The Ragman swallowed stiffly, then he looked closely at the container but didn’t touch it. “Master? Are you certain it’s a box?”

“Are you calling me an idiot?”

Sheldon acted as if Mawyndulë had struck him. The others merely gasped.

“No! No, Master, not at all. I merely meant, well, it looks solid. I can’t see a lid, or a hinge to insult, much less frustrate.”

Mawyndulë lifted the box and looked at it himself. Sheldon was right. The box was a solid block of metal. And it had proved to be utterly impervious to the Art, just as Sephryn had said.

“Dherg,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I need to get that key.”

“Master?” The Ragman said, confused.

“You are going to help me, Ragman.”

“What can I do, Master?” Rhapsody asked, sneering at Sheldon.

Mawyndulë stood up. “I will be going away again—perhaps for a very long time. While I am gone, this is the word of Novron as has been revealed to me: Rise up from the streets. Use the multitude of hands Novron has supplied. Let not the evil Uberlin, who slew our savior, win. Prove to the world that Novron is the son of Maribor, and that the elves are servants of evil. Rise up and unite the hearts of Man. Spread the word that Novron was human and that elves are a blight, a disease sapping our strength.”

Mawyndulë meant this as a general goodbye. He did not expect to return. Once he had the key and blew the horn, the Protection of Ferrol would blanket him with invulnerability. None could challenge him save a blood descendant of the previous fane, or in lieu of that, someone who also blew the horn. Mawyndulë would never allow anyone else to get near that instrument, and he planned to end the bloodline of Nyphron long before putting lips to horn. If all went as planned, in two days, he’d be fane. Mawyndulë suspected there might be some disagreement with the Fhrey leaders about his withholding the horn, but once Mawyndulë explained his intent to free the Erivan Fhrey and wipe out mankind, he felt confident they wouldn’t protest long. He would be fane—ruler of the world. What became of his band of street freaks did not concern him.

Still, he could tell Rhapsody felt he was speaking specifically to her, and for a moment, Mawyndulë felt a concern that he was putting spark to tinder with no idea from which direction the wind blew.

She’s no one, he assured himself. The girl is poor, ignorant, and without resources. Despite her exuberant fanaticism, she has no power. Even if she managed to cause trouble, it would be in my favor. Confusion and division would make exterminating their kind that much easier.