Supposing we could even do as you ask—”

“Oh, come!” Gavril said impatiently, sweeping out his arm. “Let us not play such games. Of course you can. You’re Sebeins. You have kept the ancient knowledge.” “The forbidden knowledge,” the second man whispered.

Gavril glared at him. “Yes,” he snapped. “Forbidden.” “Is your highness repudiating his beliefs in order to come to us?” the first man asked.

“No,” Gavril said.

“Then I do not see how we can help you.”

Gavril fumed. They were forcing him to tell them more than he wished to. He did not like the feeling of being cornered, of having less than the upper hand. But for once, he was the suppliant. They did not have to cooperate with him. Nor had he means of forcing them to. Even if he ran back to the palace and called out the guards, these men would vanish like smoke. Beyond that, how would he ever explain what he was doing here in the first place? An uncomfortable image of having to stand before the king, making long, impossible explanations, filled Gavril’s mind.

He found himself perspiring. It was too warm and close in this low-ceilinged room.

“Very well,” he said in annoyance, his words ending the silence. “I have come across a sword, a special, extraordinary weapon. It is not fit for ordinary use.  Its ... qualities need controlling. I want to learn how to be its master.” The Sebeins exchanged glances. The taller of the two stepped forward. “Did you bring this weapon?”

“Of course not,” Gavril snapped. “I am supposed to be at my vigil tonight. The sword is under guard, to be given to me at dawn when I emerge.”