"And then it will vanish, and what remains for her is Abthalom, her prison in the dark, shrieking swirls of the Abyss.

"Then, on one desert night, well into the reign of the last Kingpriest, the change will begin unexpect shy;edly.

"Will begin like this.

"Reveling in a thunderstorm, riding the jagged lightning over the red mesa south of Istar, Takhisis will watch and exult as the black desert lies exposed to fire and power, and sudden torrential rains-the first in three years, the last ever in the Istarian desert-batter the desolate salt flats at the foot of the Red Plateau. When the lightning strikes the stand of black crystals she will scarcely notice, until the storm subsides and she finds herself hovering, a tiny spark in the heart of a glittering shard.

"How she will remain there, how she can linger, is a mystery unknown to druid or priest. And yet, by this peculiar accident, she will find a way back to the world.

"Oh, yes, the form she takes will be brittle. When she molds her new body into the shape of a snake, of a jackal-finally a woman-it will be a full year before she learns the art, before she can take shape without breaking or crumbling. Even after that, her stays will be short-lived, for without notice her crys shy;talline flesh will crumble to salt, to sand, to dust, and she will be forced back to Abthalom again-back to the swirling darkness.

"To await a housing more amorphous. A home borne of water and slow time and the incantation of a powerful priest."

The man lifted his eyes from the book. Water and slow time? Incantations? Not enough to piece together the puzzle of this prophecy.

But the crystals. He could learn more of the crys shy;tals. He bent over the book, reading again.