Prologue

The full moon sparkled over the night skies of Jerusalem. Spirits of every kind conceivable flew to and fro, hurrying to deliver messages or carry out charges. Inside the palace's royal apartments, in an insignificant whitewashed room lay King Solomon.

It had been ten years since the palace had been destroyed; more than enough time to restore it to its original splendor.

As he had promised Asmira of Sheba, Solomon had indeed awoken from his slumber. He had used the Ring almost daily, but the effort for this had taken its toll on him. Never being a magician of great strength, the ring had left him weakened.

He picked up the ring from its silver platter and placed it on his finger. He turned it one last time.

"Uraziel."

"Yes, Master," the spirit's usually toneless voice had a detached sort of worry to it."

"I feel I am about to die. There is nothing we can do about it. But first, I must protect the court magicians from the Ring. The seventeen grow restless. They crave the power the Ring will provide." His voice, once velvety and smooth had become cracked, rough as sandpaper. "As your last charge, I order you to take the Ring far away, to the other side of the Great Sea, and hide it. Hide it so that no one, man or spirit, may see it or detect its presence."

"It is done," said the Spirit. The Ring disappeared with a faint pop, leaving Solomon dead on his bed; exhausted from his last use of the Ring.

Thousands of years later, in an unpopulated area of present-day France, a lone djinni overflew the forest. He was wearing the guise of a peregrine falcon, chosen both for its speed and for the fact that it would blend in were anyone to pass by. Not that anyone was here.

He was on his way to the ruins of a long-forgotten Roman town, where he was to find a magical artifact for his master. As he overflew a particularly leafy bit of woods, he did a customary check of planes. Nothing. Except… On the seventh, there was a dull glow coming from the treetops. This was strange. It didn't look like anything had ever been built here. The falcon dove through the trees, miraculously avoiding all the branches and leaves. He pulled up meters above the ground.

The falcon turned into a brown mole, which started digging for the magical artifact. As he dug deeper, the glow brightened, until it reached a point when it was blinding to switch to the higher planes. The mole came upon a ring. The thing itself was nothing much, really. A simple band of gold with a gem of sorts incrusted on the top. But it must be a very powerful artifact to glow like that. The mole picked it up between its paws. It burned! The mole felt as if his essence were being torn in two. But he would take it to his master nonetheless. With an artifact of this power, he was bound to get his freedom. The mole dug back up to the surface, dragging the ring behind him. He turned into the falcon again and prepared for the long flight back to London.