wondrous cat, to this intelligent panther that had come, unbidden, to his rescue. How might the elf explain the bond that had grown between him and the cat? Had Anders's magical preparation imparted a sense of loyalty to the panther, given her the beginnings of that mindless slavery she would have known as a magical tool?
Josidiah looked once more into the cat's eyes and knew that was not the case. Something else had happened here, something of a higher order, though perhaps in part facilitated by the magic of Anders's preparation.
Anders moved quickly to retrieve the figurine and placed it beside the dying panther. 'You will take the figurine,' he said to Josidiah.
'I cannot,' the bladesinger replied, for he could not bear to see the panther in the subsequent lessened form, could not bear to take the cat as his slave.
Anders did not argue-there was no time for that. He poured some enchanted oil over the cat's head, weaving his magic, and placed his hand over the panther's eyes.
'I name you Whiskers,' he began, putting his dagger against the animal's throat.
'No!' Josidiah shouted, rushing beside the mage, grabbing the man's hand and pulling the dagger away. 'Not Whiskers, never that!'
Josidiah looked to the cat, into the marvelous yellow-green eyes, shining intently still, though the moment of death was upon her. He studied the animal, the beautiful, silent friend. 'Shadow,' he declared.
'No, not shadow,' said Josidiah, and he held back the dagger once more. 'The high elvish word for shadow.' He looked right into the cat's eyes, searching for some confirmation. He had not chosen this name, he suddenly understood; this had been the panther's name all along.
'Guenhwyvar.'
As soon as he uttered the name, there came a black flash, like the negative image of one of Anders's lightning bolts. Gray mist filled the room; the cloth swatch contracted and disappeared altogether, and then the panther, too, was gone, dissipating into nothingness.
Anders and Josidiah fell back, sitting side by side. It seemed for a moment that there was a profound line of emptiness in the room, a rift in the universe, as though the fabric of the planes of existence had been torn asunder. But then it was gone, everything-panther, hole, and rift, and all that remained was the figurine.
'What did you do?' Josidiah asked the mage.
'I?' balked Anders. 'What did you do?'
Josidiah moved cautiously to retrieve the figurine. With it in hand, he looked back to Anders, who nodded slowly in agreement. 'Guenhwyvar,' the elf called nervously.
A moment later, the area beside the elf filled with the gray mist, swirling and gradually taking the shape of the panther. She was breathing more easily, as though her wounds were fast on the mend. She looked up at Josidiah, and the elf s breath fell away, lost in the intensity, the intelligence, of that gaze.
This was no slave, no magical tool; this was the panther, the same wondrous panther!
'How did you do this?' the elf asked.
'I know not,' Anders replied. 'And I do not even know what I, what we, have done, with the figurine. It is the statuette that transforms into the living beast, and yet, the cat is here, and so is the statuette!' The old mage chuckled, locking gazes with the elf. 'Send her away to heal,' he bade.
Josidiah looked to the cat. 'Go, Guenhwyvar, but I shall summon you forth again, I promise.'
The panther growled, but it was not an angry sound, and she began a slow, limping pace, melting away into gray mist.
'That is the joy of magic,' Anders said. 'The mystery of it all. Why, even the greatest wizards could not explain this, I should guess. Perhaps all of my preparation, per-naps the magic of the hole-ah, yes, my dear, lost hole! — perhaps the combination of all these things.
'The joy of the mysteries,' he finished. 'Very well, then, give it to me.' And he held out his hand for the figurine, but Josidiah clutched it all the tighter.
'Never,' the elf said with a smile, and Anders smiled, as well.
'Indeed,' said the mage, hardly surprised. 'But you will pay for my lost hole, and for my time and effort.'
'Gladly,' said the elf, and he knew, holding that statuette, holding the key to the wondrous black panther, to Guenhwyvar, whom Josidiah realized would be his most loyal companion and friend for all the rest of his days, that it would be the most worthwhile gold he ever spent.
SMOKE POWDER AND MIRRORS
On reflection, Jehan Wands realized why most adventures begin in taverns. It takes a combination of noise, bustle, the late hour, wrong-headed opinions, and ale, all in specific amounts, to convince otherwise rational people to do stupid things like go on quests and slay dragons. And only a tavern could bring all this together in one spot.
The tavern in question was the Grinning Lion, located in the northern, well-monied reaches of Waterdeep, gem of the north, City of Splendors, and great jewel of the Shining Sea. The Lion was no wharf-side dock or adventurer's dive in the lower quarters of the city, but a clean, softly lit watering hole frequented by locals and the most recent generation of the city's noble families. Here, individuals who would flee in terror from the common room of the Bloody Fist or Selune's Smile farther down the city could quaff a few with others of similar social station and disposition.
There were no dusty Dalesmen here, no Red Wizards in mufti, and no axe-wielding dwarves. Most of the crowd were local, young, and in varying degrees of inebriation, their numbers mixed with a smattering of the wealthy merchants who catered to the wealthier families. A bois terous game of darts dominated one corner, a high-stakes Talis game another, and a third had been commandeered by a wag of middling years telling 'Volo stories' to a crowd of younger sports.
The fourth corner held a quiet table of three young apprentice wizards. These were new mages, just trained in their first cantrips, whose lives were still filled with the inglorious grunt work of wizards' assistants-cleaning kettles, running errands, fetching spell components, sweeping the summoning room floor, and other odious tasks their mentors assigned. Like employees of every stripe, regardless of profession, they were taking this opportunity of temporary freedom to complain about the masters they had just left behind.
'Familiars get treated better than we do,' said Jehan Wands. He was the tallest of the three, a youth with dark hair gathered in a ponytail behind a golden earring (the latter worn only when he was away from his magical master-his granduncle, Maskar Wands).
His friend Anton, a russet-headed youth, grunted an agreement. 'I've seen spell components that were better handled than apprentice wizards. Don't these old husks remember when they were young?'
'They probably do,' said Gerald, a gangly blond boy with short hair and a scowling demeanor, 'and they want to treat their apprentices just as badly as they themselves were treated.' Gerald was supposedly Anton's friend, but Jehan had drunk with him only a handful of times in the past few months.
'And I have it doubly bad,' said Jehan, 'for I'm working for the family patriarch himself. He's so old we call him Maskar the Mummy. Practically embalmed, and as stiff-necked as they come. If I make the slightest mistake, he pays a 'social call' on my father, and I get one of the Tour mother and I are very disappointed in you' talks. I hear he used to change his apprentices into frogs and newts. It would be an improvement over listening to my folks complain.'
'Huh. I can triple that misfortune' challenged Anton. 'My master claims to have studied under Elminster him self. Everything is 'Elminster this' and 'Elminster that' and 'When I was your age and worked for Elminster.' I don't think he's been farther west than the Rat Hills, but don't let him hear me say that. He would turn me into a frog.'
Gerald shook his head. 'I beat your ill curses fourfold. I serve the great and powerful Khelben Blackstaff Arunsun, who's just plain crazy. He's been involved in so many plots, he's stone-cold paranoid, and borderline violent to boot. If he thinks you're a danger to Waterdeep in any way, shape, or form, poof!' The blond youth
