Blackstaff Tower

Начало книги

"Are you sure you need to do this right now, Samark?" The young woman's short black hair rippled in the light breeze, never obscuring her bright indigo eyes. "I know it's important, but it's too nice a day. Why spoil our picnic by rifling through that tomb? Stay here, where it's warm and bright."

Vajra Safahr stretched languidly on the blanket. She luxuriated in the sun and playfully clamped her toes on the edge of Samark's robes. "Aren't there better things we could do with such a marvelous day?" She let one dusky shoulder slip free from her gray tunic as she leaned toward Samark and winked.

The old man, Samark "the Blackstaff" Dhanzscul, smiled. The smile contorted three parallel scars running from his right cheekbone down to his jaw. "Tempting, lass," he said. "Deliciously so. Hold those thoughts. My task here won't keep me long. Especially with such a motivation putting wings to my aged feet."

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