"I could," Bram agreed reluctantly, "but frankly I doubt it. I've been gone long enough that I would have exhibited the first symptom of a fever by now if I were carrying the sickness." Still sensing Justarius's disapproval, he added grimly, "What would you have me do, ust wait there for everyone, including me, to die?"

None of that matters here," Par-Salian interrupted iismissively. "The tower is protected from such things. The gates would have closed to prevent you from entering if you were carrying a deadly disease."

"So, will you tell me where my uncle is?"

The mages sat, very still, exchanging glances.

"It may not be important to you that a small village of people are dying while we speak," Bram said, unable to hide his frustration, "but those people mean everything to me. They're depending on me to help them; Guerrand is the only chance I have to find a cure."

Bram put a hand over his mouth briefly and willed a measure of calm. "I apologize for my bluntness," he said. "If you don't know where my uncle is, just say so, and I'll be out the front door as soon as I can find it again. But if you do know, tell me, and I'll leave just as quickly to look for him."

"You can't," Justarius said.

Bram's dark head cocked. "Is he dead?"

"I didn't say that." Justarius rubbed his face wearily "In an odd way that would actually make him easier for you to find."

Sensing that Bram was on the brink of snapping, Justarius struggled for a less cryptic explanation. "You have put us in an odd position, Bram."

"I'm in a bit of a bind myself," the nobleman said.

Justarius pursed his lips. "We're not unsympathetic to your plight. However, your uncle holds a position of great importance to the Council of Mages, and to the future of magic, for that matter. By necessity, his location and actual duties are a closely guarded secret." Par- Salian nodded from behind his desk across the room.

"So," Bram said slowly, trying to take in the news, "am I just supposed to go on my way?"

Par-Salian stepped around his desk to close the gap between the three. "We're not sure what we expect you to do," he admitted. "Frankly, most mages are loners. We've not had a family member come looking for anyone in Guerrand's position before."

But Bram would not be so easily put off. "Well, you have now."

"This is not, however, the first time Guerrand has had problems with his family," put in Justarius. "The last such episode led to the catastrophic event that necessitated the creation of Guerrand's current position."

"I don't understand," Bram said, shaking his head.

Justarius waved the subject away. "It is a long and complicated story, and one 1 don't think you'd like us to take the time to explain now. But please understand that our hesitation stems only from the fact that there are many who would pay dearly for the secret of Guerrand's location."

Bram gasped. "Are you suggesting I'm a spy?"

Justarius shrugged. "You may be and not even know it. It's not inconceivable that you've been bewitched by a mage who wishes to learn the secret."

"But I haven't!" cried the young man, yet his tone was more protest than persuasive.

"There is a way for us to determine that for ourselves, if you are willing," suggested Par-Salian.

Bram's glance was hard. "Let's do it."

Par-Salian raised his arms, white sleeves fluttering like the wings of a swan, and before Bram knew what was happening, all three were gone from the study.

The nobleman blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he was with the mages in a small, dark, hexagonal room. No fire burned but the flame of a single golden candle. At the edges of his vision, Bram could make out a few long tables, an iron-bound chest, and behind him a chair.

"Where are we? Is Guerrand here?"

"Sadly, for you, no. We're in my laboratory atop the north tower." Par-Salian reached into a pocket in his zold-trimmed robe and withdrew a handful of sparkling powder. Arcing his arm, he drew a perfect circle of

glowing silver onto the stone floor.

"Step into the circle, Bram," he commanded, his voice grave, eyes on the sphere.

Bram hesitated, instinctively resisting both the pull of Par-Salian's tone and the aura of the magical circle. The area of magic began to sing to him in a chorus of voices that rose from the depths of the floor it encompassed.

"Heed the song, Bram," Justarius said. "It will not lead you astray."

Bram relinquished his will and stepped slowly into the circle, hands twitching expectantly at his sides. Par- Salian opened a chest and pulled out an enormous, rough-cut crystal that he and Justarius suspended in midair between them. The two powerful mages began to swing the gem above his head in ever-widening circles.

Bram tried to shift to a more comfortable position, but found he couldn't move his legs or his arms. He tried to ask the wizards why that was so, but no sound moved his tongue or lips. He could shift his eyes, and that was all.

The mages didn't waver in their concentration. Par- Salian began to chant words Bram couldn't understand, the language of magic. Little twinkling lights, like will-o-the-wisps across the moors, danced about Bram's head and flashed like fireworks behind his eyes. The lights swayed in unison, then flew apart into a chaos of sparks and motion, then came together again to sway hypnotically once more. One after another the pinpoints of light pierced his body until they were no longer visible, but instead of pain or heat he felt only a weightlessness within himself.

Bram slumped suddenly, feeling as if all the energy had been drained from his body. Justarius caught his arm in a strong grip and pulled him from the glowing

silver circle to the small room's lone chair.

"That spell searches all of the corners and crannies of your being and tends to make them sore from the intense scrutiny," the red-robed mage explained. He patted Bram's hand. "It also reads your intentions and motivations, among other things, and I am pleased to announce that your mind is clear, your cause pure," he pronounced, then sniffed at the nobleman's filthy clothing, his dark eyes twinkling with mirth, "even if you are not."

"I could have told you that and saved myself the sore muscles," the young man said.

Par-Salian smiled from where he sat perched on the edge of a table. "Justarius and I agreed that if you passed the examination, we would make an unprecedented exception in consideration of the potential repercussions of this illness, and because, as a non- mage, you present little threat to the security of this secret. We will send you to see your uncle for one day."

Bram mustered his strength to sit tall. "I don't wish to bother such important mages further. Just tell me where I may find him, and I will go there myself."

Again Par-Salian and Justarius exchanged knowing glances. "That's not possible," said the former at length. "He's beyond the normal circles of existence and can be reached only by magical means. In other words, you cannot get there from here-without our help."

"Go clean yourself up," Justarius suggested, "while I prepare a message for you to take to your uncle. Par- Salian will ask Delestrius to rustle up some food, so that some of the magical smoke we've been blowing will disappear from your brain."

Bram found himself hustled out the door, conscious only that he had won. Soon he would see his Uncle Guerrand.