"So he used his most powerful weapon-his ability to mesmerize and incite the populace. The people rose against the most obvious manifestations of the power of mages-their towers. There were five once, you know. Here were taken the Tests, which dark rumors said were evil. The heads of the orders-all mages- sought to explain that these were centers of learning, where they kept the most valuable spellbooks and devices. But the stories of strange rituals persisted and grew, until, for only the second time in the history of the orders of magic, all three orders of robes convened to protect their own."

"When was the first time?" interrupted Lyim.

"To create the dragon orbs," said Esme, then quickly amended herself. "Actually, there was another time, when the orders were established at the Lost Citadel. But that information will all be part of your studies," she said offhandedly.

"Anyway, the mages voted to destroy two of their own towers, rather than let ignorant mobs overrun them and unleash magic they couldn't control or understand. However, the destruction of the towers in Daltigoth and Goodlund caused such devastation, it served only to further frighten the kingpriest."

"He got what he wanted!" exclaimed Lyim. "What did he expect them to do?"

"He wanted their tower in his own city of Istar, as well as the one here in heavily populated Palanthas. He cared not at all what happened in far-off Wayreth, and so he gave them the choice to leave the others intact and withdraw to Wayreth quietly."

"If these mages were so powerful the kingpriest was afraid of them, why didn't they fight him?" asked Guerrand.

"You'll know the answer to that when you have a better understanding of what casting a spell drains from a mage. Suffice it to say, the mages, despite their reputation, could not condone destroying their own people."

"So," Lyim interrupted, "if they did as you say, why is this tower of sorcery in ruins? The Cataclysm?"

"That can't be," answered Guerrand, shaking his head. "If that were true, other buildings in Palanthas would have been similarly destroyed."

"You're right, Guerrand, the tower fell to its current state prior to the Cataclysm, though not long before," said Esme.

Her soft face darkened. "To truly understand the horror of the day it happened, one should hear Astinus tell the story of what is now known as the Curse. He was there; he saw it happen." Esme looked across the plaza to the library, as if, through the walls, she could see the chronicler at his desk.

She shook her head. "The day the mages were to leave the tower, they realized they had far more books and scrolls than they could carry or store in one tower. The masters of each order brought them to Astinus, knowing he alone could guard their secrets.

"The last act in Palanthas of the head of all orders was the ceremony to close the tower's slender gates of gold. The people had gathered to watch the Wizard of the White Robes hand the silver key to the lord of Palanthas. The citizenry was as eager as the man who was then lord to explore the legendary halls of the mages.

"In the very second the wizard leaned over to place the key in the lord's hand, a member of the Black Robes appeared in a window in the upper stories of the tower. While everyone below gaped in horror, the mage shouted, 'The gates will remain closed and the halls empty until the day comes when the master of both the past and the present returns with power!' To everyone's ultimate horror, the evil mage then leaped out, hurling himself down upon the gates. As the barbs of silver and gold pierced his black robes, he sealed his curse upon the tower. His blood stained the ground, the silver and gold gates instantly withered and twisted and turned to black. The most beautiful tower of white and red faded to gray, then black stone. No one has approached the tower since, so powerful is the Curse."

Feeling suddenly chilled on this warm, late-summer day, Guerrand's eyes traveled back to the black thing fluttering on the gate. The remains of the mage. He'd thought it a bird before. But now it had a much more ghastly and sinister appearance.

"That was all so long ago. Things have changed. The kingpriest is dead. I would not be afraid of the tower," boasted Lyim.

Both Guerrand and Esme looked askance.

"The pity is, some things haven't changed much," Guerrand said, thinking of Cormac. "Mages are still persecuted by those who fear what they don't understand. We saw that on the ship from Alsip," he reminded Lyim.

"Perhaps the prejudice still exists," conceded Lyim, "but our order's response to it would be different now."

"You think the mages were wrong to retreat?" asked Esme.

Lyim nodded vigorously. "Never explain, never retreat-those are words that have served me well. I would certainly never throw myself from a tower," he scoffed. "Better to stay alive to thwart your enemies."

Guerrand fell silent. He felt suddenly very weary and alone, despite Esme and Lyim's presence. Because of it, perhaps. "Esme," he said faintly, "could you please take me to our master's home now? I've… enjoyed the tour, but I'm anxious to begin my training."

"What about me?" chimed in Lyim. "Do you know where Belize resides?"

With lazy eyes, Esme smiled. She looked first at Guerrand, "I could," then at Lyim, "I do. But I can't. Justarius has instructed me to remind you of your clue,

Guerrand, but that is all. As for you, Lyim, I've not been instructed to help you."

"Wait a minute!" Lyim reached out a hand to grasp Esme's fragile shoulder. Suddenly the air sizzled, tendrils of smoke erupted, and Lyim was thrown backward almost two paces. He landed flat on his back with an ignominious "Whooff!" as the air was knocked from his lungs. His robe flew up to his face, exposing more than just a little length of bare legs.

Esme looked mildly distressed, and a touch embarrassed, as she considered the stunned mage. Even Guerrand took one limping step backward from her.

She touched a finger to the metal ring around her arm. "My bracelet is a protective device. I didn't want it, but Justarius insists that I wear it whenever I travel in the city. You can see how it would deter the unwanted attentions of beggars or suitors…" Her voice trailed off. Smothering a slight smile, she watched the proud Lyim pull himself to his feet.

"I really must be off, or Justarius will start to wonder," she said lightly. "Do you remember your clue, Guerrand? 'At morning's midlife, mark the hour, the eye is the sun, the keyhole's the tower.'"

"Wait!" cried Guerrand, stopping himself at the last second from reaching for her as Lyim had done. Esme was gone, leaving behind a curvaceous puff of rosy smoke.

"What a spitfire," sighed Lyim, brushing the dust of the sidewalk from his robes. "I could do without that bracelet, but I do enjoy a challenge."

Lyim clapped his hands together, Esme abruptly forgotten. "Now, where do you suppose Belize and Justarius live?"

Guerrand looked to the bleak tower and said wryly, "I think we can rule out the Tower of High Sorcery."