“I thought something was off about you.” Greta said quietly, and Rall nearly fainted.

Despite Rall’s fears of being found out or mistreated, Valan and his caravan were not only kind, but accepted him without question. Roda helped him learn to make careful stitches with mending and making clothing, and he watched and helped her with the cooking over an open fire that night. It was a far cry from cooking on a stove for his master, but he picked it up fairly quickly. That night he slept in the wagon with Roda and Greta, who it turned out was a year older than he, while the men took turns on guard duty sleeping on bedrolls under the sky.

The merchant caravan moved slowly and Valan explained that it would take six days’ travel to reach Lussax, but that it should be an easy travel as the roads were well cared for. Roda offered Rall clean clothes and he couldn’t refuse her generosity, though he did wait to change until no one was looking and hid behind a curtain used to separate the wagon into halves for when the men needed to sleep inside as well. If Roda or Greta thought this strange, neither commented.

The second day went much the same, the slow creak of the wheels as they travelled lulled Rall into a sort of peace. His troubles were all behind him and while he would miss his friend and his family very much, perhaps he could return soon when Master Xabriar forgot the existence of a lowly apprentice. Again he sewed, helping make clothes from raw linen for sale at Lussax, washed and cooked and generally did women’s chores. The work was sometimes hard and sometimes tedious, but Rall put every effort into each job, determined to make up in some small way for the lie he was telling these nice people. That night he washed in a small stream over which the road travelled on a sturdy wooden bridge. The wagon was very close by, but he was certain no one could see him from the other side of the bridge. As he shrugged back into the blue woolen dress Roda had given him before reminding him to go wash, a finger poked him in the shoulder.

“I thought something was off about you.” Greta said quietly, and Rall nearly fainted. “You never change where anyone can see, you are so secretive... I thought maybe you were just trying to hide all those lash marks, and I wanted to know if I should have Mother do something for them, but I didn’t quite expect this.”

“Please... I am sorry I lied, I meant no harm I swear by the First! I only meant to get away without being followed! Please don’t send me back to him!” Rall cried, ashamed to find tears dripping down his cheeks once again. He learned early in his apprenticeship that crying would make any beating worse and had sworn never to cry again, but he could not stop it this time.

“Peace, Rana, peace. No one is going to send you back, from what I’ve seen it doesn’t matter if you’re a boy or girl, you needed to get away. Mother and Father would never send someone with marks like yours back to face the lash again or worse. Did he geld you as well as lash you?” Rall shuddered and shook his head. “Oh, I thought maybe with the way you look, and your voice... But you do have to tell them, Father will be very cross if you continue to lie and it comes out later.”

Rall nodded, and stood up to go face the coming discussion with mixed fear and hope, it would be nice to quit this charade, but explaining his motives would be unpleasant to say the least. As the two approached the wagon, they heard a scuffle from the far side. Metal-on-metal clanking sounds and shouts filled the air and Greta cried out, running for the wagon.

“Greta, wait!” The moment he said it he knew it was too late. The sounds of fighting had stopped, and before he could even move a gravelly voice called out from the wagon.

“You out there, don’t run or I’ll put a bolt in your back. Come on over here with the rest of your family before I have to kill someone else.” Rall meekly moved forward, far too terrified to think of trying to free the sword hanging under his skirt.

“Oh ho, look what we have here, another one! And this one even sweeter than the last!” Rall’s terror multiplied, and he stopped, paralyzed. Rough hands grabbed him, dragged him toward the fire. The sword banged into his knee, but no one seemed to notice it.

“Pretty but young, you’ll fetch a good price. Your older sister will too. Now, are we going to come quietly, or shall we kill Daddy and have some fun with Mommy before we take you to sell at the block?” Rall nearly threw up, and he heard Greta wail pitifully nearby. Looking toward the fire, he saw both guards, Valan and both of his sons all lying in heaps. One of the guards was lying in a large puddle of something dark, but he thought the rest might be alive.

The bandits didn’t bother trying to convince them further, and tied Greta and Rall’s arms behind their backs. He wanted to resist but he could barely bring himself to breathe for fear of being killed. That seemed likely enough anyway, the moment they looked under his skirt.

He watched with sickening regret as Greta was thrown over a horse’s back like a sack of grain. He was treated to the same thing, the hilt of the sword digging painfully into his side. He thought maybe he could reach it, but the skirt was in the way, and it would be little help in any case.

The bandits, apparently four in number, two armed with crossbows and the others with heavy looking clubs, climbed on as well. The one holding Rall down smelled awful, like unwashed sweat and animal refuse. They galloped away at a fair pace, each step knocking the breath out of Rall over and over. He’d gone half out of his mind from the bruising and loss of breath on top of still-tender lash marks, when the horse slowed down. Trying to focus, he saw forest and a rude lean-to made in the hollow under a fallen tree. Rough hands again lifted him and set him against a tree. He looked up and saw a gap-toothed man with a horrible grin and leering eyes. The man tied him to a tree tightly.

“Be a good girl and I won’t have to rough you up. I might even do something... nice... for you.” Rall shuddered at the way the man said “nice.” He looked away, anywhere but that ugly face with the disgusting breath, and saw Greta tied to another tree nearby.

---

Cale slipped through the city gates with the last of the caravan with an ease born of practice. One particular game he loved at the gates was moving about the throng of people and carts, keeping himself just with in peripheral vision of the guards. It was always a bit of a laugh to watch them mill about, spooked as if being hunted by a spirit.

The minor entertainment was enough to distract his thoughts momentarily from his newest job. He had been paid to kill another of Xabriar’s rivals, a council member of minor note but who held sway with the outlaws of the city. These outlaws included the slavers who travelled the wilds and had both the mobility and resources to avoid or defeat any hunting squad of local guardsmen from the city.

Cale gathered from his own sources that the councilman Albera, while a minor player in the political structure of Gaerbron, had many resources outside the city. And that he had been actively extorting Xabriar for the safety of his own holding outside the city.

He surmised that his newest job meant that Albera had finally pushed his luck too far with Xabriar. In truth Cale was not looking forward to this mission. Slavers unnerved him greatly, they where vile disgusting people. He shivered at the idea of walking among them even for a day. It felt dirty, as if being in there presence would contaminate him with their filth. But he had been paid good gold for this job, and it might present an opportunity to ride the world of a slaver or two.

“Enough.” he whispered to himself as he disguised all presence of himself, melding completely into the crowd becoming nothing more then a forgotten shadow.

--

Cale watched carefully to the east as he slowly chewed a piece of jerky. Beyond the slow flicker of firelight reflected off the night sky stood the slavers’ tent city. The site had only taken four days to find, not far from where his sources had suggested the camp would be. The next challenge would be to sneak into the camp and find Albera .

He scuffed dirt over his fire but did not try to hide his presence. It suited his needs to play the arrogant potential buyer long enough to gain easy entry to the tents. The guards here tended to be rather more alert than those in the city, both to disturbances inside and out, a consequence of guarding a city without walls where some two thirds of the city would like nothing more than to run away. Not that runaway slaves often reached the edge of the tents, but it paid well to be alert. Cale walked up to the large man guarding what looked like the entrance and waited to be addressed.

“Name?” Judging by the man’s size, gravelly voice, coarse body hair and slightly prominent brow ridges, Cale thought the man might have an ogre ancestor. Or a particularly ugly rhinoceros.

“Ordil. I am looking to buy servants for my house in Holleny, with delivery.” Cale bore himself like a nobleman and spoke with arrogant authority, acting the part of the fop. The guard seemed uncaring, but Cale knew better, every aspect of his performance was being weighed and measured.

“No weapons allowed. You’ll leave your blades here.”

“Please. I wouldn’t dirty my hands on a blade. That is what my guards are for. They will remain with my coach on the path, I assure you, unless of course I am swindled.” Cale sniffed pretentiously and waved a scented handkerchief in the man’s direction. In truth he had a number of very deadly weapons on his person that a casual search would never find. With his ham fists, this guard might fumble onto something sharp and poisonous should he try. When the man simply stared at him implacably, he finally capitulated and offered a gilded dagger crusted with colored glass gems.

“Very well, now that you have me defenseless may I pass? Don’t think of “losing” my weapon either!” Playing along to get in as a slave buyer was already starting to turn his stomach, but he didn’t let on, sticking with his act as a privileged noble. The guard wrapped the knife with a length of wire and neatly wrote “Ordil, Holleny” on a card attached to it. Perhaps those hands were more agile than they appeared.

“You may enter. Do not bid more than you can pay, we are very good at collecting our due. Have a good day, sir.” Having been permitted entry, Cale quickly made his way through the crowd of buyers and sellers, trying not to touch any of them, lest he contaminate himself.

Navigating through the throng of men and woman in the tent city, Cale began to slowly familiarize himself with the city layout. Some tents, if one could call them that, where nothing more then hole-ridden linen rags hanging over wooden poles. Others looked well-kept: canvas oiled to keep the weather out more effectively, holes patched carefully and colors kept as bright as was feasible. The tents were organized into small districts by purpose, slaves being only one part of the goods traded in this city.

“Sir... Good Sir!” rasped a crackled nasally voice from behind.

Cale stopped and slowly turned around to inspected the man that called to him. The man would be a bit of an oddity anywhere but the tent city. He was dressed in some of the finest silks Cale had ever seen, coupled with gold necklaces and rings. But the man underneath differed wildly from the station his clothes suggested. His skin was leathery and calloused, and his face scarred from many beatings. “Yes?”

“You look for slaves, I am right?” he asked with a unnerving smile as he pulled open the door to his tent. Inside he could see slave pens lined up in a large semicircle hugging the edge of the wall. Cale suppressed a shudder and considered simply leaving without a word before his common sense demanded he at least act the part.

Shacking his head slightly, “Tomorrow perhaps, I have yet to secure proper transportation.” The slaver looked visibly disappointed. “Good help is so very hard to find these days.”

“Then tomorrow, best deals anywhere, Lasora will help you anything with. Guaranteed!”

Cale knew an opportunity when he saw one “Perhaps there may be something that you can help me with though,” holding up a small bag full of marks “I’m looking for a man by the name of Albera.”

The slaver gave Cale a careful look, “Business with the wizard, have you?” he asked with a snort.

“Why does this surprise you?” Cale asked stepping towards Lasora.

“You look not like the type in pleasure powder to partake.” he said as he slowly pointed to a middle aged woman. She was curled on her side next to one of the smaller tents shaking violently. Soft moans escaped her lips, and for a brief moment Cale caught a glimpse of her pitch black eyes.

“Pleasure powder. Yes, well, there are those who buy and those who deliver. You might do well not to look too closely into the business of others.”

The uncomfortable look on the slaver’s face caused Cale to reconsider his gamble, but the disfigured man answered, “You will at large auction find the wizard. He the boys like, you see”. With a reassuring smile Cale tossed the small bag of marks to the slaver in payment for the information. “Tomorrow, yes?” The slaver’s discomfort apparently did not prevent him making a sale.

“If business permits, then yes.” Cale relied back as he left in the direction Lasora pointed.

---

The auctioneer was already touting the virtues of one slave or another when he reached the block, but Cale tried to shut the voice out as he searched the crowd. The man’s words grated on his ears unpleasantly, but soon he found his mark. Albera stood near the block, inspecting a slave for sale personally. After a short exchange he counted out a small pile of coins and handed them over. The slave, a small boy not likely even into his tenth year, was led beck to the holding pens.

Slowly Cale shadowed Albera long enough to find where he was taking his ease. The young boy was led to the room, and Cale estimated he would have perhaps half an hour to create a diversion and complete his mission. Ducking away from the tent, Cale made his way to the holding pens. The maze of tents was designed to confuse intruders, but Cale easily memorized the way, a knack that prevented his capture numerous times previously. He approached the holding area with a grimace of intent, and others who saw his face suddenly realized they had pressing business far away from there.

---

“Rana! Rana, stay with me! You have to be brave!” A soft hand touched Rall’s shoulder and he whimpered. The ability to scream seemed to have left him.

“Rana, you’re awake! You were just staring at nothing and it was scaring me... Listen, you’re gonna be okay, Father will get someone and come save us, you just have to be brave for a little while, okay?” Rall’s breathing was fast and shallow, and his face felt like it was going numb. He didn’t remember anything after the ugly man talking to him, he only knew he was in pain like one of the Master’s harder lashings. However, Greta’s voice was very comforting.

“That’s right, calm down, we’ll get through this. No one has... touched you, but that awful man wouldn’t leave you alone with his nasty words, until you sort of... went away in your head. But then they just bundled us up on their horses and brought us here. The ugly man almost didn’t want to sell you at this hideous place, but I’m glad he did, because we’re together and I can talk to you. Can you talk yet?”

For the first time Rall noticed there were others in the room, a sort of tented room with bars made of some kind of segmented, wood-like plant. Some of the others in the room looked as confused as he must have moments before, others were simply crying. One screamed and a guard reached in and cuffed her in the face. It wasn’t even an angry hit, the man looked bored!

“I... think so. Greta, I’m scared. They’re going to find out about me and...” he spoke the last part in a whisper.

“Rana... Either way they’ll just sell you, just like me. It’s awful, but we can’t do anything about it. And after that, well, you need to be prepared. Father will find a way to save us even if he has to hire someone shady, but it may take time. So, if we get separated you just have to be strong and endure until Father saves you, okay?”

“You mean...” Rall knew what she meant, but couldn’t make his mouth say the words. He wanted to be sick, but his throat closing up to hold in the words also held down the bile. It couldn’t stop the tears rolling down his cheeks though, and Greta leaned over to hug him tightly. She couldn’t reach far, there was a chain holding her to one of the bars and another holding him, but she managed. It somehow seemed to loosen up the knot in his throat but all that came out were quiet sobs.

---

Cale knelt by the cloth of the holding tent, a small but sharp saw moving back and forth through a hole he cut in the cloth. It would be almost invisible once he finished, but the bar, and several others he’d already done, would give way with very little pressure. A guard had noticed him working once and had needed to be silenced, but finding hiding places for a body in a city of tents turned out to be surprisingly easy.

Finally finished with his work, Cale stood and the saw and knife disappeared. He casually but purposefully walked around the holding tent, pausing when no one was looking to pour a small skin of naphtha onto the corner of the tent, then drop a smoldering ember from a little metal box wrapped in leather.

As he walked away, the tent slowly caught, the ember igniting the little bit of naphtha. The oiled canvas would soon spread the fire across the tent, and if he was lucky, across the entire encampment. Cale made his way back toward Albera’s tent, a small smile gracing his face though he never noticed it.

---

“You there!” A rough hand grabbed Rall by the arm and dragged him to his feet. He didn’t even have a chance to cry out before the dress Roda gave him what seemed like forever ago was torn away. He tried to cover himself, but the guard was far stronger than he.

“Ah, a puppy in sheep’s clothing! You’re no wolf boy, but you’ll earn a good bit on the block. Lots of men want pretty boys like you!” The guard laughed, but it was a cold menacing sound rather than a mirthful one. The guard started dragging him toward the barred gateway but smoke poured into the tent, followed by flames creeping up the canvas wall. He gaped at it with an expression of terror.

“Fire! Fire at the pens! Come douse it quick or we’ll lose all the stock!” Shoving Rall back at the bars, he turned and ran to get help. Rall fell hard against the bars, which gave with almost no resistance, and with a tearing sound little rips in the canvas grew. He stared at the fire a moment, unseeing, then realization hit; this was a chance. He shook off the terror of moments before and pulled his chain free of the broken bar. No one seemed to notice in the commotion of the fire, and Rall was determined now not to squander the opportunity. He grasped Greta’s hand, following her chain to the bar it was attached to and tugged. The bar came loose in his hands.

“Come on, we have to leave before they notice!” Greta nodded, as several other slaves followed suit, finding many of the bars loosened. Rall tore the hole he’d discovered in the canvas bigger, and pulled Greta through behind him, carrying his chain so as not to trip on it.

“Come on, this way!” Rall pulled Greta through the hallways made by the spaces between tents, ducking aside whenever he heard running feet coming his direction. One time, he was sure they were caught when a man in a dark cloak stopped in front of him. He never heard the man move, he just appeared as if by magic. His mostly obscured features seemed cold and emotionless, and Rall just knew a slaver had caught them, but the man stepped aside and allowed Rall and Greta to pass.

“Rana, we have to stop and get you clothes, you’ll freeze before we get a day’s run away otherwise!” Rall considered, picked a tent at random and ducked inside. He discovered a collection of weapons, stacked all across the room, but no clothes. His sword however, lay on one of the piles, right on top. He grabbed it hurriedly, and Greta picked up a knife.

“We don’t have enough time! You put on my dress, I’ll just wear my shift. Come on, get dressed!” Rall blushed and turned his head when she ducked out of her dress, it seemed rude to watch. The dress hit his head, and he quickly slipped it on over his head, then belted the sword around his waist.

“Okay, now let’s go!” Rall looked both ways outside the tent’s opening, completely at a loss as to which way might lead out. The shouts and smoke indicated clearly where the fire was distracting everyone so he turned away from it and led the way, hand on his sword. Only a couple of turns later, they were out of the tents and into the trees.

“We’ve made it! Come on, we have to run, once the fire’s out they’ll come looking for us.” Greta reminded Rall as he caught his breath. The two ran, barefoot and scared, through the forest. Rall trusted his instincts to guide them, as they’d done him well so far, running heedless through the trees.

---

Cale watched eagerly from the edge of the camp, watching Albera squirm in frustration as his own tent was consumed by the flames. Things had worked out better than he had ever imagined. Not only had the slaves escaped, many had picked up arms and were holding their own against their former captors. The guards were hard pressed, besieged by both slaves and flames.

Carefully he pulled out a long thin shiv concealed with in his leather vest and waited. Albera, pacing madly in worry, had moved himself into a large crowd. With practiced ease Cale casually made his way through the crowd and lightly bumped into wizard. With a quick apology, he turned north, pocketing his shiv. It would be minutes before Albera even realized that he was dead, the razor thin shiv having slipped through his rib cage painlessly, directly into his heart. It would take a skilled doctor to even find the wound.

Now that his latest job had been completed he decided to quickly vacate the encampment.This last job had troubled him some, so without consideration for his employer Cale decide it was time for a bit of vacation in Lussax.

---

Corana cautiously opened a portal from her sanctuary to a storage room in the Academy. She had spent the last three days healing her injured arm with what magics she could manage, but it was still missing, terminating in a pink, raw stump just above the elbow. Now even the most basic magic was frighteningly difficult, without two hands to do the movements that focused the arcane energies. This fact made leaving the sanctuary ever more prudent, soon the power that she invested in her domain would fade and she had not the strength to change this fact. Still, she knew enough theory to relearn, and given some time would be in near full form.

The storage room was dusty and unkempt, exactly the way she’d hoped. No one had visited this room in a very long time, nor was likely to visit now. She meant to stay hidden, to buy time to combat Xabriar’s work. She knew she had a chance, since he must consider her dead by now, to undo his damage discreetly.

Corana sifted through crates until she found a crate of apprentice robes, and quickly slipped into them. She hid her collection of magical jewelry and devices, taken with her into sanctuary, inside the folds of the robes and tried her best to look meek. The missing arm would mark her, so she wove a simple illusion, making it look as if the arm were present. It would fool most, as people expected a person to have both arms, and tended to shy away from those who had not.

Once the illusion was firmly in place, Corana simply opened the door to the storage room and walked out. No one questioned her as she strode purposefully through the halls of the Academy, and out the front doors. She needed a safe place to rest and figure out an answer. She wandered the streets until she came upon an inn called Cheerful Spirits, and deciding this was as good a place as any, entered and found herself a seat.

“Can I help you miss?” A young pretty girl in an apron approached her with a warm smile.

“Oh, yes, please. I’d like a white wine, thank you.” The pretty barmaid brought her a drink and she sipped at it, thinking, for nearly an hour before her thoughts were interrupted.

“Damn it, Ronal, they just treated me like a jealous boyfriend! They didn’t even listen!”

“Well, Arron, that’s what you get sticking your nose in Academy business. Besides, why do you even care about that little bit of fluff? You’ve got bigger responsibilities now.”

“Ronal, don’t you start talking like that too. He’s my best friend! And besides, as the city guard isn’t part of our duty to protect the people of Gaerbron? No one was protecting him except me, and a fat good job I did of it. He trusted me and I let him down. Those... people at that Academy just laughed at me!” The younger of the two that had sat at the table next to Corana thumped the table with a fist, drawing looks from several patrons.

“I don’t care if he is the greatest mage in Gaerbron, Xabriar is a bastard and I will make those idiots at the Academy see it!”

“Arron! Settle down! You’ll do no such thing if he finds out you said such and chars you to ash in your seat! Be still, be still! I’ll go with you on the morrow, perhaps two can make them see reason better than one. Barmaid, two rounds over here, my friend needs something to cool his ardor!” Corana listened intently, thinking perhaps some of Xabriar’s machinations were filtering down to the common man. The two were clearly guards, off duty for the night.

“All I’m saying is, I wouldn’t treat a thief in my house the way Xabriar treats his apprentices. And Rall was a good man, as good as they come. Yes, I know he’s a bit smallish and soft, and he knew it too. But he never let it hold him down, and he had the potential to be someone special. I could tell, and so could those louts at the Academy, at first. But Xabriar was beating him down, day after day, and I had to see the changes in him constantly. And I guess the Academy’s changed too, they don’t even seem to care!” The young guard was clearly drowning his sorrows, he drained two pints of ale in short succession, and was eyeing a third. Firming her resolve, Corana spoke quietly to him.

“These days it’s better to keep such words to oneself. The sorcerer you speak of holds sway in many places, and such words travel fast. I have been an apprentice for many years, and I have seen it too. But to combat such power, one must be subtle.” She leaned over and looked Arron in the eyes. “If you would fight him yourself, you will die. But should you gather the right allies, perhaps he can be unseated from his place of power.”

Arron leaned closer to listen carefully, but Ronal looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Don’t be stupid, Arron, don’t go stick your head into magic business, else you’re likely not to keep it for long!” With quick swig from his mug Ronal looked Corana squarely in the eyes. “ Now see here, me good missy, old leather bag up there in his tower is sure enough an evil little bastard, in league with Maltheus himself no doubt. But he keeps things running and the border secure. If you and your lot want the old bastard out that’s your business not ours.“

“It will be everyone’s business soon enough! Devils roam the halls of the Academy, and Xabriar’s enemies die strangely in the night. Once he has the Council fully in his grip, he’ll turn to the rest of the city, mark my word! Then how much will the border matter with devils running the streets? No one can bind one long, not even Xabriar with all his vaunted power! Once his control fails, there’ll be horror in these city walls you can scarcely imagine. He must be stopped before then, but no force of man can challenge him in his tower. Arron, can you describe Rall to me? In perfect detail? I met him once and I recall a bit of how he looked, but I need to get it exactly right. Perhaps you can help avenge your friend.” Corana’s eyes had taken on a steely look, and Arron obeyed almost without thinking.

“He’s shortish, about this tall...” he motioned with his hand, “and pretty, far too pretty for his own good. High cheekbones, yellow hair when it’s not darkened by soot, brown eyes, skinny... He looks a bit younger than he is. Why do you want to know all this? I swear, if you hurt my best friend...”

“Master Arron, I assure you I mean no harm to befall Rall. I assumed from your words he had died. But wherever he might be, he’s better away from this city. I will assume his form and enter Xabriar’s tower, try to subtly weaken him and escape. His defenses will allow his apprentice entry, but escape may be far more difficult. Come with me, I’ll rent a room and you can help me become him precisely. That is, if you wish to stop the evil man who hurt him so?” Corana knew she had him, she felt a little guilty playing on his feelings for his friend but for a chance to protect the city she loved she would do it again and more. Still, should she ever meet Rall again, she decided to help him if at all possible.

“Right. Ronal, you don’t have to be involved in this, it’s really no place for a city guardsman anyway. All I ask is that you don’t speak of this to anyone.” Arron looked to his friend with desperation, and Ronal nodded.

“If it means that much to ye lad, well, I’d be better off helpin’ ya keep that rock of a head attached. Mum always told me to stay outta the middle of the road. I reckon that applies here.”

Corana waved the innkeeper over and paid him for a room, then quickly led the pair upstairs. She locked the door and wove a spell against eavesdropping with her one good hand, working much harder than ever before to complete the motions required with half the hands. Then she turned to face the two men who had taken seats at a small table in the room.

“I want to apologize now, Arron. If I had been more wary from the start, I never would have allowed Xabriar to claim Rall as an apprentice. I saw his potential, and he has the chance to become greater than Xabriar or myself. But I was caught up in running the Academy, and only saw that a powerful sorcerer was taking on a powerful apprentice. And when I saw Xabriar going down a dark path, it never even occurred to me to think of how his apprentice might suffer. I am very sorry for what happened to your friend.”

“Who are you that you know so much and have such grand plans? Did your master send you to fight a powerful sorcerer all on your own? Are you even an apprentice at all?” Ronal questioned her, suddenly suspicious. Arron looked to his friend, then back at Corana with his own share of suspicion.

“You are right to question. I am Corana Whiteshadow, high magus of the Great Academy of Magic at Gaerbron. I am a member of the Order of the Greenwood, in high standing, and recently the victim of a devil sent by our enemy Xabriar. The beast took my left arm and left me weak in the face of the worst danger to befall my beloved city in over a thousand years.” she let the illusion drop, swept back her apprentice robe’s hood and stood up straight, letting her regal bearing convey the strength of her words.

“Pull the other one, it’s got bells on!” Ronal roared in laughter. Arron for his part still looked suspicious.

“Right then, perhaps this will convince you.” she reached into her robes and withdrew her personal signet, as well as a wand of bone-white wood. “If you like I can truss you up and hang you from the air like plucked chickens at market, but I prefer not to if I can avoid it.”

Both men put hand to sword but found themselves unable to draw.

“Now, if I have your complete attention, I want to make this clear. This is no game, I am not pulling anyone’s leg, and I mean to help this city with your help or without. Now, shall we continue our discussion politely?” Suddenly, both Arron and Ronal gripped their swords and half drew, but Corana sat calmly on the bed and placed the wand and ring back in her robes. With a shared look, both men sheathed their blades, though Ronal kept a hand on his hilt.

“I am sorry to resort to such methods, but I need you both to understand, and I need to act quickly. How long has Rall been quit of Xabriar’s tower? Each day makes it more likely he’ll have given up on his apprentice and change his protective spells.”

Pulling a wooden stool from the wall Arron sat down “Three days, he should be half way to Lussax if the caravan made good time.”

“Three days. That doesn’t leave much time. Do you know if Xabriar has bothered to seek him out since then?”

“Not at all, as far as I know. He hasn’t reported Rall as missing to the city guard, nor did the Academy seem to know anything about Rall. If I don’t miss my guess, he doesn’t care at all that Rall’s gone, but I’m not willing to risk Rall’s life on that assumption.”

Corana shifted on the bed uncomfortably as she digested the newest tidbit of information. Someone like Xabriar would care if there apprentice went missing. The man had too many secrets to simply ignore a wayward apprentice, at the very least a cursory investigation to see if the boy was in the hands of a rival would have been in order. Unless perhaps he was working on something so consuming that he had no time to deal with other things. Something even more terrible than the summoning of a greater demon.