The tome was a foot and a half along the spine and half that per pages, about fifty or sixty pages of heavy vellum. It easily weighed fifty pounds—not a difficult load to carry, but impossible to hide. It was only as Jim observed that if the Quegans were expecting him to go skulking in the night, they thought he’d be pilfering state secrets or imperial treasure, not forgotten books.

They had left less than an hour before, and once clear of Queg’s harbor and any observation, mundane or magic, Magnus had transported them to his father’s study atop the tower at Sorcerer’s Isle.

Amirantha looked as fascinated as a child opening a gift from Father Winter at the Midwinter’s Festival. He pointed at it and said, “It should take me…only a day or two to determine if what is written in here is remotely true. If so…” He looked at Pug. “My newfound friend, the elf Gulamendis, he and I both came to our skills the hard way: trial and error. We may be among the few who survived that education, Pug, for I suspect a few lads and lasses who tried to conjure their first demon ended up with painful, deadly results.

“With this”—his finger poked at it for emphasis—“I would be twice the master of demon lore that I am now.”

Pug said, “This sounds impressive.”

“At the least you sound very enthusiastic,” observed Jim.

Magnus shot him a sideways glance and then asked the Warlock, “Who wrote it?”

“I see no author named,” replied Amirantha. “It may be stated somewhere in there; I only read a fourth of what was here before Livia took me back to call it a night.

“There are…” He caught his breath. “I don’t know where to begin.” He paused, then said, “My perception of the demon realm, what we call the Fifth Circle of Hell, is that it’s a place of chaos, constantly shifting and violent, where the strong rise and take command.” He let his voice drop. “It’s so much more than that.”

“They have…hierarchies.” He held up his hand and could see he had both magicians’ undivided attention, and even Jim was listening closely. “I, like you, thought that there was a demon king, Maarg, others before, perhaps after, but that he was simply the strongest, one who achieved his rank through combat, murder, terror, alliances with those seeking his protection…” He sighed.

“What is it?” asked Magnus.

“That’s a slave class,” said Amirantha.

“Slave class?”

“Like Keshian Dog Soldiers, trained killers, crazed, vicious, only good for one thing—fighting war. Even the imps are little more than criminals in their society.”

“Criminals?” asked Jim, now obviously interested.

“They have a society,” answered Amirantha. “They have builders…where did that hall you describe on the other side of the rift where Macros died fighting Maarg come from?” he asked Pug.