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people’s very souls.”
    Marcus recalled his visit to the Noamish library during his quest, searching for information about Ivanore. It was there he learned that Ivanore was Lord Fredric’s daughter—a princess—and that she had disappeared fourteen years earlier. Marcus had not yet learned that Ivanore was his mother. When he first arrived at the library, he saw an inscription above the door in the ancient tongue. Though he had only a basic knowledge of the language, Marcus translated it easily, as if the words themselves changed before his eyes.
    â€œHow does someone become a seer?” asked Marcus.
    â€œOh, seeing cannot be learned or taught,” replied Zyll. “A seer is born a seer.”
    Marcus realized Zyll was staring at him. No, not at him, but into him as if there were something inside of him to be marveled at or admired. Marcus didn’t like being looked at that way. There was nothing special about him, about the boy who spent his mornings in the company of goats, his afternoons cleaning out the fireplace back home. He preferred it that way, preferred to be like everyone else—though somehow he knew Zyll was right. He had never been like everyone else.
    â€œBut I’m just an enchanter’s apprentice,” he said, as if saying the words would make them true.
    â€œNo, my boy,” said Zyll, “you are more. Much, much more.”

Twenty-three
    T he rest of their trek to Dokur was uneventful. Marcus didn’t mind their slow pace now that he knew Zyll was all right. When their journey brought them within a mile of the Celestine mine, Clovis reminded Marcus that he had never been there and asked if they could see it.
    â€œIt’s just a big hole in the ground,” said Marcus. “It’s been abandoned since the Agoran slaves were freed.”
    But Bryn and Lael both wanted to have a look, too, so off they went. When they arrived, however, the mine was all but abandoned. Four log buildings had been constructed near the rim of the pit, and the area around the mine was dotted with dozens of fires. There were soldiers everywhere, some by the fires, some grooming theirhorses, and others keeping watch. Three drew their swords the moment Zyll, Marcus, and the others came into view.
    â€œState your business!” shouted the largest of the three. They all wore red tunics with embroidered yellow crosses, the symbol of Fredric’s army.
    Zyll did not hesitate but stepped forward with his hands up in a show of peace.
    â€œThe grandson of Lord Fredric is in our company, Captain,” he said calmly. “We are accompanying him to Dokur where his brother, the young King Kelvin, awaits his arrival.”
    The captain kept his sword raised, a cautious expression on his face. “The king is dead,” he said.
    â€œYes, we know,” replied Zyll. “We just thought we’d take a little detour and visit the mine. We expected it to be abandoned.”
    â€œIt is,” said the captain, “except for thieves intent on getting their hands on whatever Celestine they can manage to steal. Our duty is to protect it until a more permanent solution is worked out.”
    Behind the guards, Marcus could just make out the rim of the pit where he had first seen Agorans being whipped. Though he knew the captain spoke the truth, he wished he could see for himself that they had all gone.
    He felt a tug on his pant leg. Bryn gazed up at him, fear in his childlike eyes. The last time they met Fredric’s guards, Bryn had been taken captive. No wonder he was afraid now.
    â€œWe should get going, Grandfather,” said Marcus. He took Bryn by the hand and started away from the soldier’s camp.
    â€œWait,” said the captain. Marcus froze. He felt Bryn’s hand stiffen in his. He heard the scrape of metal as the captain sheathed his sword. “You should not be traveling alone,” he said. “You never know what trouble