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“Tasslehoff. Tasslehoff Burrfoot,” the kender replied.

“And I’m—” The old man stopped. “What did you say the name was?”

“Fizban.”

“Fizban. Yes …” The old man pondered a moment, then he shook his head. “I sure thought he was dead.…”

10

Silvara’s secret.

How did you survive?” Tas asked, pulling some dried fruit from a pouch to share with Fizban.

The old man appeared wistful. “I really didn’t think I did,” he said apologetically. “I’m afraid I haven’t the vaguest notion. But, come to think of it, I haven’t been able to eat a chicken since. Now”—he stared at the kender shrewdly—“what are you doing here?”

“I came with some of my friends. The rest are wandering around somewhere, if they’re still alive.” He sniffed again.

“They are. Don’t worry.” Fizban patted him on the back.

“Do you think so?” Tas brightened. “Well, anyway, we’re here with Silvara—”

“Silvara!” The old man leaped to his feet, his white hair flying out wildly. The vague look faded from his face.

“Where is she?” the old man demanded sternly. “And your friends, where are they?”

“D-downstairs,” stammered Tas, startled at the old man’s transformation. “Silvara cast a spell on them!”

“Ah, she did, did she?” the old man muttered. “We’ll see about that. Come on.” He started off along the balcony, walking so rapidly, Tas had to run to keep up.

“Where’d you say they were?” the old man asked, stopping near the stairs. “Be specific,” he snapped.

“Uh—the tomb! Huma’s tomb! I think it’s Huma’s tomb. That’s what Silvara said.”

“Humpf. Well, at least we don’t have to walk.”

Descending the stairs to the hole in the floor Tas had come up through, the old man stepped out into its center. Tas, gulping a little, joined him, clutching at the old man’s robes. They hung suspended over nothing but darkness, feeling cool air waft up around them.

“Down,” the old man stated.

They began to rise, drifting toward the ceiling of the upper gallery. Tas felt the hair stand up on his head.

“I said down!” the old man shouted furiously, waving his staff menacingly at the hole below him.

There was a slurping sound and both of them were sucked into the hole so rapidly that Fizban’s hat flew off. It’s just like the hat he lost in the red dragon’s lair, Tas thought. It was bent and shapeless, and apparently possessed of a mind of its own. Fizban made a wild grab for it, but missed. The hat, however, floated down after them, about fifty feet above.

Tasslehoff peered down, fascinated, and started to ask a question, but Fizban shushed him. Gripping his staff, the old mage began whispering to himself, making an odd sign in the air.

Laurana opened her eyes. She was lying on a cold stone bench, staring at a black, glistening ceiling. She had no idea where she was. Then memory returned. Silvara!

Sitting up swiftly, she flashed a glance around the room. Flint was groaning and rubbing his neck. Theros blinked and looked around, puzzled. Gilthanas, already on his feet, stood at the end of Huma’s tomb, gazing down at something by the door. As Laurana walked over to him, he turned around. Putting his finger to his lips, he nodded in the direction of the doorway.

Silvara sat there, her head in her arms, sobbing bitterly.

Laurana hesitated, the angry words on her lips dying. This certainly wasn’t what she had expected. What had she expected? she asked herself. Never to wake again, most likely. There had to be an explanation. She started forward.

“Silvara—” she began.

The girl leaped up, her tear-stained face white with fear.

“What are you doing awake? How did you free yourself from my spell?” she gasped, falling back against the wall.

“Never mind that!” Laurana answered, though she hadn’t any idea how she had wakened. “Tell us—”

“It was my doing!” announced a deep voice. Laurana and the rest turned around to see a white-bearded old man in mouse-colored robes rise up solemnly out of the hole in the floor.

“Fizban!” whispered Laurana in disbelief.

There was a clunk and a thud. Flint toppled over in a dead