He raised his right hand slightly above shoulder-level, extended his index finger and moved it rapidly through a series of small circles. A book bound in skin of an indeterminate origin appeared suddenly in his hand, a gray and white feather bookmark protruding from it.

"My father's diary," he announced, lowering the volume and opening it to the feather. "Now here," he said, running his finger down the righthand page, pausing and staring, "he tells how he defeated and destroyed an enemy sorcerer, capturing his spirit in the form of one of the figures. Elsewhere, he talks of some of the others. But all that he says at the end here is, 'It will prove useful in the task to come. If six will not do to force the wards I shall have seven, or even eight.' Obviously, he had something very specific in mind. Unfortunately, he did not commit it to paper."

"Further along perhaps?"

"I'll be up late again reading. I've taken my time with it these past months because it is not a pleasant document. He wasn't a very nice guy."

"I know that. It is good that you learn it from his own words, though."

"His words about forcing the wards--do they mean anything at all to you?"

"Not a thing."

"A good sorcerer would find some way to learn it from the materials at hand, I'm sure."

"I'm not. Those things seem extremely potent. As for your own abilities, you seem to have come pretty far without training. I'd give a lot to be able to pull that book trick--with, say, someone's jewelry. Where'd you get it from, anyway?"

Pol smiled.

"I didn't want to leave it lying around, so I bound it with a golden strand and ordered it to retreat into one of those placeless places between the worlds, as I saw them arrayed on my journey here. It vanished then, but whenever I wish to continue reading it I merely draw upon the thread and summon it."

"Gods! You could do that with a suit of armor, a rack of weapons, a year's supply of food, your entire library, for that matter! You can make yourself invincible!"