one wall-a butterfly collection, from the looks of it. He went closer, and as he studied the creatures pinned to the wall, his distaste deepened to horror.
Dhamari had not drawn the line at butterflies. Tiny chameleon bats were neatly displayed alongside a desiccated fairy dragon and a tiny, mummified sprite. Several empty pins were thrust into the cork. Matteo pulled one and studied the fleck of translucent, papery blue that clung to it.
He showed it to Basel. “This looks like a scale from a starsnake’s discarded skin.”
The wizard muttered an oath. “I would give ten years off my life to know when and how Dhamari got that skin.”
Matteo nodded, understanding the wizard’s point. Twenty years ago, Keturah had been condemned as a murderer for her ability to summon these dangerous creatures. It was a rare ability, and after she fled, no one had thought to look for guilt elsewhere.
“How could both Tzigone and I have misjudged him so thoroughly?”
Basel reached into a small bag at his belt and took from it the talisman Dhamari had given Tzigone. “I’ve done a number of magical tests, and discovered that this is not Keturah’s talisman but a copy-a very good copy, but one entirely lacking magic. At first, I thought the magic had faded after Keturah’s death.”
A logical assumption, except Keturah was not dead. Noting the bleak expression in the wizard’s eyes, Matteo heartily wished he were free to tell Basel all.
“The original holds a permanent spell, very powerful, which protected the wearer from a particular person and all those who worked in his behalf,” the wizard concluded.
“In Keturah’s case, that would be Dhamari,” Matteo mused. “Is it possible Dhamari kept the original talisman, using it as protection against himself?”
Basel whistled softly. “I wouldn’t have thought the little weasel capable of such cunning, but that would explain how he concealed his real character and motivations.”
“Why?”
“Ambition,” Basel said shortly. “Shortly after Keturah took on Dhamari as an apprentice, she overheard him boasting that he would become both an Elder and an archmage. She told me this because she found it rather odd and quite out of character. Dhamari was a man of modest talent, and he seemed to understand and accept this. But enough talk. Let’s find out how he got as far as he did.”
They fell to work, searching the workshop and libraries for anything that might shed light on the spell Dhamari had given Tzigone-the spell that had hurled them both into the Unseelie Court.
Matteo quickly discarded scrolls describing poisons and transforming potion, lingering instead over anything that dealt with elven magic. This seemed prudent, as Kiva had played a part in Dhamari’s goals, or perhaps vice versa. Finally, in the very bottom of a deep chest, he unearthed a moldering tome embossed with slashing, angular runes.
His heart danced wildly as he realized the significance of those runes. He strode over to Basel, carrying the spellbook with the same care and repugnance he would show a deadly viper.
“Ilythiiri,” he said, handing the book to the wizard. “I have read legends of Halruaa’s dark elves, but I never imagined that artifacts, even spellbooks, might have survived so long.”
Basel placed the fragile tome on a reading table and began to page through it. After a few minutes, he drew a small parchment roll from his tunic and began to copy the dark elven spells.
“Is that wise?”
The wizard glanced up. “Is it wise to drink snake venom in hope of curing another snake’s bite? If the ancestors of drow elves and Crinti bandits can help me counteract what Dhamari has done, I’ll hand my entire fortune over to their accursed descendants!”
Matteo thought of Andris, imprisoned for aiding the treasonous Kiva. “Can any good come of evil?”
Basel sniffed and kept copying. “I could stick my head in the sand and pretend evil doesn’t exist, but all that would
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