rested a hand on Seregil's shoulder. "Part of my grief in losing you as an apprentice was the knowledge that you would have been such a worthy successor. From the day took you on, I knew in my heart that you were capable of assuming the burden. When you could not learn the magic, I was devastated. But now I see that I was not mistaken about your worthiness, only about the role which you were destined to play. What you learned after leaving me, the life you went on to, it all prepared you to be the Unseen One."

Seregil scowled. "You think the gods made me a thief and a spy, just so I could steal the disk from Mardus? You think my whole life means nothing more than this one task? I refuse to believe that!"

"No, not entirely," Nysander said. "You recall me telling you that there is always a Guide somewhere, and all the others of the prophecy? Perhaps your life would have been no different if the Helm never existed, but being what you are, you are the Guide. I have speculated on it many times over the years, but it was only after you brought me the disk that I truly began to believe. When you were also able to snatch the crown away from the Plenimarans, I prayed that it was simply good fortune, that by being vigilant I could keep all the fragments out of Mardus" hands and prevent the restoration."

"Then you knew about Mardus already?"

"Only that he was a bastard relation of the old Overlord, a noble of tremendous ability and ambition, and one of Plenimar's most formidable spies. Now I suspect he means to make himself Vatharna."

"He sounds like the right man for the job," Micum said, scowling. "But you still haven't told us where this prophecy of yours came from, or what it says."