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The older kender, holding Damaris's hand, set off at a
carefree pace up the stone steps that spiraled upward be-
yond the reach of the torchlight. Moss and fungus grew
through cracks in the stone walls. Phineas followed
closely, hunched over defensively, his eyes darting every-
where at once.
"You know, from the circular shape of it," Trapspringer
said, "I'll bet this is the Tower of High Sorcery. I don't
know why I didn't think of it earlier." Damaris gave his
hand a squeeze.
"Does it matter?" Phineas asked cynically.
"It means we might run into some leftover magic," Da-
maris said, obviously excited by the prospect.
Phineas stumbled over a loose stone in the ancient
stairs and grabbed for the wall. "Leftover magic? What
does that mean?"
"His voice is getting more shrill than a harpy's," Da-
maris pointed out to Trapspringer.
"This single tower is all that's left of the complex that
was created here at the dawn of time," explained Trap-
springer, "along with the other four Towers of High
Sorcery -- Wayreth, Palanthas, Istar, and some other one
I can't remember now. Several of them are still used as
centers of magic, but this one was abandoned shortly af-
ter the Cataclysm."
"Which means?" Phineas asked impatiently.
"Magic was once performed here regularly. There
might be some of it still lingering, like a spell that never
met its mark --"
"-- Or magical monsters might still be guarding the up-
per floors!" Damaris suggested enthusiastically.
"Spellbooks, scrolls, magic rings, bracelets, potions,
wands, staffs, gloves, swords --"
"I get your point," Phineas gulped
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