'Lord Styrax,' Larim said, in carefully measured tones. In the stillness the white-eye mage's deep voice carried all around the room, echoing up from the tiled floor.

'Lord Larim,' Styrax acknowledged. At last he lifted his eyes from the book and looked directly at Larim. The man wore the patchwork robes of Larat's Chosen, but unlike his predecessor, he had no objects of power sewn into the cloth. Here and there were patches that were encased in silver frameworks, charms of all sorts, but they were all minor, defensive. 'You bring news?'

'Your wyvern has been loaded and awaits your order.'

'Excellent,' Styrax said with a smile. 'How fares the battle?'

Larim shrugged. 'They attack, we defend.'

Styrax could see the man was surreptitiously trying to identify the open book on the desk and he smiled inwardly. Clearly Larim hadn't realised they had been playing red herrings with him, care-fully choosing which books he would see whenever he was in the room.

How disappointing of you, Larim. Even Amber caught on to that one. Today he had picked a book almost at random to read. He had finished his research and solved the puzzle of the heart, so now he was simply waiting for the rest of the Land to fall into place around him.

'A little more detail, if you please.'

Larim's white eyes gleamed as he fought the urge to retort. The Chosen of Larat remained, at heart, as aggressive and argumentative as any white-eye. The more power they gathered, the less willing they were to accept the authority of any other man.

'My coterie tells me they have prevented Chalat from breaking the line. The reserves have joined the battle. Lord Isak's army has not yet engaged; they are stationed in battle order outside Byora.'

'They will have to join the battle soon,' Styrax said confidently. 'Without them Chalat's troops will be slaughtered.'

'Why would he hold back?'

'Why indeed?' Because there's something in Byora he wants – that can be the only reason we've been promised support from the lovely duchess, and why she will provide it. Our friend the shadow feels the pinch. 'Go and join General Gaur,' Styrax said after a moment of thought. 'I will be along presently.'

'As you command,' Larim said icily. He bowed briefly and strode out through the still-open doors. Styrax looked out for a moment and saw the darkening colour of the clouds above the cliff-wall.

'Isak Stormcaller,' he said softly, 'let me educate you on how a master does it.'

He waited a few minutes to ensure Larim was well on his way out of the valley before closing the book. To his mage's senses the library felt dull and dormant; the air was so dry to the taste that there was barely even a flicker of anticipation in his stomach for what he was about to do.

Are the years catching up with me, or does this lack the sense of occasion I felt on Thotel's Temple Plain? he wondered. He stood and looked around the room, ignoring Kiallas's suspicion look. Gesh, the greatest of the winged white-eyes, had abandoned him for the first time since he had arrived at the library. He was busy overseeing their defences, Styrax imagined, leaving the older but no-less-haughty Kiallas as chaperone. So much the better; Kiallas was by far the stupider of the two.

'Kiallas,' he began, noting the slight widening of the eyes, 'have you ever wondered about the puzzle of the heart?'

The white-eye stared at Styrax for a time, then shook his head. 'I do not waste my time with childish games.'

'Of course you don't,' Styrax agreed, 'the duty of the guardians of the library is too solemn for that. I would appreciate it, however, if you would indulge me.' He gestured towards the column in the centre of the library and as he did so, he saw the Litse's hand tighten on the shaft of his javelin.

With exaggerated care Styrax's hand went to a sheath on his belt and he pulled out a trio of stilettos, which he fanned out in front of him. Styrax watched the Litse's face; Kiallas obviously realised it would be foolish to raise the question of what was and wasn't allowed in the library in terms of weapons.

'Please take one,' he said, offering them over hilt-first. Cautiously Kiallas did so, and Styrax walked over to the black stone column. The golden half-sphere at the top gleamed with a warm yellow light, attesting to the purity of the gold that had been used. Styrax knelt down and pointed with one armoured finger to a rune.

'Do you see this rune? Could you put the tip of that knife to the cross-piece?'

'What is all this?'

'I'm going to solve the puzzle, of course, but it requires three daggers to be used at once and I have only two hands. It would be a little undignified if I have to take my boot off,' he said with an apologetic smile, pointing at his armoured foot.

Kiallas didn't share the humour, but it seemed to do the trick nonetheless. Javelin still at the ready, the Litse knelt and placed the stiletto at the appropriate spot, while still contriving to keep his spine as upright as possible. Styrax walked to the other side and took up position. He took a moment to identify the correct runes, then placed the knife-points at the centre of each, one on a horizontal bar across the rune, the other vertical.

'On the count of three, push the stiletto into the stone,' he said.

Kiallas peered around the monument at him. 'In?'

'It will go easily enough. One, two, three.'

The two men slid the stilettos forward in unison, and both felt something inside give way under the pressure. The thin-bladed knives pushed smoothly into the rock until their hilts met the column.

'Now we will turn the whole column to the right,' he said, 'using the handles.' Kiallas, now intrigued, did as he was told and they found it turned with oiled ease until it came to an abrupt halt. Styrax smiled. 'At this point, if it hadn't been for Major Amber, I might have looked a little silly.' He drew one of the stilettos halfway out and turned the column an eighth of a circle back the way it had come. 'Impatience will do that, I suppose,' he added, watching the column rise very slightly as the base moved onto what looked like a sloped track.

Kiallas didn't reply. He was still staring in wonder at the column which had never moved an inch throughout his entire life. Styrax didn't take the lack of conversation to heart; that would be churlish under the circumstances.

Instead, he was still smiling amiably when he whipped one of the stilettos out of the column and into Kiallas's neck.

The razor-sharp blade slid into flesh and bone even more easily than it had into the stone. Kiallas continued to look surprised as his fingers loosened from the knife hilt and his corpse overbalanced. He sprawled untidily on the floor, trapping one elegant wing under his body.

'Interested yet, dear?' Styrax said quietly to the elderly scholar.

Her head remained bent over a parchment; she appeared to have noticed none of the drama being acted out ten yards from where she sat.

'No? Well, I shall not be deterred,' he said and crouched a little lower. He placed his hands on either side of the column and tensed his massive shoulders. With one smooth movement he lifted the column up a good eight inches and let it fall to one side. The solid block hit the tiled floor with an enormous crash, shattering the tiles underneath and – finally – causing the old woman to shriek in alarm.

Styrax respectfully inclined his head to her before looking down into the hole in the ground. There, nestled in a close-fitting depression and surrounded by markings in the same script as those on the column, was a Crystal Skull.

'The Skull of Blood,' he said to himself. 'Three down, nine to go.' He paused. 'Two of which are about to be delivered to me.'

He reached down and pulled the Skull free. He felt a shudder run through the building, followed by a sudden rushing sound that he sensed as much as heard. He stood, taking a deep breath and filling his lungs, and a gasp of pleasure grew into a great laugh as he felt magic flood through his body.