Curse of the Shadowmage

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As always, there are many people whose help and inspiration made this book possible. There are some of them I even want to mention. Allow me to thank:

Carla Montgomery, friend and fellow wordsmith, for once again reading a work in progress; and for letting me know when things needed changing and, perhaps more importantly, when things were just fine.

Brian Thomsen, Executive Editor of TSR Books, for giving me the chance to continue a tale unfinished.

Pat McGilligan, my inexhaustible editor of four novels, for reading yet another one.

And Loreena McKennitt, recording artist, for the haunting and evocative music of The Mask and Mirror.

Night.

It mantled the city of Iriaebor, veiling all with the soft stuff of darkness. A thousand spires loomed silent and mysterious as sentinels above the shadowed labyrinth of the Old City. Selûne had long since fled beneath the western horizon with the luminous orb she bore nightly in her silver chariot, and false light—the first pale omen of dawn—had not yet touched the eastern sky. It was the darkest hour of the night, the hour caught in the rift between one day and the next, when the world is the most still and magic the most strong. The Darkling Hour, some called it. The hour for thieves and wizards.

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