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sources.’
    Sebastian’s throat grew tight. They were almost at the edge of the pool now, and for some reason he was afraid to look on its surface. He fought the urge to hang back.
    ‘Other sources?’
    ‘A demon,’ said Nuava shortly.
    And there it was below them, the final resting place of Joah Cirrus, Joah Lightbringer, Joah Demonsworn, greatest of all mages. The pool was as clear as glass, and Sebastian could see right down to the shadowy bottom. Rock had been torn from the mountain by some unknowable force, leaving huge grooves in the bedrock, and in the centre was an elaborate sarcophagus carved from what looked like black marble. There were words scored in silver on the lid, words in the language of the mages now known only by the Regnisse Concordance of Relios, and Lord Frith himself. In the very centre was carved a great snarling face with fangs and mad rolling eyes, like a monstrous rabid dog.
    ‘It is extraordinary,’ said Frith. The young lord crouched down and peered closely at the clear water, no doubt trying to read the words written on the coffin. ‘This must be a thousand years old at least. How is it still here? Surely it would have been looted a long time ago.’
    Nuava gestured to the pool. ‘You can try putting your hand in the water if you wish, Lord Frith.’
    He glanced up at her, wary, before dipping the very ends of his fingers into the pool.
    Instantly, the water erupted into a boiling fury, churning white and steaming. Frith snatched his hand away and stood up.
    ‘We believe there are other spells on the tomb,’ said Nuava quietly. The waters were already settling down. ‘But that one has always sufficed.’
    ‘What do you know about it? This demon?’ asked Sebastian. He couldn’t drag his eyes from the snarling dog face on the black lid. ‘What happened to Joah?’
    Nuava glanced up at him. She was enjoying this chance to talk about her studies, he realised.
    ‘Anyone in Skaldshollow could tell you, it is a famous story here. Joah and the demon conspired together for many years and created many terrible works. Terrible, and extraordinary. Joah crafted new words and new spells, singlehandedly increasing the knowledge of the mages tenfold. They say that he and the demon . . . consorted with each other.’ Nuava cleared her throat, blushing slightly. ‘He grew too powerful, the costs too high.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘He was killed by the mage Xinian the Battleborn, and buried here.’
    Sebastian took a few steps back. He wanted to leave this place. Frith, however, seemed eager to explore. He prowled the edge of the pool, careful not to disturb the water again.
    ‘But why? They have gone to a great deal of effort here – the tomb, the spells – when by all accounts he was a villain, an ally of demons. Surely his body would have been discarded or burnt. And yet they have given him a lavish resting place.’
    Nuava looked concerned, as though that part didn’t make sense to her either. ‘He may have been terrible, but he was still one of their own. From some of the accounts I have read, it seems that many of the mages blamed the demon more than Joah. He was a genius, but he was fragile. The demon overwhelmed him, flowed in through the cracks.’ She brightened. ‘I have several texts about it in the Waking library, if you would like to see them?’
    Frith nodded. ‘That would be most kind. It is extraordinary to see such evidence of the mages. Even in Whittenfarne, there was . . .’ He paused. ‘There was nothing of interest in Whittenfarne. Perhaps I could—’
    ‘Is there anything else to see here?’ asked Sebastian. He saw Frith glance at him in surprise, but he kept his eyes on Nuava. Her words were echoing around his head:
The demon overwhelmed him, flowed in through the cracks.
‘I think we have wasted enough of the morning.’
    Nuava pulled her hat back onto her head. ‘Of course. If we don’t get the Heart-Stone back soon my aunt will do something