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. The source of all magic."
"I never heard of a gnome using magic," the kender
pointed out.
The wizard frowned and seemed to shudder. "We had
better go on," he said.
Beyond the wall the path pitched steeply downward
and entered a forest so dense that the light of the moons
was only a patchwork through interwoven branches.
"I'd just as soon make camp here," Chane said, then
went silent as the singing voice came again, this time
much nearer. Someone just ahead was singing in a lan-
guage none of them knew. The singer's tonal range was
tremendous, the voice so utterly lovely that it caught
their breaths and tugged at their hearts.
A siren? Chane thought and realized it didn't matter.
The voice held him in thrall, and he couldn't have turned
away if he had wanted to.
Beyond the trees ahead was a glow of firelight, and the
voice seemed to be coming from there. They hurried on.
The slope lessened to level ground, and the trees ended
abruptly at a circular clearing. The black gravel of the
path ended at a clean-swept expanse of black flagstone
paving - a circular band of ebony stone nearly one hun-
dred yards across. Thick, short pillars of red granite
stood like sentinels around the circle at brief intervals,
and within the circle of black was a circle of white, then
another of black. The concentric pavings narrowed to-
ward the center, where stood a tall, cone-shaped mono-
lith with a small, dim object at its apex
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