When she could see him no more, Ambreene looked down at the pendant in her hands. Suddenly it spoke with Elminster's voice, and she nearly flung it down in startle-ment.

"Ah, lass," it said, "be not downcast, for ye heard aright what they say about wizards. Put this on whenever ye need to talk to me… or to Khelben. He's waiting for ye to come and see him."

Ambreene stared up at the starlight for a very long time, too dazed to shed more tears, as still and silent as one of the nearby statues.

So it was that the young, softly chuckling couple strolled right past without noticing her. Ambreene knew the lass-Berentha Manthar, a shy noble maid of her own age, whom she'd smiled with at several feasts, heiress of House Manthar since the hunting death of her brother Carn-and almost stirred to speak a greeting. But as the thought struck her, Berentha's young and devastatingly handsome man, Ferentar from Amn, asked huskily, "So, Berentha, as Selune is our witness here this night… will you wed me, and cleave to me all your days?"

Ambreene swallowed as she looked expectantly at Berentha's half-hidden face. She felt a tingling within her, and the need to know the truth that lurked behind honeyed words overcame everything. She seized on the foresight tingling within her.

It was a strange thing to wield, but she conquered it in time to know that Berentha meant it with all her heart when she replied softly, "I will… oh, Ferentar, I will! Do you promise, too, before Selune and all the watching gods, to be true to me?"

"Of course I do, beloved Berentha," the young man said softly.

The chill that almost choked Ambreene left her trembling helplessly. Her foresight told her that Ferentar wanted to be Lord Manthar, with a dashing fur cloak and coins to spare on wine and dancers. He cared little for this stupid wide-eyed Waterdhavian cow gazing so ardently up at him-oh, she was pretty enough, but…

Ambreene wanted to scream out a warning and thrust them apart forever-but the cursed foresight rolled on. She saw herself doing that, and Berentha's face freezing into that of a bitter foe… and the wedding day coming anyway, and then Lord Ferentar Manthar whispering at parties in all the high houses that Ambreene Hawkwinter was a wanton sorceress who'd tried to seduce him to gain House Manthar's riches for her own. Then she saw him laughing in satisfaction as he pushed Berentha over a benighted balcony to her death, and turning in anger to the masked lords to demand Ambreene Hawkwinter's arrest for the spell-slaying of the Lady Berentha Manthar… and then Ferentar's face seemed to melt into that of Grandmama Teshla, and she heard herself screaming, "Khelben! Lord Khelben! Help me!"

Strong arms were suddenly around her, and the gruff voice of Khelben Blackstaff said into her ear, "I'm here, lass-stand back, young Ferentar, or I'll turn out the cesspit of your mind for all Waterdeep to see!-I'm here." Ambreene turned her face toward the comfort of that voice, and as she heard a gasp of outrage that could only be Berentha, Faerun spun crazily around her-and plunged into darkness…

She awoke in Blackstaff Tower, with Laeral's gentle hands holding out a mug of steaming rose tea. And from that day until the morning the gods willed that Ambreene Hawkwinter die, long years later, the Eye of the Dragon never left her breast.

Dave Gross

King ran far ahead of me, pelting down the busy street in Raven's Bluff with the uncanny canine knack for navigating through a forest of human legs. I chased after him as well as I could, hindered by sharp elbows and stern reprimands from adults willing to forgive a running dog, but not a running boy.

"Rub!" called King. Voices from the crowd answered him as I tried to push toward him.

"King! There's a good boy."

"What a good dog!"

Everyone knew and liked King, one of the masterless street dogs of the city. Everyone had stories of the remarkable feats the old terrier had performed: saving drowning children, foiling pickpockets, tracking down criminals… This time I was the one who needed his help. My sister, Dauna, was in the hands of kidnappers, and King was the only one besides me who had seen them.

"King! Where are you?" I shouted. Scanning the street, I spotted King's wake, a wave of turned heads and quick sidesteps.

"Ruh, ruh!" His rough voice came through the open door of a little cottage. The building looked out of place next to the straight lines of the shops and taverns on Wicker Street. A carved board next to the door read, "The Barley Bowl."

"Huh, rub.!" he called again.

Then I heard a piteous sound: King's whining. I'd heard the old, gray terrier growl at bullies, woof amiably to his friends, and even yap like a puppy when chasing the other street dogs. But I'd never heard him whine in pain. It made my heart shrink, and I almost began to cry again. Instead, I wiped my blurry eyes and entered the inn.

Inside, a dozen people sat at simple tables, their dinners in wooden bowls before them. At the feet of one man, the oldest man I'd ever seen, sat King.

The old man held King's head with long, thin hands. Bright eyes peered into the dog's face. "Oh, you got a snootful, all right. What scoundrel played dirty with you?" The old man's voice was sweet and tremulous as a minstrel's hautboy.

"The oldest man I'd ever seen" had a beard as white and fine as a swan's wing. Upon his narrow frame he wore a faded blue robe cut in the fashion of the court of thirty years ago. The badge upon his breast looked impressive and official.

"Here, lad. Hold his head." I stared a moment before realizing he was talking to me. "Come along. If you were standing in cement, you'd be a lamp post now!"

"Good boy," I said to King, kneeling by him.

"Good boy," the old man said to me. If I weren't already so upset, I might have been offended. "Hold him while I administer the Universal Solvent."

A potion, I thought! After escaping, then chasing, and finally losing track of the men who took Dauna, we had found a wizard to help us. Wizards are often ornery, but once he had ensorcelled the pepper out of King's eyes and nose, I'd ask him a boon, and he would help save my sister.

But instead of producing some glimmering phial of magical fluid, the old man took his cup of water and gently poured it across King's weepy eyes. King balked, but I held him tight.

"There, my old friend. That should take the sting away.

Nothing like a little rain to clear out the gutters." King whimpered once more, this time less pathetically. He nuzzled the old man's hand.

"But you said 'Universal Solvent,' " I protested. "I thought you were a wizard." I knew it was wise to be polite to wizards, but my disappointment was quicker than my wits.

"And what's that, but water? Any mason worth his sand will tell you that. And I've been a wizard and a mason for longer than…" He drifted off, and his mouth worked wordlessly as he thought about it.

"I've run out of things to compare to my age," he decided. "Except perhaps for King."

"Are you King's master?" I asked.

"Oh, no. King's his own master. We're old, old friends. As you count in dog years, we're nearly cohorts." He chuckled, then sobered, as if the thought at first cheered, then saddened him. "Two old dogs of the city," he sighed.

"If you are a wizard, then you must help us. King tried to help me, but when the kidnappers went over the fence with Dauna, one threw pepper at him. Then…"

"Wait! Back to your drawing, boy."

"My what?"

"You can't build a house without a drawing," he said. "And you can't crave a favor without an introduction."

"Ohil'mJame."

"And I'm Ambassador Carrague. Well met, young Jame."

"Carrague! They said you died!" Father had read the obituary aloud from the Trumpeter, then griped about who would replace Carrague as city building inspector.