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"Yes, I knew Denlor," said Cadorna.

"Knew him? I've no doubt," said Gensor. "The woman's mentor died there, as I gather did Denlor. I listened in on the party's conversations until they reached the tower itself, but I did not follow them in. My cloak of invisibility would not have functioned within those magicked walls."

"Spare me the details of your ineptitude, mage! What else did you learn?"

Gensor glowered at Cadorna until the councilman took a step backward, and then he proceeded. "Her master was murdered-by a beast, she believes."

"Her master? Who-"

"A wizard named Ranthor. She knew something of Denlor's death and of the siege on his tower by creatures from the outside." Gensor paused for a moment, looking inquisitively at Cadorna. "And her steed is magical, a familiar inherited from her dead master."

Cadorna stepped closer at this news. "A familiar? What are its powers? Can anyone control it?"

"A familiar is a mage's helpmate. A good one offers advice, warning, sometimes even protection from attack. Some are practically useless, but she insisted on taking the horse with her into the tower, so I expect the animal has some power to dispel magic."

"Are those powers someone else could harness?"

"A good familiar is loyal to the death and will serve another only at its master's bidding. Even I couldn't control the horse unless its master wished me to do so. You'd never be able to control it. Familiars communicate telepathically, by virtue of their spiritual tuning with their masters."

"Cursed magic-users! You intentionally exclude yourselves from the rest of us!"

"Yes, Councilman, that we do. And even though I don't have any use for the Cormyrian woman's naivete or her righteous friends, I still recognize her as a growing force within my profession, a force to be worked with… or reckoned with."

"Or taken advantage of," said Cadorna, twisting his face into a smile.

At this, Gensor smiled, too-an equally corrupt smile- and then chuckled, a muted, synthetic sound. "What did you have in mind, Councilman?"

"You, of course, know my interest in those three, my belief that they may be able to help me recover the legacy due me from my family."

"Yes…"

"She seeks her mentor's murderer, does she not?" Cadorna asked, his narrowed eyes glinting.

"Yes. So?"

"It just seems to me that one of the gnolls that have overrun the Cadorna textile house may have had something to do with his murder. I mean, I'm sure I could make her think that was the case and get her to go there… don't you?" Cadorna was obviously calculating as he spoke. "My idea, of course, needs some refining, Gensor, but I'll certainly let you know when I can use your services again. In the meantime, since you don't need my monetary reimbursements, perhaps you'll take this for your efforts." Cadorna held out the magical dagger from Sokol Keep. It gleamed even in the daylight.

"How strange, Gensor. By its glow, this knife tells me that you are dangerous."

"Or that you are, Councilman." Gensor accepted the knife, turned, and left the study, closing the double doors firmly behind him.

* * * * *

"You remember how Cerulean used to have a bluish tint to his coat?" Shal asked, setting down her mug of ale.

"Yeah," answered Ren. "He does have a little bit of a blue tinge to him, even when he isn't collecting sparks from the floor."

"Well, since he returned this morning from putting Ranthor to rest, his coat has just the slightest hint of purple to it." Shal looked up with a grin of pure delight, obviously expecting Ren to comprehend her excitement. But he simply returned a puzzled stare.

"Don't you see?" asked Tarl, plunking down his own mug for emphasis. "Purple is Shal's color, not Ranthor's. The wizard has truly been put to rest, and the familiar is wholly Shal's."

"Purple is Shal's color? How would you know?" Ren appeared puzzled and looked to Tarl for some kind of explanation.

"I asked," Tarl said simply, and he locked eyes with Shal for just a moment before adding, "because I wanted to know."

"Well,