chair before Par-Salian’s desk. He limped as he walked, his left
foot dragging the ground. Raistlin was not the only mage ever
injured in the Test.
Justarius smiled. “Though the Great One has become quite
adept at hiding his feelings,” he added.
“I was aware of you,” Par-Salian said softly. “You know me
better than that, my friend.”
Justarius shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. I was interested
in hearing what you had to say to Ladonna -”
“I would have said the same to you.”
“Probably less, for I would not have argued as she has. I
agree with you, I have from the beginning. But that is because
we know the truth, you and I.”
“What truth?” Ladonna repeated. Her gaze went from Justa-
rius to Par-Salian, her eyes dilating with anger.
“You will have to show her,” Justarius said, still in the same
mild voice. “She will not be convinced otherwise. Prove to her
how great the danger is.”
“You will show me nothing!” Ladonna said, her voice shak-
ing. “I would believe nothing you two devised -”
“Then let her do it herself,” Justarius suggested, shrugging.
Par-Salian frowned, then – scowling – he shoved the crystal
prism upon the desk toward her. He pointed. “The staff in the
corner belonged to Fistandantilus – the greatest, most powerful
wizard who has ever lived. Cast a Spell of Seeing, Ladonna.
Look at the staff.”
Ladonna touched the prism hesitantly, her glance moving
suspiciously once more from Par-Salian to Justarius, then
back.
“Go ahead!” Par-Salian snapped. “I have not tampered with
it.” His gray eyebrows came together. “You know I cannot lie to
you, Ladonna.”
“Though you may lie to others,” Justarius said softly.
Par-Salian cast the red-robed mage an angry look but did not
reply.
Ladonna picked up the crystal with sudden resolution. Hold-
ing it in her hand, she raised it to her eyes, chanting words that
sounded harsh and sharp. A rainbow of light beamed from the
prism to the plain wooden staff that leaned up against the wall
in a dark corner of the study. The rainbow expanded as it
welled out from the crystal to encompass the entire staff. Then
it wavered and coalesced, forming into the shimmering image
of the owner of the staff.
Ladonna stared at the image for long moments, then slowly
lowered the prism from her eye. The moment she withdrew her
concentration from it, the image vanished, the rainbow light
winked out. Her face was pale.
“Well, Ladonna,” Par-Salian asked quietly, after a moment.
“Do we go ahead?”
“Let me see the Time Travel spell,” she said, her voice taut.
Par-Salian made an impatient gesture. “You know that is not
possible, Ladonna! Only the Masters of the Tower may know
this spell -”
“I am within my rights to see the description, at least,”
Ladonna returned coldly. “Hide the components and the words
from my sight, if you will. But I demand to see the expected
results.” Her expression hardened. “Forgive me if I do not trust
you, old friend, as I might once have done. But your robes
seem to be turning as gray as your hair.”
Justarius smiled, as if this amused him.
Par-Salian sat for a moment, irresolute.
“Tomorrow morning, friend,” Justarius murmured.
Angrily, Par-Salian rose to his feet. Reaching beneath his
robes, he drew forth a silver key that he wore around his neck
on a silver chain – the key that only the Master of a Tower of
High Sorcery may use. Once there were five, now only two
remained. As Par-Salian took the key from around his neck
and inserted it into an ornately carved wooden chest standing
near his desk, all three mages present were wondering silently if
Raistlin was – even now – doing the same thing with the key he
possessed, perhaps even drawing out the same spellbook,
bound in silver. Perhaps even turning slowly and reverently
through the same pages, casting his gaze upon the spells known
only to the Masters of the Towers.
Par-Salian opened the book, first muttering the prescribed
words that only the Masters know. If he had not, the book
would have vanished from beneath his hand. Arriving at the