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"Cursed magic-users! You intentionally exclude your-selves 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."
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"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 leg-acy due me from my family."
"Yes ..."
"She seeks her mentor's murderer, does she not?" Ca-dorna 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 some-thing 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 serv-ices 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 pur-ple to it." Shal looked up with a grin of
pure delight, obvi-ously 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 ap-peared puzzled and looked
to Tarl for some kind of ex-planation.
"I asked," Tarl said simply, and he locked eyes with Shal for just a moment
before adding, "because I
wanted to know."
"Well, thanks, Tarl. What a pal!" Ren said sarcastically. " Why don't you just
come out and accuse me of being un-observant?"
"I wasn't suggesting "
Tarl didn't have a chance to finish. The doors to the inn were flung open
wide, and two trumpeters entered. They took position on either side of the
double doors and began blasting their horns so loud that
Sot's collection of rare glass liquor bottles rattled in their rack behind the
bar. Sot grabbed his cudgel and seemed likely to throttle the two, but at that
moment a herald entered the inn, stepped between them, unfurled a long scroll,
and began reading:
"The Honorable Porphyrys Cadorna, Fourth Council-man of the City of Phlan,
requires the presence of
Tarl Desanea of Vaasa, Ren o' the Blade of Waterdeep, and Shal Bal of Cormyr
directly in front of these premises im-mediately."
"Fourth Councilman now, eh?" Tarl noted. "I guess we'd better see what he
wants."
"I don't get the impression we have much choice," said Ren, rising from the
bench.
The herald exited, and the trumpeters stood holding the doors open until the
three followed. Outside the inn, a gleaming white carriage, drawn by two white
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horses with braided tails and manes and feather plumes,
pulled up in front of the inn just as the three came out. After calming the
spirited horses, the herald opened the car-riage door and dropped to his hands
and knees before it. Cadorna stepped from the high carriage onto the man's
back, then down to the street.
"Ah, I see you're all looking well." Cadorna waved his hand toward the three
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