The Floodgate   ::   Каннингем Элейн

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A green, jagged mark flashed upon the white silk, identifying the added ingredient. Basel caught his breath.

"Son of a rabid jackal," he said softly as the whole of Dhamari's plan came clear.

Basel did not make such potions, nor did any reputable mage in Halruaa, but he knew of such things. This was the signature mark of a dangerous herb, one used by shamans in darker times and more primitive cultures to gain control of monsters that could not be called by normal magic.

This, then, was the legacy Dhamari wished to pass along! He wanted Keturah's magic, altered and transferred to a child he could claim and control, a child who could do for him what he could not do himself.

Rage rose in Basel with white heat.

The wizard reversed his spell of transportation and returned to Dhamari's workroom. He methodically searched the library, where he found a surprising trove of material on Crinti history, drow lore, and legends of the Unseelie folk.

"Rather exciting reading for a fellow who collects butterflies," Basel muttered. "Let's see what else he's been up to."

Basel found the wizard's spell inventory and carefully checked it against the missing scrolls, books, and potions. The list itself was appalling. The arsenal Dhamari carried on his "little journey" with Tzigone terrified Basel to the core.

He raced from the tower, stopping briefly at the gate to hand the servant a heavy bag of coin. "Go to the harbor. Find a boat bound for distant lands, and buy passage.»

"I am bound to service here," the man began.

"Yes, I have a good idea how Dhamari binds his servants. Speak to no one of what you have seen in this place, and you should be safe enough for the next tenday or so."

The gatekeeper nodded cautiously. "After that, my lord?"

"No law or spell can bind you to a dead man," Basel said bluntly,

The man's eyes widened, then turned luminous with gratitude. "Mystra speed you, my lord!"

Basel echoed that prayer as he returned to his Halarahh tower to order his skyship readied. He knew he could not track Tzigone-her uncanny resistance to magic had kept him from following her on the days she decided to slip away from her duties-but he would damn well find Dhamari.

And his old friend Procopio Septus was just the man to tell him how.

Procopio Septus stared at his new game table, committing the landscape to memory, contemplating the possibilities presented by gully and cliff and cave.

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