Night closed down upon Cenre. As the last of the sun disappeared behind the tall forests beyond the capital’s walls, Tion quietly shut the door to Abadu’s chamber and sat in the sorcerer’s chair. He pulled from his belt the scrap of parchment inscribed in Abadu’s hand with the ancient words that would break the mists of the crystal globe. Tion, looking into the globe, saw his own distorted reflection.
Nightly had he come into Abadu’s room meaning to utter the words of power. But unsurety and a tinge of fear had naturally held him back. Now, becoming more uneasy with the false Desdira in the palace, and disturbed by a growing mood of violence among the populace, Tion determined to do the thing. He might see nothing; even Abadu’s magic could not break through the defense of Kossuth’s citade
