The Medusa Plague

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The memory that had haunted Guerrand DiThon for months came to him in the eerie way of dreams, and he was both main character and witness to events. The Dream, as he'd come to call it, was always as painfully vivid as when he'd reenacted the historical event during his magical Test in the Tower of High Sorcery.

Guerrand was the black-robed wizard, Rannoch. He watched himself standing in secret shadow on the Death Walk that encircled the beautiful Tower of High Sorcery at Palanthas. Below him, an angry and avaricious mob had gathered with the regent of Palanthas outside the tower's gate, waiting for the Council of Mages to turn over the key to this center of magical knowledge. These ordinary citizens had come, anticipating their first glimpse of the magical wonders inside. None had foreseen witnessing one mage's desperate act of love for the Art, a love all wizards shared.

As a gesture of his beneficence, the Kingpriest had promised all users of magic sanctuary from persecution at Wayreth, the last and most remote of the original five towers of sorcery. But Rannoch had no intention of retreating to the wilds of Wayreth, no faith in the charlatan's oath of safety there.

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