[an error occurred while processing this directive]


Tamerus' hand didn't waver as he tapped the small amount of white powder into the glass. He was thoroughly precise, as befit a professional. The white powder sizzled as it struck the liquid the glass, but he gently swirled the cup until the foam died.

Just a few more exposures and he'd stop having to worry about constant doses of the toxin - at least for a while. It would take years to build up a permanent effect with this kind of toxin - years!

Morovin had wanted him to build up a permanent effect as quickly as possible so that they could remove him from the area, but then, Morovin was an arrogant fool, more concerned with venting his many (and varied) pleasures then with the cause. Morovin only moved when he had to - as in to say, when he had Morgan at his side, t'santari in his hand, and men at his back.

Tamerus fingered his own t'santari crystal, a simple, polished orb that might pass for glass, set in a gold ring. It was as much a badge of office as a weapon - only Chosen of his rank were permitted to bear t'santari. With few exceptions.

He wondered how Morovin was progressing; the plan in it's entirety was a sweeping affair that would take years to bring to fruition, but if this portion of the plan worked then much of what they intended would become unnecessary. Everything hinged on Tamerus' skill, and Tamerus was good.

Very good.

And, should he, by some enormous stretch of the imagination, fail

Well, then he had his spells in his mind and his Metophose in his case.

[an error occurred while processing this directive]