Then had come the arrival, like a blessing from the gods, of this mysterious girl. It was this that gave him hope, allowed him again to feel vital. There was new promise in her bright eyes and fresh skin, new hope in the vibrant power that he sensed lay untapped within her.

He would make her welcome and hope that she could help him. The food had been an easy first offering-just by looking at her, he could sense her gnawing hunger. Now he needed to talk to her, to learn, and to teach.

For this initial encounter he had chosen the guise of one of his favorites. He appeared as old Par-Salian, white-bearded and avuncular. He thought this shape would be less inclined to frighten the girl, than would the images of, say, severe Justarius, or lean and ever-hungry Fistandantilus. Par-Salian was a benign presence. And, too, the Master felt the girl would treat the esteemed White Robe with the dignity that he deserved.

At first, he was not sure that his benign intentions had been perceived. The girl's initial impression had been shock, and then she seemed to be afraid. But she gazed at the repast on the table, and then at the Master, and he could tell that she was not inclined to run. She had only eaten a little before his arrival, and he sensed her hunger, saw it in the longing looks she cast toward the food.

"I hope you like the bread," he said. "It is one of the classic recipes. I conjured it just as it was baked a thousand years ago, in the ovens of Ergoth."

"It… it is very good," she said cautiously. As if reminding herself, she tore off another large piece and chewed it vigorously, following the bread with a large drink of cold milk. Only after she had swallowed the food did she look at him curiously. "You said you are the 'Master of the Tower.' What does that mean?" she asked.

He sighed and allowed himself the liberty of sitting at the table near her as she slowly resumed her eating.

"In a sense, I am this tower… the presence, the sentience of this place, such as it exists. This flesh, this body you see"- he indicated himself, the elderly man in the white robe-"is something that I choose, that I can vary."

In that very instant he changed, for her benefit. Now he wore a red robe and sat tall, a proud man with black skin and a haughty demeanor. Then he became a female, garbed in a slinky black robe, with eyes shadowed in blue henna and a mouth that curled in a demure smile. In another blink he was Par-Salian again, holding up a liver-spotted hand to calm the girl-who was staring at him in amazement.

"I am the Tower, and I am all who dwelled here, all who served as the Heads of the Conclave and all who studied under their tutelage. This tower has stood for thousands of years, and in that time there have been many who have ruled the orders of magic. Mostly humans, but some elves… I can select the forms of any of them. But I chose Par-Salian, for you."

"Thank you," she said. "I-I think I like this one better than some of the other shapes you might have adopted."

He chuckled dryly. "Well, thank you for humoring an old man, in any event."

"But why am I here? I was traveling with two great wizards, and I know they were seeking this tower. Why did I find it, and they did not?"

"Because you, Child, are the one-the only one-who can help me, now."

"Help you? How?"

He sighed. "There are bad men here. Men who are killing me. I invited them in because the gods commanded me to find a wizard to take the Tower. I summoned them-well, not them, but a wizard. These two came under false pretenses, bearing an artifact of potent magic, wielding it as great wizards would. But they are not wizards. They are sorcerers, wielders of wild magic. They dwell here like a cancer in my flesh, slowly taking my life."

"How can I help you?" The girl seemed mystified but- this was encouraging to the Master-bold.

"You must take the Test of Magic," said the Master.

"A test of magic? Why? How could I?"

"The Test will know you, do not worry. But you must convince them to let you live long enough to take the Test. If they kill you, then all is lost."

"I daresay!" the girl said, her eyes widening in alarm. Where are they now?"

The old man shrugged. "Elsewhere in the Tower. It is a very large place. But no doubt they will find you, soon enough."

She was courageous, this girl, but couldn't help looking around in some apprehension. "How can I fight them?"

"Oh, you can't. They are much too powerful for that. Even I cannot fight them-especially the tall one, with the long beard. He is most dangerous. And he bears the Irda Stone."

"The what-stone? Never mind. Tell me, why shouldn't I run away, while I still have a chance? I don't want to be killed!"

"If you leave here now, then all is lost-for me, you, and others to come. No, you must stay, and you must survive, and you must convince them to grant you the Test!"

"And if I do?"

"Then you must pass the Test!"

"What happens if I fail?"

"Well, you will die, of course. Death is ever the penalty for failing the Test-either that, or ultimate, hopeless madness. But that's not the worst part."

"Really! Just what is the worst part?" The girl's face had grown quite pale, though her voice was remarkably steady.

"The worst part is that, if you die here, you will doom the future of magic on Krynn."

A Subject

We should carve out her eyes-then make her be our maidservant! Imagine her, tottering around through the Tower, groping about in the kitchen, unable to see a thing! And every time she breaks a dish or spills a drink, we'll cut off a finger. Yes, that would be diverting, don't you agree?"

Kalrakin's eyes glowed as he made the suggestion, all but licking his lips. "It has been too long since we have had real flesh and blood for our pleasure!"

"Well, yes, I rather think that would amuse us momentarily," Luthar replied tentatively. "But perhaps there is a more suitable use we can put her to. She might know some secrets about this tower, after all. It is rather startling that she came here like this, is it not? Quite unanticipated!"

"Bah, look at her. It's an accident of fate. She's a callow youth! She can know nothing of wizardry!" The tall sorcerer's eyes narrowed as he glowered at his rotund companion. "Or do you have baser desires, my old friend? True, she is an attractive morsel, but I thought you had given up entanglements with female flesh? Was that not part of our mutual vow?"

"Oh, very much, my lord! No, I do not want to take her, not like that. But see how the old man is warming to her, welcoming her. He is treating her like a queen, as if he seems to think she might be important!"

"That old man talked to us, too. For a moment, in any event." Kalrakin's laugh was a harsh bark.

"Well, he would have talked longer if you hadn't, uh, dealt with him! I still don't know why you couldn't have been more patient."

The two sorcerers were in one of the high chambers of the Tower of High Sorcery. A rubble of broken glass, ash, and other debris covered the floor of the large room. The one thing left undamaged was a window, a pane of dark glass mounted on the stone wall. It was a window with no view, barely revealing the face of the wall-at least so it had appeared originally.

Luthar, however, had discovered its true nature, after some contemplation. He had stood boldly in front of the window, when Kalrakin, in his fury, would have shattered it, flinging its parts across the floor.

"Look!" the short sorcerer had all but shrieked, waving his hands, using his own body as a shield. "Don't you understand? It is a magical window-it allows you to see beyond this place! Observe, my lord!"