Emmaline allowed the spell to crumble, the voices of the plotters, now discussing where they would spend their imagined immense wealth fading away into the murmur of background conversation. The food was very good and the wine was excellent, though Emmaline's palate had been coarsened considerably during her year in Araby where the rough Arak had been the drink of choice. For a blessing the mood in the tavern seemed calm enough. In one corner a very drunk young pistolier was describing a battle he had fought in against the chaos hordes, making exaggerated hand gestures and rhetorical flourishes to describe the battle. In another a trio of dwarves talked in low voices, like the rumble of a distant storm.

Feeling pleasantly full and warm with drink, Emmaline was just about to suggest they retire for the evening when a sudden hush fell over the room. A figure was standing in the doorway, he was heavy set and resplendent in the regalia of a gold wizard, complete with staff and golden chain of office. He paused for dramatic effect before striding over to where Amal and Emmaline sat, staff thumping on the floor with each step. Without waiting for invitation he pulled a chair from a nearby table and spun it around taking a seat facing the two travelers, straddling the seat and resting his crossed arms on back of the chair. He was considerably less impressive up close, bald and liver spotted and with several golden filling in his wide grinning mouth.

"Albrect," Emmaline muttered with a sigh. The eyes of the disreputable looking wizard twinkled.

"My heart is filled with joy to see you are alive my dear apprentice," the other wizard said with an ironic flourish.