"Where did she go?" Kalrakin screamed shrilly. He was coming back up the stairs, now, snarling to Luthar, tramping behind. The wizard emerged into sight at the bend of the stairway as she inched back up the steps. Deliberately kicking at pieces of rubble scattered around her, Coryn sent pebbles cascading, and the wild sorcerer halted, staring ahead intently.

"There you are, you little fool," he sneered. "Did you really think you could evade me? Did you think that such a pathetic mask-invisibility?-could hide you, as wise in magical deception as I am?"

"I don't intend to evade you," Coryn said loudly and boldly, "or hide from you." She let the invisibility spell fall away from her like a piece of clothing she was shrugging off. She wanted Kalrakin to see her, wanted him to understand what was happening to him, wanted him to know his punisher.

"I intend to kill you!" she declared with cold fury.

The gray-robed wizard raised an eyebrow, and chuckled disbelievingly. But she raised her finger, pointed at him, and spoke the command word for the fireball spell. It rolled from her tongue, pulsed in the air around her, sizzled with the tremendous, fundamental power of godly magic. Kalrakin must have heard that word before-for his eyes instantly grew wide, and he threw his hands up to protect his face, tumbling backward down the steps. He screamed and writhed, trying to ward off the inevitable.

A bubble of fiery light appeared at Coryn's fingertip. The little sphere danced and drifted toward the cringing wizard. Suddenly, Kalrakin looked up, his eyes flashing, and his mouth curling into a cruel grin. He regained his poise, stood, and faced her, holding up the white stone that he had remembered was his advantage. It pulsed eagerly, hungrily. The talisman was firmly clenched in the sorcerer's grip, as the fireball exploded.

The release of power felt like a physical rush, to Coryn, draining energy from her body and channeling it into the lethal spell. Coryn expected to see the wizard, struck by such power, vanish within an incendiary cloud.

But he did not die, nor did any great fire materialize. Instead, the sorcerer howled in triumph, clenching his fist. Smoke billowed between his fingers as the surface of his skin took on a surreal, almost sun-bright, glow. And then the spell was over, and Kalrakin was leering at her through his beard, holding up his glowing hand in a gesture of scorn. The stone was hot and bright in his hand, taunting her with its superior might.

Coryn gaped in astonishment. For several seconds she could not believe her impotence; her magical powers had been so effective, so unfailing, during the full course of the Test, that she had never considered the possibility of failure. She had executed the spell correctly, but Kalrakin-or rather, his white talisman-somehow had thwarted the effect.

Kalrakin raised his fist. Pearly light gleamed between his fingers, as if the pale gemstone were afire. He climbed back up the stairs, toward Coryn. She pointed a finger at him, snapped out a command, and felt another rush of energy as a powerful, crackling lightning bolt erupted from her flesh, arrowing toward the wild sorcerer. Searing magic crackled- she smelled the heat and fire, felt her hair stand on end amidst the violent electric charge.

But amazingly, it happened again. Kalrakin actually laughed in the face of her foolishness. He held up that stone again-it was so radiant now that Coryn had to squint-and absorbed the full brunt of the lethal lightning bolt into the smooth, round shape. The yellow spear of electricity simply vanished, leaving the artifact glowing so brightly that Coryn could no longer look at it without being blinded-it was like trying to stare at the sun.

Kalrakin reached for her with maniacal fury. He grabbed Coryn's robe with those long fingers, tendrils of brilliant golden light emanating from the little stone in his right hand. What she did next was automatic: She spoke another word-a word she had learned from Umma's books, she recalled with a pang-the same word that had saved her from the thanoi in the Icereach.

She had no destination in mind, but once again the old teleport spell served her true. Instantly she found herself standing at the edge of a meadow, with tall trees at her back, and a rocky bluff rising before her. The Tower was nowhere to be seen, and she sensed immediately that this wood was not Wayreth Forest. Or that Wayreth Forest had left her behind.

Nearby rose a low granite ridge, its face marked by lichen-encrusted rocks. A shady gap attracted her attention immediately, and Coryn realized she was looking at the mouth of a cave. Cautiously she approached the place, leaning forward, trying to peer inside the shadowy murk. As her eyes adjusted, she edged forward, coming under a lofty mantle of ancient rock.

From the darkness she heard-or perhaps imagined-a groan of unspeakable pain. Carefully she advanced, holding the folds of her robe off the floor, peering into the darkness as her eyes slowly adjusted. This place looked familiar-and there, on the floor, was a person she recognized.

"Jenna!"

The Red Robe lay on the floor of the cave, just as Coryn had seen her during the Test. Her face was pale and slick with sweat; her eyes, closed. Her breathing was ragged and shallow, like the panting of a wounded animal.

Coryn felt stabbed with guilt. She ran forward and knelt by the woman, touched her cheek, and found that she was burning with fever.

"Her gut is ruptured. She's dying."

Dalamar's voice, cold and brittle, startled her. She leaped to her feet and turned to look at the dark elf. He betrayed no surprise at seeing her. His demeanor was distant, almost contemptuous, as he looked her up and down. Coryn stood proud under his inspection, acutely conscious of her white robe-which was in contrast to his own garment of midnight black.

"We were following you, chasing you-you might say we were foolish enough to be worried about you," he said, his voice cutting like a knife. "But I see you had important personal business to accomplish."

"The Master of the Tower invited me in, and I came," she explained simply. Surely she hadn't done anything wrong- or had she? Why did she feel this stabbing guilt? She had had to run away from these two bickering mages.

"You and Jenna were determined to keep me in the dark, to use me as a pawn in your own struggles. I had to get away, strike out on my own-I didn't know where I was going, at first. But it turned out to be the way to the Tower, and I was invited by the Master to take the Test of Magic."

"Obviously," he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "So it appears I lose the company of one enchantress, only to be rewarded with the dubious presence of another."

"There's more at stake than you know!" she retorted. "And anyway, I'm a mage now. We need to help Jenna, not stand around talking. Maybe she doesn't have to die!"

"What-have you become a cleric, too? Even a high priestess of immortal Paladine-Paladine as he used to be-would be hard pressed to heal these grievous wounds."

"Be quiet." Coryn knelt beside the Red Robe and pulled the bottle of potion out of her robe. At the sight of the bottle Dalamar knelt beside her, his expression intent.

"Where did you get that?" he asked.

"At the end of the Test," Cory replied. "It was a reward, which I didn't understand at the time. Now I think I know why it was given to me."

Slowly, gingerly, she raised Jenna's head, cradling it in a strong hand. Placing the open neck of the bottle to the injured woman's lips, she allowed a slow trickle to run into the Red Robe's mouth. After the first small dose, she let Jenna breathe for a bit, and then repeated the process. Sip after sip, Coryn poured the precious liquid through the Red Robe's parched lips.

Slowly, imperceptibly, a flush began to appear on Jenna's clammy cheeks. Her breathing grew more measured, her temperature abated. The thrashing of her limbs gradually eased and by the time the potion was gone, she appeared to be miraculously well-and sleeping soundly, restfully.