Shal stood and quietly explained the familiar's bidding to Ren and Tarl. They lifted the rigid mage's body onto the horse's back and watched as Cerulean reared up, then disappeared into a small pocket of the indigo cloth. After being witness to an entire day of magical wonders, they barely thought twice about the horse's unique method of departure.

Though near exhaustion, Shal moved through the tower hurriedly, sealing door after door, making sure all was as they found it. She spoke her assurances to the robe as they reached the second floor, but the ghostly garment continued to follow them as they removed the bodies of the cook and the servant. Finally it stood hovering inside the front door as Shal closed it and sealed it by reversing the same utterance she had used to open the great bronze door.

As they reached the park where Ren's mare was tethered, Tarl and Ren strapped the two bodies across the roan's broad back. Shal called Cerulean forth from the Cloth of Many Pockets. The horse leaped from the cloth and straight into the air with the grace of a unicorn and flew upward. Shal watched, misty-eyed, as it left a blue Stardust trail behind it. She could just barely make out Cerulean's message: See you soon, Mistress.

Porphyrys Cadorna held in his hands the official proclamation from the council making him Fourth Councilman. It praised him for "prudent judgment in the matter of assigning punitive tasks for the betterment of the community." It commended him for recognizing the caliber of the three barroom brawlers and for immediately acting on the information they provided by arranging to add new shipping lanes in and out of the harbor. Advisors to the council were suggesting that the resulting influx of newcomers to Phlan would double its present population and ensure further expansion into the uncivilized portions of the city.

Cadorna sat in his personal study, admiring the piece of parchment. It was written in the elegant script of the town's head scribe, a man known throughout the Moonsea area for the elegance of his calligraphy. Cadorna made a mental note to make the man his personal scribe when he became First Councilman.

"Finally, some credit for a Cadorna's talents." Porphyrys spoke aloud as he stared up at the portrait of his father that hung on the wall opposite his desk. "To think that simply because you had dealings with dragons they could assume that you were somehow responsible for the Dragon Run! That's like saying that because I send bits of useless information to the Lord of the Ruins, I must be in league with him. The fools just don't recognize the importance of maintaining connections… of fending first and foremost for yourself!"

Cadorna shook the parchment at the portrait. "But here, finally, is some credit. It's still not what we deserve… what I deserve. It was Second Councilman Silton whose incompetence was exposed by my proficiency. It is his seat I should have assumed, but the council in its "wisdom" opted to advance the Third and Fourth Councilmen ahead of me." Cadorna rattled the parchment once more, then set it on his desk. "However, I won't spend forever waiting for-"

A stiff rap on the door interrupted Cadorna in midsentence. "State your business," Cadorna called.

"Gensor reporting, Honorable Fourth Councilman."

Cadorna strolled to the door and lifted the bolt that secured it. "Enter, mage. What news do you have?"

"I followed them from the inn to-"

"I instructed you to follow them; of course you followed them! I asked you what news you've gathered."

"They-"

"Remove that hood in my presence. I like to look a man in the eyes when he speaks."

The mage's face was hidden deep within his black hood. "You think you control me because you are Fourth Councilman? You wish to look me in the eyes? So be it." Gensor reached up and pulled back his hood.

Cadorna blenched at the sight of the man's face. Gensor's skin was shriveled and ashen, an unnatural gray that gave him an almost corpselike appearance. His eyes were the color of a steel blade, and they seemed to bore straight into Cadorna as he spoke, his voice like ice. "I have no need of your reimbursements, Councilman. I work for you because, like you, I desire to know certain things."

Cadorna said nothing. There were ways of taking care of ingrates, even magic-users, when they got out of line. He returned Gensor's stare with a cold look of his own.

"They went to the tower of the red wizard-Denlor, to those of us who know him."

"Yes, I knew Denlor," said Cadorna.

"Knew him? I've no doubt," said Gensor. "The woman's mentor died there, as I gather did Denlor. I listened in on the party's conversations until they reached the tower itself, but I did not follow them in. My cloak of invisibility would not have functioned within those magicked walls."

"Spare me the details of your ineptitude, mage! What else did you learn?"

Gensor glowered at Cadorna until the councilman took a step backward, and then he proceeded. "Her master was murdered-by a beast, she believes."

"Her master? Who-"

"A wizard named Ranthor. She knew something of Denlor's death and of the siege on his tower by creatures from the outside." Gensor paused for a moment, looking inquisitively at Cadorna. "And her steed is magical, a familiar inherited from her dead master."

Cadorna stepped closer at this news. "A familiar? What are its powers? Can anyone control it?"

"A familiar is a mage's helpmate. A good one offers advice, warning, sometimes even protection from attack. Some are practically useless, but she insisted on taking the horse with her into the tower, so I expect the animal has some power to dispel magic."

"Are those powers someone else could harness?"

"A good familiar is loyal to the death and will serve another only at its master's bidding. Even I couldn't control the horse unless its master wished me to do so. You'd never be able to control it. Familiars communicate telepathically, by virtue of their spiritual tuning with their masters."

"Cursed magic-users! You intentionally exclude yourselves from the rest of us!"

"Yes, Councilman, that we do. And even though I don't have any use for the Cormyrian woman's naivete or her righteous friends, I still recognize her as a growing force within my profession, a force to be worked with… or reckoned with."

"Or taken advantage of," said Cadorna, twisting his face into a smile.

At this, Gensor smiled, too-an equally corrupt smile- and then chuckled, a muted, synthetic sound. "What did you have in mind, Councilman?"

"You, of course, know my interest in those three, my belief that they may be able to help me recover the legacy due me from my family."

"Yes…"

"She seeks her mentor's murderer, does she not?" Cadorna asked, his narrowed eyes glinting.

"Yes. So?"

"It just seems to me that one of the gnolls that have overrun the Cadorna textile house may have had something to do with his murder. I mean, I'm sure I could make her think that was the case and get her to go there… don't you?" Cadorna was obviously calculating as he spoke. "My idea, of course, needs some refining, Gensor, but I'll certainly let you know when I can use your services again. In the meantime, since you don't need my monetary reimbursements, perhaps you'll take this for your efforts." Cadorna held out the magical dagger from Sokol Keep. It gleamed even in the daylight.

"How strange, Gensor. By its glow, this knife tells me that you are dangerous."

"Or that you are, Councilman." Gensor accepted the knife, turned, and left the study, closing the double doors firmly behind him.