Enjoy your flight, and let me know if you find any trouble."

"No preythoughtfear, mistressfriend. Fly fast and strong-claw. I nofear. I fightwell."

The tressym leaped off the bed onto a table and launched himself out the window, his wings taking him aloft over the City of Splendors.

Tsarra felt how happy he was to have a sunny morning, a sentiment she shared. Winter would soon bottle the city in with clouds and cold for months. She slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder and exited the guest chamber. A few steps to her right brought her to a closed door.

Khelben enchanted every door in Blackstaff Tower to prevent the room's noises from traveling. The only way for occupants to know someone knocked was to use the metal knocker set at the door's center-Khelben's elaborate wizard mark set in brass over a plate of the same. Tsarra rapped once lightly and entered. If she was not welcome, the door would not budge at all.

She opened the door and smelled smoke just before she heard the roar of expanding flames. Using the door as a shield, Tsarra began casting a defensive spell.

If it weren't safe, girl, I would have warned you thusly.

Tsarra stepped fully into the room, confused by finding flying spells instead of a sick bed for the injured count. He stood with his back to her, his sleeveless tunic revealing his wiry, tattooed arms as he wove another powerful spell. On the far side of the room, a wardrobe, chair, and side table smoldered with light smoke, the charred blast points on the wall suggesting one of the two wizards had unleashed something earlier.

The morning sun did not diminish the glowing shimmer at the room's center. The magical creation was new to her, and she looked to her mentor, one eyebrow cocked quizzically. He merely inclined his head back at Gamalon, who unleashed his spell into the shimmering area. The fireball exploded at its center but did not expand to its full potential. It highlighted a ring of invisible menhirs around the shimmering area, all of which absorbed the magic of his spell. Once the roar of the spell died down, Tsarra could hear the count's ragged but deep breathing.

The totally bald wizard was obviously exhausted, sweat gleaming on his scalp and running down his neck. He turned, and Tsarra smiled as she bowed to him, happy his wounds from the previous night were all healed, save a long-standing injury covered with an eye patch. He nodded to her in return, coming over to grasp both of her hands in his as a typical Tethyrian greeting.

"Well met, young lady. I regret I am not at my best." His dark face showed the strain of heartache, his eye bloodshot. Still, he attempted a slight smile, easily seen around his salt-and-peppered beard, fully regrown and neatly trimmed.

"No regrets, your excellency, save my own. I am sorry not to have been of more assistance to you last night and this morning," Tsarra said. Remembering another Tethyrian custom, she took his hands between hers, folding them together over her heart in honor of his grief.

His only response was to drop his head as tears flowed freely from his right eye. He bowed his head to hers, his voice choked with emotion. "You honor me with that mourner's prayer. Thank you." He dropped his hands and collapsed into the nearest chair, his shoulders and head slumped in grief.

Tsarra looked to Khelben for a cue as to what she should do. He walked around the glistening spell construct, his face an unreadable mask, and spoke up from across the room: "A worthy and intriguing spell, Gamalon. If not for its overlong casting, it would be a boon on the battlefield. Still, truly a spell that needs carry your name." His pacing brought him close to where Gamalon and Tsarra were, and his face relaxed into a look of compassionate concern. Speaking to neither one of them, Khelben looked at a wall and said, "Laeral, please bring the globe if it's ready." He knelt down and placed a hand on Gamalon's shoulder, and the wizard looked up.

"My anger's spent, as are my spells, Blackstaff. I'm just… I can't believe Mynda… Why didn't her necklace protect her? Why?

I… I don't understand…" Gamalon began a series of wracking sobs that did not stop when Laeral entered the room.

In her hands, she held a wooden box. She went directly to a small table near Gamalon and placed the box on it, opening the latch and letting the box's hinges open to reveal its contents. Set into each of the hinged covers was a scroll tube. Inside the box on a velvet cushion rested a globe of rose quartz about two hand spans in diameter. Its surface was polished smooth save for a few sigils lightly etched into it. Laeral and Khelben both murmured the same spell, which Tsarra did not recognize, and their palms glowed as they placed their hands upon the globe, their faces a mixture of sadness and compassion.

Tsarra shuffled around the room, opening windows to let out the lingering smoke. She busied herself with the mundane tasks of tidying the bed and moving the smoldering furniture beneath the windows.

Hearing Gamalon cough, Tsarra poured him a cup of water from his bedside pitcher. She sent the clay cup over to him with a minor cantrip. Gamalon looked at her and nodded.

"Aha. 'Use every occasion to sharpen your magic, even the most mundane. It is not vanity or laziness that makes a mage use his skills in all things, but to honor the gods Azuth and Mystra for their gifts and their trust in him.' That still holds true?" Gamalon asked.

Tsarra smiled in return. "It would seem Khelben's lectures remain the same across the years. You were an apprentice here, your excellency?"

Gamalon said, "Never an apprentice, but kin and a intermittent student over the years. Poorer in magic would I be, were it not for my great-grandfather."

Tsarra asked, "So you too know he's not who he claims to be?"

"Less than one per twoscore who have studied within these walls realize Khelben knows too much to only be a mage of fifty-odd winters.

I always knew my paternal grandmother Kessydra was born in the Year of the Bright Sun as the daughter of Khelben the Elder and Cassandra Simtul-Arunsun. Mind you, I called him cousin for many years before I uncovered the truth. His secrets are there, but only decipherable if he trusts you enough to show you the trail that leads to them."

"Enough, Lord Idogyr," Khelben intoned from across the room. "Here is another secret, though it is pale recompense for its costs."

Gamalon turned to look at Khelben, and stood up, his face paling as he said loudly to the mages Arunsun, "A Nyk-karan Mourninglobe?"

The spell's glow shifting from their hands into the globe, Laeral and Khelben pulled their hands away. Both opened their eyes, and Khelben spoke. "Yes. Laeral and I spent the night preparing this one while you healed and slept. This one is for you-for Mynda."

"Khelben," Gamalon said, "these are priceless, their secrets lost."

"Not exactly true on either account," Laeral returned. "You have four scrolls here with the mourning spell on them-enough for you and your children to mourn her within the globe."

As Laeral spoke and Gamalon sat down at the table with them, Khelben looked at Tsarra and sent to her, You're usually better at keeping your emotions off your face, Tsarra. Your confusion is apparent.

Well, I don't usually see this much new or old magic this quickly.

I've seen more secrets in two days than I've studied in a dozen years here. I've never heard of either mourninglobes or Nykkaran before-was he the wizard who made them?

I forget my days can seem overwhelming to those unused to such tumult. You'll have to get used to this, I'm afraid. As for Nykkar, it is a place. Calimshan has always had Nykkar, a city dedicated to funerary practices and the dead. Some funeramancers of this city first created these globes back when the Shoon dominated the south.