back home. You're a good enough mage without having to put up with this!"

His words carried quite clearly. The other initiates turned to stare. The upper lip of one of the elves curled in a

sneer.

Raistlin felt the hot blood flood his face. "Hush, Caramon!" he rebuked, his voice quivering with anger. "You are

shaming us both!"

Caramon shut his mouth, bit his lip.

Raistlin deliberately turned his back on his twin. He could not fathom why the conclave had insisted on

Caramon's being a part of his brother's testing.

"Unless they plan on aggravating me to death," Raistlin muttered to himself.

He tried to ignore Caramon's presence, concentrating on banishing his own nervous fears. There was no reason he

should be afraid. He had studied his spellbook, he knew it inside out, could have recited his spells backward while

standing on his head, if that was what the judges might require. He had proven that he could work his magic under

pressure. He would not fall apart, nor would his spell fall apart, in tense situations.

He need not be concerned about his abilities to perform magic during the Test. Nor was he particularly worried

about the intangible portions of the Test, the part wherein the mage learns more about himself. Introspective from

birth, Raistlin was confident that he knew all there was to know about his own inner workings.

For him, the Test would be a mere formality.

Raistlin relaxed, discovered that he was actually looking forward to the Test. His worries eased, he spent the time

waiting for the judges to arrive in studying the fabled Tower of Wayreth.

"I will see it often in the future," he said to himself and envisioned traveling the unseen pathways, tending herbs

in the garden, studying in the great library.

The tower at Wayreth was in actuality two towers, constructed of polished black obsidian. The main towers were

surrounded by a wall in the shape of an equilateral triangle, with three smaller towers located at each of the angles.

The wall surrounded the garden, where grew many varieties of herbs used not only for spell components, but also for

healing and cooking.

The tops of the walls had no battlements, for the tower was protected by strong magicks. The forest would not

permit the entry of anyone unle ss he had been invited by the conclave. If an enemy did, by some mischance, manage

to stumble into the forest, the magical creatures roaming within would deal with the foe.

There was need for such precautions. Long ago there had been five Towers of High Sorcery, centers for magic on

Ansalon. During the rise of Istar, the Kingpriest, who secretly feared magic and the power of wizards, outlawed

magic. He caused mobs to rise against the wizards, hoping to eradicate them.

The wizards might have fought back, and some advocated the use of force, but the conclave deemed such drastic

action unwise. Defending themselves would result in tragic loss of life on both sides. The Kingpriest and his followers

wanted bloody conflict. Then they could point an accusing finger at the wizards and say, "We were right! They are a

menace and should be destroyed!"

The conclave made a bargain with the Kingpriest. The wizards would abandon their towers, retreat to a single

tower located in Wayreth. Here they would continue to study unmolested. The Kingpriest, though disappointed that

the wizards chose not to fight, agreed. He had already taken control of the Tower of High Sorcery at Istar, and now he

looked forward to gaining the exquisitely lovely tower in Palanthas. He planned to make it a temple to his greatness.

As he entered the tower to claim it, a black-robed wizard, purportedly insane, leapt from one of the tower's upper

windows. The wizard impaled himself upon the sharp barbs of the iron fence below. With his dying breath, he cast a

curse upon the tower, saying that none should inhabit it except the Master of Past and Present.

Who was this mysterious master? No one could say. Certainly it was not the Kingpriest. As he watched, horrified,

the tower altered in appearance, becoming so hideous in aspect that those looking at it were constrained to cover

their eyes. Even then, those who saw it were forever haunted by the dreadful sight.

The Kingpriest sent for powerful clerics to try to lift the curse. Surrounded by the Shoikan Grove, a forest of fear,

the tower was guarded by the dark god Nuitari, who paid no attention to prayers uttered to any god except himself.

The clerics of Paladine came, but they ran whimpering from the site. The clerics of Mishakal tried to enter. They

barely escaped with their lives.

When the gods cast down the fiery mountain on Ansalon, the Cataclysm sent Istar to the bottom of the Blood