Telemachon dismissed her with a weary gesture. "Shoot me if it will make you feel better. But please take care not to damage this fine chair. You see, I am somewhat insubstantial." To illustrate the point, he reached out and passed one hand through a stack of books resting on the corner of his desk.

"You're an illusion," Aeron realized. "A programmed spell, designed to appear under the right conditions. But how are you able to converse with us? I always thought that such phantasms could only be crafted at the time of the casting."

The spectral mage offered a weak smile. "I developed a certain refinement to that spell, young Aeron. Great mages are fond of doing such things, you know. But you are essentially correct. I was to appear when you entered this room in the company of someone named Eriale."

"Five years ago, you saw that this moment would come to pass?" Aeron asked in disbelief.

"Unless I made a very lucky guess, that would seem to be the case," the phantasm replied. "Remember, I was an archmage and an accomplished diviner."

Now that he'd had a chance to study it, Aeron could see that it was indeed a spectral image, shimmering with a faint light and somewhat translucent. No sounds accompanied its movements or gestures, just the tired voice of Telemachon responding to his statements and questions.

"You knew that Oriseus was going to kill you," Aeron said slowly.

The specter nodded. "That, too, I saw."

In the corner of his eye, he saw Eriale relax her stance and lower her bow. "Then why didn't you flee or decline to face him?" she asked. "How could you walk into your own death with your eyes open?"

"I had to," the image replied. "You see, if I hadn't confronted Oriseus when I did and in just the fashion I chose, Aeron would have been lost."

"Lost? What do you mean?" Aeron asked.

"You would have touched the Shadow Stone only to be consumed by it, as were the others," the specter stated bluntly. "And there would be no one today who might have a chance to undo the evil that Oriseus has wrought."

"So why didn't you warn me yourself, before your death? And then avoid the confrontation with Oriseus?" Aeron glanced at Eriale, but she only returned a blank look.

The illusionary wizard shrugged. "It was necessary to keep you in ignorance in order for you to continue your studies under Oriseus's tutelage. As events developed, you were cautious, suspicious of Oriseus's intentions. But you were not too cautious. It was necessary for you to stand before the Shadow Stone, and that you would never have done if you feared Oriseus too much." The specter seemed to sigh and offered a wry smile, an amazingly lifelike expression. "It was a fine line to walk, indeed."

Aeron sat down heavily on an empty stool, still stunned by the illusion's revelations. "I cannot believe it," he said. "You sacrificed your life merely to ensure that I would escape the Shadow Stone's influence?"

The eyes of the spectral Telemachon hardened. "No. I gave up my life because it was necessary in order to preserve all of Chessenta from a blight, a curse, of unspeakable evil. You, Aeron Morieth, are the only instrument by which that curse may be undone."

"How? What can I do?" Aeron asked.

"Destroy the stone," the image replied. "It's the source of power for Oriseus's spell. You do not have the strength or the skill to interfere with the great magic that Oriseus has worked-no one does-but the weak link in the chain is the stone. For all its mystical might, it is nothing more than a common rock, altered in appearance by the unthinkable power it contains."

"I know a few spells that might suffice," Aeron said. "The lightning-spell might do it. Or a spell of breaking."

"Neither will be of use to you. Any magic that you cast at the Shadow Stone will be absorbed by it, tainted. You can't drown a river, Aeron."

"Then how am I supposed to destroy this thing? With a sledgehammer?"

"Nor can you risk touching it, Aeron. If you come into contact with the Stone, it will absorb and corrupt your very spirit, just as it affected the others who fell to its influence five years ago."

Eriale spoke. "That doesn't leave many options."

"I could contrive some kind of physical blow," Aeron mused. "Drop a heavy rock on the stone from a great height, something like that, perhaps. It seems like a crude answer to the challenge, though."

"My time is running short," the phantasm said. Already it was growing fainter as the magical energy that had been stored for years depleted itself. "Aeron, I suspect that the stone would survive any common attempt to break it through physical force. Put it to the test, but I feel this to be true. Perhaps there is a way to turn its own power against it... "

The phantasm continued to fade. "Wait!" cried Aeron. "How could I do that, if I can't use my magic against it? What do I do next?"

"I saw that you would have a chance," the image whispered, now nothing more than a white blur of light.

"Did you see if Aeron succeeds?" Eriale asked. "Or what steps he takes?"

"No," the voice said. "I could not see the Shadow Stone itself. It defeats divinations . . ." With a last glimmer of light, the image faded away completely, leaving nothing but an empty chair. The room felt empty and abandoned now, as if some watchful presence had left forever.

Eriale relaxed her guard, looking to Aeron. "He's gone."

Aeron nodded, his mind racing with possibilities. "What could he mean by turning its own power against it? How could you do that?" Scowling, he sank down into the dusty chair behind the desk.

* * * * *

They waited until well after dusk before leaving Telemachon's old chambers. Again, they slipped through the Masters' Hall without any trouble; Aeron had come to the conclusion that many of the wizards and students were not present in the college halls. Some might have been away on missions similar to the one that had sent Master Crow to Maerchlin, while others might have been on the march with Cimbar's armies. Aeron didn't think it wise to attempt to find out, not for the sake of assuaging his curiosity.

They circled back to the wall they'd scaled to get inside the college, where Baillegh was waiting faithfully. After a hurried change into their traveling clothes, Aeron led Eriale to the edge of the grounds, staying away from the buildings. As night fell, the cloying mists and rain grew heavier, precipitated by the cold waters of the harbor and the nearby sea. It made for a cloak of dense fog that restricted visibility to a dozen yards or less and deadened all sound. Aeron could have marched a company of troops around the college without being spotted under the current conditions.

Ahead of them, the dark shape of the new pyramid loomed up through the mists, disappearing into the blank vapors overhead. Aeron circled the site once, picking his way through worksheds and tumbled piles of stones to be shaped and cut. He kept a close eye on Baillegh; the hound's senses were far keener than his own, and she'd smell danger before he saw anything. The few workmen who'd been here earlier in the day were long gone, and Aeron was surprised by how lonely the place felt even at the same time that it threatened him.

"Something feels wrong here," Eriale said quietly.

"You're right," said Aeron. "The Weave, the magic that exists in all things, is wrong here. Poisoned."

"Let's do what we have to and get out of here."

"I hope it's that easy," Aeron said. He paced the ground where the stone slab he'd first entered the shadow-plane through had stood. It was not there anymore, which he did not find too surprising. With the amount of work Oriseus was doing here, the stone marker was only in the way. "I'm going to have to cast a spell to carry us into the shadow-realm. The door we used before isn't here anymore."