Cale’s waiting paid off an hour after dusk. The lights on the third floor flicker out in the adjacent inn. Soon the two girls would be fast asleep; a few drops of crushed night weed and the two would never awaken. A painless death, it was the least he could do.

The inn was clean and quiet, with very little smoke and few other patrons, and the woman who brought him drinks was pretty enough... It was exactly the kind of tavern Cale avoided if possible. He could fit in easily enough, of course, but places like this one tended to be excruciatingly boring. But personal preferences were secondary to location, and this particular location fit his needs perfectly.

He nursed his beer as he waited for night to fall completely, faking smiles for the barmaid and enjoyment of the musician’s rather mundane offerings. Once dark fell he would slip to his room, which offered a perfect staging point for his entry to the room the two girls rented.

Cale’s waiting paid off an hour after dusk. The lights on the third floor flicker out in the adjacent inn. Soon the two girls would be fast asleep; a few drops of crushed night weed and the two would never awaken. A painless death, it was the least he could do.

He paid for his drink and walked back to the stairs. No one would notice a half-drunk tired-looking man going up to his room after dusk. And of course his room was directly across from theirs, with a window facing it.

He slipped open the window and propped it up, then swung out the opening to stand on a protruding floor beam directly below it. The beam offered easy footing to one of his skills, though no one would look at it and expect a person could stand there. He double checked the distance to the other window, a difficult but not impossible jump, though the lip of the roof above it would help, just the right height to catch onto and hang in front of the window. He tensed to leap, but cries in the streets and approaching lights caused him to rethink his plan.

“Make way for Prince Seradin of the Holy Empire of Arizal! Clear the streets before him!” Crouched atop the roof of his own inn, out of the direct glow of the lights, Cale peeked down at the procession marching through the streets, and among a throng of white-garbed priests and guards rode the one man in the world Cale would kill for free, would pay for the right to kill. The man who cost him his sister.

---

“Cale, look at this dress I made! Master Terapa taught me how to work the lace, and this is going to be sold in his shop! He says I’ll be a Journeyman in no time, and then you won’t have to... well, you can retire.” Bekah was such a nag, always trying to convince him to quit thieving. Ever since their parents died he had taken care of her, but now that she was apprenticed to the Master Clothier she thought he should take up more honest work. She didn’t know that one does not just quit the guild of thieves.

“Bekah... I don’t want to talk about it. The dress is wonderful, I’m sure it will fetch a handsome price, but I’m not leaving the guild. Besides, I like my friends there.” Most of them were complete wastes of life, but a few others in situations not unlike his own had banded together with him at times, and he did enjoy the thrill of the game.

“Well, I’ll be travelling with Master Terapa to the market tomorrow, so you’ll be on your own for supper. Do try not to get caught, alright? I worry about you.” Those were the last words he ever heard her speak.

The raid was bold, pillaging carts in the square, taking several girls from the market over horseback, and the guards only managed to catch a few before they escaped the city. He later found out three guardsmen in critical positions had been bribed to look the other way, and leave the gates open in spite of the alarm. All three met mysterious deaths later that same month.

His friends and leaders in the guild were all outraged but not for any moral reason. The blatant intrusion into their own territory as an insult and the lack of pay. This made seeking information about the raiders unusually easy. More then a few of the top guild leaders had freely shared the location the raiders would likely sell the girl into slavery. He spent three days rashly robbing the richest people in Lussax blind with little regard to the guild rules or his own safety. The only thing that mattered for Cale was the money, and soon he had more gold they he had ever seen in his life, at the cost of making many enemies among the guild. With his ill gotten gains he swiftly made for the moving tent city.

The place disgusted him, young girls and boys were being sold like cattle, but he ignored all of them searching for Bekah. No one answered his questions at first, as a sixteen year old boy of plain looks and lanky frame, he simply didn’t command much respect. But once he offered a stranger a gold coin, suddenly he was worth talking to.

The garishly-dressed foppish man who had just bought three boys a good deal younger than Cale himself distractedly explained to him that yes, a girl matching the description he offered had been sold the day before at a very exorbitant price to a representative of the prince of the Empire of Arizal. He immediately set out from the tent city to track the man, but his own lack of woodsman skills slowed him far more than was acceptable, and by the time he reached the capitol city of Arizalon by horseback nine weeks later, he guessed she’d been there for nearly a month.

Tired and hungry, Cale scaled the walls after the guards denied him entry. He managed to steal a set of white clothing much like the lower class wore, and snuck his way into the temple district that housed the Prince, while disguised as a serving boy. Not knowing where to look and afraid to speak for fear of his accent giving him away, Cale wandered the district for nearly a week before he found Bekah lying in an alleyway behind a forbidding-looking white temple marked with mystical symbols on every surface. She was gaunt and haggard, breathing with a raspy wheeze.

“Bekah! Bekah, don’t try to move, I’ll bring you water!” He ran for the public well and brought her back water and food, and she smiled at him dreamily, as if she could not see him at all but was grateful nonetheless.

Cale carried Bekah to an abandoned stable and made a bed for her out of hay. He spent six days nursing her as she slowly deteriorated, until her breathing stopped late into the night. He spent every minute of those six days either caring for Bekah, or planning ways for the one responsible to die a slow suffering death.

---

Crouching low Cale watched the man pass under him as the street came alive with spectators. The man that turn him into a murderer, the man the took his sister was a three story leap away. Clenching his teeth he slowed his breath, counting heartbeats. Diving in blindly would be meaningless, he would die before he got into striking distance.

Shadowing the procession by rooftop, he mulled over the fact that the Prince of the Empire of Arizal was marching the streets of Lussax so very far from home. Politically it made very little sense. A minor diplomat possibly, but not a prince!

“I’ll find out your secrets my little prince, just wait and see...” he whispered. as he leaped from the roof silently into a darkened alley. He half-heartedly glanced back towards the two girls’ room, the lamps had been lit in the commotion ending one plan for the night. With his prior goal lost for the moment, Cale chose to continue to follow the prince by shadow.

---

Xabriar uneasily sat himself down into his seat in the first circle of the great chamber of the council. It had been many years since he last took a seat in the chamber himself, and he had almost forgotten the grandeur of the place. Towering stone pillars held aloft a perfect dome of black marble, the stars and planets of the night sky enchanted by magic to glow and follow the celestial dance. There was simply no place like it in the world to his knowledge. And it was large enough to hold the population of the city in an emergency, its size yet another facet of the wonder of this place.

The call for an emergency council meeting had been quite a shock to Xabriar, especially at such a late hour, and session wouldn’t start for quite some time yet at the rate the councilors took seats. Many still seemed asleep. More importantly he still had much work to do, and this was eating away at his precious time. And he had yet to deal with the apparently alive Corana. He panicked for a moment at the though the meeting might be Corana’s doing, a move to undo his seat. But he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. She was weak now, with no allies to turn to that would listen or could act. Besides, she was currently being dealt with at this very moment by Woric on the river, assuming the imbecile hadn’t botched that as well.

It took the better part of two hours for the chamber to fill by which point the Arbitrator Lowell had decide that chamber was full enough and struck the bell to being the Council into session.

“Good colleagues, I apologize for this late call to council, but I have received most distressing news that I fear cannot wait. In light of the recent troubles on the docks, and rising crime and dissent in the populace, this extra news comes as a dangerous omen. The Empire of Arizal has moved against Lussax, and as you know this does not bode well for our wonderful city of Gaerbron. We are next in line for their armies if they come for conquest. I call this council to order to discuss and prepare for the threat of war.”

A murmur passed through the council chamber, excited and occasionally fearful whisperings melding into a cacaphony of discord in the chamber. Arbitrator Lowell brought his gavel down with a resounding boom, and the murmur abated.

“As some of you may not be aware, I will take this time to explain the danger. The Holy Empire of Arizal is a nation of true zealots. Their gods are active in the world, and their armies are tireless and devoted. Their priests may not match our skill with arcane arts, but they outnumber our city a hundred to one. If their eyes have turned to conquest, we must be prepared, or be overwhelmed.”

“They would not dare move, their gods are powerless in these lands. If they try they will be routed like last time!” Shouted a voice from the back of the chamber. From the sound of it Xabriar guessed it to be Kayon, the only living council member other then himself to have witnessed the last time the Arizal tried to take the lands of the south.

“That’s right, the land gods will prevent their Pantheon’s interference, there’s nothing to fear from their gods!” Another voice shouted.

Lowell nodded his head. “This is all true, in the past we have held our own. But we should not waver in our preparedness because of past victories, they still outnumber us and our allies. Only our magic holds keep the edge in our favor. And the land gods that have played a natural defense clearly are failing, or the contingent in Lussax would never have passed the forest road.”

With a quick tapping of his hammer, Arbitrator Lowell continued, “So, I move to begin construction of defenses, and close our gates to all but the most necessary trade.”

Xabriar smiled as the motion was seconded by Degar, one of his own lackeys. This would play nicely into his hands. The other council members would be hindered in any investigations that might uncover his work, yet he could himself focus on building the ritual of fire and rebuilding the ritual of life without fear of Corana returning to undo his works in council.

“Motion passes, by a clear majority. Now, speaking of the recent troubles, I am given to understand the disaster at the docks can be traced back to one of our own. Master Xabriar, would you care to explain your decision to mobilize the entire city contingent of guards to chase an apprentice and her lover, or your... associate Woric’s decision to boil half the river under their feet? The injuries to the city guard will weaken our now ever-so-necessary defenses greatly.”

Xabriar bit down hard on his rage, it would serve no purpose here but to undermine his position.

Clearing his throat as he took a stand to address Lowell and by proxy the whole of the Council. “I take no responsibility for Woric’s choices in this matter, but the apprentice being chased was in fact a thief who stole many of my greatest devices, tools that could endanger the entire city if misused. I only meant to prevent a tragedy, of course.” pausing for a moment he quickly scanned over the Council chamber to feel out the mood, and when no one raised an objection he continued on.

“In recompense for my own misjudgement in calling all the guards to arms, and because I do not wish the city’s defenses harmed by Woric’s actions, I hereby offer reparations from my own coffers, and will personally equip the city guards with devices to better act should war turn towards us.”

The vigorous nods and smiles of the council members at the offer of penance seemed a good sign to Xabriar. No doubt because many of the more politically powerful council member routinely skimmed funds from the treasure coffers. An influx of his own extensive holdings would mean much more gold to secretly plunder. A fair trade in Xabriar’s own opinion, for their support. At least the money leeches didn’t ask insistent annoying questions the way Woric and Degar did.

An hour after he had taken a stand the session was closed. Xabriar was relieved, if he had to sit through another round of mindless banter on the best ways to defend the city walls he truly would have burned the whole damn room to cinders. He had little time to waste at children’s games of war, if the Arizal army truly was on the move the the city was doomed. His own works must have effected many of the land gods; without their protection the Arizal pantheon would be able to lend its vast powers directly to their army and priests. This troubling fact would mean an escalation of his own works to a somewhat reckless pace. But he had no choice now, his ascension to godhood would have to be accomplished by the month’s end.

---

Travel by boat with a river god at the helm turned out to be both boring and unsettling. T’isstai spent most of the three days staring at Corana or Arron or both. The nonstop rush of wind and occasional sprays of cold river water made sleep difficult, as well as Arron’s own uncertainty of feeling where Corana was involved. He knew there was something there, an energy, that drew him like a moth to flame. She teased him, and he knew it, but he didn’t really mind. It was just her way.

She hadn’t made any more advances during the ride, possibly due to T’isstai’s creepy stare. He had far too much time to wonder whether she was serious, and whether he was himself. But eventually the boat slowed, the wind easing to a whisper as the boat drifted lazily to a stop at the shoreline of a small island.

Corana had apparently not been entirely idle herself, she spent most of the three days’ travel with a thoughtful expression on her youthful face, working out strange patterns in the air with her good arm, doing them over and over until Arron could nearly copy them himself. It was a strange pastime, but then who could ever understand sorcerers?

She stepped out of the boat first, still going over one of the hand motions as she inspected the rocky shore. The island was small, perhaps a mile across in any direction Arron guessed, and it looked like if the lake were only a few feet higher the island would be entirely swamped. Even now it looked as if the middle held a pond, presumably from the last time the lake swallowed it up.

“Thank y...” Corana turned to offer her gratitude to the river god and Arron looked to see why she trailed off, the boat and spirit had simply vanished.

“Not much for conversation, is he?” Arron quipped, Corana just smiled at him with a shrug.

“The natural gods are not like us, their motives are often hard to understand. They seldom speak to mortal creatures at all.” Corana answered solemnly as she made her way up the stony beach. “You should consider it a great honor to be carried by T’isstai, to even know his name, because most of what he does is reclaim the souls of those who die in the water.”

Arron looked back at the water, suddenly anxious at having been carried by such a sinister being, but the water lapping calmly at the stones showed no signs of surging up to swallow them. Corana turned back to remind him of their business.

“Come on, don’t dawdle. Woric is surely on the trail, and we must be quick if we’re to have any chance of doing our work here before he arrives.” Arron nodded at the admonition and started after her.

Corana led the way, walking confidently across the barren rocky land towards the center of the island, and Arron followed closely. Something about the air felt odd to him, the hairs on the back of his neck rising in unison with his sense of danger. As Corana drew closer to the center of the strange island, the feeling grew until they stood at the edge of a shallow pool of crystal clear water.

The pool, a circle perhaps thirty paces wide, inscribed a perfect circle. In the flat stone bottom of the pool, plainly visible, was carved an intricate circle with symbols and designs Arron was quite sure made some sort of powerful spell.

“This is it. It’s actually quite beautiful, the linework and runes are very elegant. It must have taken a great deal of power to create this in such a small space. Where could he have drawn it all from?” Corana knelt at the edge but did not reach out above the waters. “Do not approach too closely, there are very deadly wards set over and into the water. I do not want to see you... hurt by these spells.”

Arron nodded and backed several paces further away. Then almost choked on his own tongue when a slick, cold, scaly claw rested on his shoulder.

“Trespassers...”

---

The procession stopped at the gates to Lussax Keep; Cale followed the its progress from the shadowed side streets and back alleys he knew better than even most of the guild who worked them. This was the city he grew up in, and though he held no special allegiance to it the tangle of streets and alleys still felt as familiar to him as his own hands.

A city guardsman leading the procession of white-tabarded men called out through the portcullis, “Prince S... Seradin of the... Holy Empire of Arizal requests an audience with Duke Veston. He requests full honors and welcome as an ambassador.”

Murmurs and whispers echoed through the gathering onlookers. Cale chuckled darkly at the boldness of it all. To ask for for honors to the aristocracy, no to demand it, in full view of the common people! It was an insult and all who watched knew it.

The moment passed by soon, it seem the order had been given and the spiked iron grate slowly lifted with a grinding banging protest. It was an unusual maneuver when entry would normally have been given without going to the trouble of lifting the irons. But for Cale it was perfectly clear what the gate lifting was meant to show. A sign of strength. Walking under that heavy grate would make the bravest man uneasy. A broken link of chain and Arizal would have lost a prince to a terrible accident. Dropping the first and second gates as they passed through would make trapping victims for arrow fire pitifuly easy.

Cale took the wiser route through the wall, slipping a catch on a loose stone hidden in the shadow of the guard tower while everyone watched the procession march through the murder room. The keep, much like the city, was designed to be defensible, with hundreds of places for a knowledgeable man to hide and watch or fire on an enemy. A section of the wall large enough for a man swung open silently on well-oiled hinges, and he ducked in pulling it quickly closed behind him. The space was cramped and dark, just big enough for a man to walk crouched over. Carefully and quietly he crept along the passage through the thick wall until he found an unoccupied archer alcove. Slipping into position he watched the white-garbed men filter through the second gate unharmed. He momentarily regretted his lack of a suitable longbow as the prince passed out of firing range, but quickly decided that would be far too easy a death.

Cale continued to follow the procession, as stealthily as the Prince’s own shadow, as they passed through the courtyard and were allowed entry into the keep proper. The main force of the honor guard stayed in the courtyard, but the prince and four priests entered led by a herald in the green-and-gold tabard of Lussax. Cale climbed up the wall, using the darkness and the attention on the white-garbed soldiers to keep his presence unnoticed. He managed to miss the majority of the recitals of titles and bloodlines, and settled into the rafters to hear the meat of the conversation.

“Prince Seradin,” Aged regal man bowed “To what do we owe this rare honor? To think your highness would visit our humble city at such an awful hour, would you perhaps wish to freshen up, or take your ease? It would be simply dreadful for a prince to neglect his sleep. A tired mind makes rash choices that might later be regretted”

Cale grinned as for a moment rage flashed across the prince’s features. “I assure you Duke Veston that I am quite awake. I have come by my mother’s personal command to negotiate a new treaty with Lussax. For far too long have your ships passed the fair lands of the Holy Empire of Arizal without tithe or obeisance to the very gods that bring such bounty and protection to our world as you so blithely conduct commerce through their lands.”

The Duke slowly took his seat, eyeing the young prince carefully. “The River Tessarill is quite vast, And much of our trade as always been to the deep north of the Vellast jungles and the empire of Sarif and elven lands of Watersong.“ Cale grinned as the duke purposely proceeded ignoring the growing anger blistering across the princes face “We very rarely bother to trade with you directly. You tax our goods far too much to allow for any real profit”

“What you speak of is past. As your wild gods wane in power the might of the true gods of the pantheon extends, and your lands grow weak, easily conquered. The Holy Empire of Arizal offers our protecting hand to guard against invasion in this time of weakness, but you must submit to the will of the true gods. If you do not, who can say that their divine retribution might fall down upon this unwashed city with cleansing fire?” Cale frowned, he had a fair idea why the natural gods of the land were weakening, and was fairly certain it had to do with his employer.

Nodding the Duke gave the prince disinterested look. “My prince, you are far too inept at diplomacy for you own good. One must wonder at the state Arizal’s education if you are the product.” Cale stifled a laugh at the comment, though other nobles at court had no such restraint. The sound of amused titters and chuckles echoed in the frosty silence of Prince Seradin’s baleful gaze.

“Never the less if you wish to threaten the cities of the Southern Alliance, please do so more directly. It is truly disrespectful to lay the threat of war on the words of your gods, and you risk that one shall strike your own city in divine justice for such affront. I hear tell your gods can be a vengeful lot.”

The Duke summoned a middle age man in purple robes. He was a priest of sorts, although most of the other races would consider the man in his order more of a shaman then anything else. He wore a wreath of some vine in his hair, and carried a wooden staff topped with a smooth stone, from which hung two small but full bladders.

“Tell me Master Aleton, are the land gods in distress as the young prince claims?”

Cale watched close as the man hesitated, “The forest god was distressed in weeks past, angered by something, but appears to have settled. As for the other land gods, they in fact seem unusually active. But I do not believe this to be a sign of weakness, just a reshaping of the order of things.” The duke smiled pleasantly and turned back to the prince, who appeared to be attempting to murder the duke by sheer force of glare.

“There, see now good Prince? Clearly your auguries and divinations are flawed. Our gods and defenses are more than adequate to repel any wrath from the Empire, be it divine or mortal. You need not fear for our safety, though we of the Southern Alliance do appreciate your concern.”

Turning about face in a huff, the prince stormed towards the door of the keep, his men following closely behind. “If you and your people wish to burn by the light of the true gods, then so be it. But with respect for you Duke, I shall stay the week to await a more favorable reply. May the gods grant you the wisdom to rethink your words.”

Cale watched as the procession worked its way out through the main doors, rigid formations keeping a semblance of dignity after the casual dismissal the Duke offered Prince Seradin. Cale couldn’t keep from smiling, though he was careful not to show his teeth, knowing that teeth and eyes show up very well in shadows. He slipped back out the way he came as the murmurs of court focused around the threat offered by Arizal, he didn’t care one whit for politics. His attention was all for the Prince, whose life he meant to be measured in hours. Days if he could extend the suffering so long.

---

Rall watched in amazement at the crowded street below the inn window. It was as if no one had bothered to go to bed since the night before. He had slept fairly soundly once the initial uproar died down, even though the lights on the streets below never really went down again after that.

“Impressive isn’t it?” Greta giggled from over Rall shoulder. “But I suppose having a Prince of Arizal in the city would excite the people. It will certainly upset trade.”

Rall turned in shock to Greta “A prince! Really, truly?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Greta nodded. “Its what the matron of the inn told me when I went to see about breakfast,” she said, grabbing Rall’s hand, “which is ready by the way, and I’m quite hungry.”

“Which one of us is supposed to be the boy? You think with your stomach.” Rall laughed, shrugging into his dress with the growing ease of practice. “Alright then, I’m coming, I’m coming! Did our gracious matron say if there would be sweet rolls?”

The pair made their way down to the common room for breakfast, a light meal of fruit, hot cereal and bacon, with goat’s milk. Rall found it a refreshing change from recent meals, either the heavy greasy meals he had to prepare for Xabriar, or more recently nuts berries roots and the odd rabbit in the forest.

“Rana, I think we should go back to Fion and Sons.” Greta suggested, once sated, “My father should be arriving today, and with the prince of Arizal visiting trade is going to be all in disarray. I don’t want him to be worrying about us when he can be focused on taking advantage of the situation.” Rall nodded, finishing the last of his food.

“That would be nice, your family was very nice to me and I don’t want to add any more burden than I have already. Are we still going to tell them about... me?” Rall couldn’t help but feel a little fear and some sadness, surely her family would resent him for lying.

“Yes, Rana. Don’t worry, it will be alright I promise.” She must have seen the concern in his expression because she walked around the table and hugged him comfortingly.

“Alright then, we might as well get it over with.”

---

Greta had been more than right about trading being upset in the city if Master Fion was any indication. The warehouse was packed with more then thirty men, all arguing. From the bits and pieces of conversation Rall had picked up, most of it was complaints of hoarding and overpricing of basic commodities and the possibility of coming war.

Greta sighed, “Father is going to have his hands full with this mess,” looking over at a price listing of grains on a chalk stained board she slowly smiled, “but he’s going to love it.”

Rall gave Greta a quizzical look “I don’t really understand, this is just a bunch of people shouting at each other. Master Fion will be lucky if it doesn’t come to blows! Why would anyone love this?”

“Oh Rana, this is just how merchants talk to each other. They’ll haggle out prices for things peacefully enough, and if this listed price for barley is an example of the prices they’ll set, Father could make a great profit on the goods we were transporting. Those bandits won’t have taken more than a few sacks when they took us, and the few extra days’ wait just made my father rather wealthier. They did us a favor, eventually.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t go thank them.” Rall wasn’t really in the mood to celebrate Valan’s good fortune, he kept going back and forth in his mind about the idea of the sword possibly killing him. Greta joined in the chaos of the arguing merchants with a sort of savage glee that Rall found fun to watch for a few minutes, then quickly grew bored of.

As the discussion turned to fruits Rall wandered the warehouse, peeking between crates and down aisles, before finally making his way out the front door. The warm sunlight felt good, and though he didn’t intend to go anywhere the bustling press of the crowd and his own distracted thoughts pressed him along the streets for a while.

Eventually, he was drawn to a man in brilliant white clothing holding a bone-white staff with a rune symbol of some sort on its head, standing on a neat dais and speaking warmly to a crowd.

“Yea, and through the mercy of Ariza and her children, you can be preserved in joy and comfort for eternity! For the time of the cleansing soon approaches, and all who kneel before the true pantheon’s might shall be spared the fire and the light, and shall be raised on high to a greater glory, in service to truth! Now who here wishes to receive the blessings of almighty Ariza?”

The priest looked through the gathered crowd with a beneficent smile, his eyes warm and disarming, and settled on Rall.

“Why you there, young miss! Might I ask your name? I would call out to Ariza herself to protect and guide you.”

“Ummm, Raaa... na, sir.” The priest turned those dazzling eyes back to the crowd and raised his staff into the air.

“Oh, great and wondrous Ariza, please offer your blessings to this poor child, her heart aching for your guiding and loving hand! Protect and shelter her in the coming storm, that she might come through unscathed and be a bearer of glad tidings to the faithful!” All the attention would normally have made Rall nervous, but the man seemed so sincere and fatherly, she just beamed.

A slap to the back of the head by something hard pulled his attention from the priest to someone who was rudely interrupting the robed priest’s wonderful words. “Hey there girly, fine cheese you brought to me yesterday.. or was it the day before?”

“Master Martello!” Rall exclaimed as he stared at the cane the man had thumped her with, rubbing his head soothingly, “why did you hit me in the head?”

The old man tilted his head “Well to speak to you of course, had to thank you after all, but you were so caught up with this man’s parlor tricks you couldn’t hear a word I was saying.”

Rall gave the priest a another look. He seemed so nice, like his father and mother but all rolled up into one. “What tricks? He’s a wonderful man.” And yet, part of him wondered now, something seemed off but he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

With a little smile and a look of clarity, something he never expected to see on the old man, Martello answered “Things are never as they seem lad. You of all people should understand that.” He covered both of Rall’s eyes with his hands. “Now watch him closely.”

“How can I watch him? You’re covering my eyes!” Rall replied in annoyance. Why did he have to put up with this old man, he was distracting him from the priest’s lecture!

“I told you, look past things, let the image flow in your mind, but don’t chase it. You have the gift, you should be able to see it.” he replied kindly.

Frustrated, Rall tried to push the hands aside, but the old man was surprisingly strong. He glared at the hands, but all he could see was darkness. The lecture was continuing on and he couldn’t seem to focus on it properly and the old man didn’t seem willing to let him watch without trying. So, taking a slow breath he let his eyes unfocus and drift.

Slowly specks of color and flashes of light formed in his vision. Then he gasped as the world around him exploded in a vivid display of color and shape. He reached out as if to touch the colors flowing past him, colors that he couldn’t begin to name, but all he felt was air. Looking beyond that, he could see clearly now.

In front of him was the priest, he was clothed in a wierd bluish light which spread out from him like shining rays touching everyone around him, including Rall. “You see it now girl, don’t you, his trickery?”

Turning towards Martello, finally released from his hands, Rall gasped in shock. Where before Rall saw Martello as a crazy old man, was now cloaked in ribbons of power that danced to an unfathomably complex beat. Martello was more than just a crazy old sorcerer, much more but what exactly, Rall had no clue.

“Very good, even better than I expected.” he said with a wink, “Now let’s have some fun shall we?”

Waving towards the priest with his cane, Martello once more seemed the crazy old codger. “Young lad... Young lad! Have you seen my dog, feisty little beast he is, made off with my breakfast!”

The priest eyed Martello with a baleful glare, already annoyed at the interruption of his benediction on the young girl. “Go on, old man, I have no time for madmen.”

“Oh, my dog! You have found him!” Having said this, Martello fell to his hands and knees and shuffled up to the priest, barking and growling, pulling at his robes with his teeth. Several times the priest tried to thump him with the white staff he carried, but he couldn’t seem to hit the old man. The crowd, so rapt and devoted moments ago, roared in laughter.

In another feat of surprising spryness, Martello ducked under a another swing of the staff and stood up again, “What a lovely cane you have there good man! But mine is much better!” He laughed as he slammed the tip of his cane into the ground with a thunderous crash.

Rall felt a wave of something wash over him. Looking towards Martello and the now furious priest. he noticed immediately that the feelings of kindness and love from the white robed man had disappeared. He wasn’t the only one, the crowd seemed somewhat confused and bewildered as to why they where listening to a priest of the nation that was set to invade.

Rall also noticed, the tip of the priest’s staff was cracked, directly across the rune that decorated the head. The blue aura was gone, and the furious priest simply threw his staff to the ground and stalked away.

“Girl, yes, you, come on. The show is over. I hope there’s another performance before the troupe has to leave. I always did love a good circus, though I could have wished for an elephant, or maybe a lion tamer. But I think dear boy, it’s time you started learning a trade. Can’t have idle hands, they’ll do the devil’s work. Hmmm, idle hands doing work, ironic that.”

Martello kept up a stream of near-unintelligible gibberish as he guided Rall through the streets. Already lost and somewhat distracted by his newly brightened view of the world around him, Rall allowed himself to be led without argument. In minutes, or perhaps an hour, Rall found himself again in the musty disarrayed antique shop.

“Ah, good, you’ve made it!” wagging his finger at an imaginary audience ” Now pay attention class, this will be on the final exam. Take notes if you must, but put your books and calculators away. Today we’ll be discussing the natural laws of life and energy.” Grabbing a piece of chalk Martello lead Rall to a board and drew a circle.

“First, we must discuss the Law of Conservation of Energy. This states that energy, be it electrical, heat or soul, can neither be created nor destroyed. Unless of course you create or destroy it. But that is for more advanced classes.” Rall shook his head, trying to puzzle out what the old man was talking about, it did seem important.

“For example. When you die, your soul is freed from the bonds of the mortal shell to rejoin nature, and eventually be reborn into new life. The trees, the earthworms, the algae growing on the rocks, all life uses this energy to live. Now, all living things emit this life energy naturally. Some of us, for reasons no one can yet explain, can harness this energy, and direct it. Some better than others. With formulae, or spells, or runes, or whatever method works best, we focus and shape this energy to affect things. Please, no affecting my class with fire before the lecture is over.” Rall thought of the fire blast into the air the previous day, and took hold of his skirts, then pulled his shiny stones out to keep his hands busy.

“But this is not the only source of energy. Fire that consumes or water that flows can be just as powerful. But it can be a bit more complicated to use when the source of power is external.” Nodding towards Rall he smiled, “What a perfect example of fire element magic being stored into a geological matrix!”

Rall looked at Martello in confusion, until the old man pointed at the stones. Then he looked down at them, and one of them glowed brightly with a color that might be compared to red in his newly discovered field of vision. Though, the simple word red did not do the color justice.

“Now what else should we cover.” Martello pondered as he paced his dusty floors. “Oh, I know! The Law of Intent! Yes! As a sorceress like yourself performs a ritual of some sort, you direct your will in a specific way. Many methods are available, most of them are stupid. The key is to use a consistent system when you wish to enact your intent. Guiding the energies available willy nilly without calculating their interactions beforehand is a fast way to find out what the other side is like.”

“BUT! there are always factors one cannot prepare for, things beyond your control. This is the Law of Chaos, first developed by a man named Murphy. You must always be prepared to deal with the unexpected.“

Rall simple nodded. In a mere twenty minutes he had learned more about magic than in months with Xabriar, though much of it was as confusing as Martello himself.

“One last thing before class is dismissed, which I believe to be of some small relevance, are artifacts like your sword.” He said as he pointed at Rall’s skirt where the sword was hidden. “Artifacts normally offer the user some predefined formulaic templates. This can make focusing energies for magic much simpler than otherwise, if one channels through said artifact.”

“For example your sword, when I looked at it had a great deal of fire algorithmic formulas. Could burn your whole leg to ash if not used cautiously.” Martello said with a laugh, though Rall didn’t find it particularly funny. He nervously shifted it away from himself a bit.

“Okay, that’s enough lecture for today. Now class, I’d like you all to go home and study your textbooks with your new senses, and see if you can’t read any of the course material. For that matter, study everyone and everything you can, you might be surprised by what you see!” He cackled with a gleeful sort of madness, the lucidity of the last half hour passing as suddenly as it had come. Clearly the old mage had forgotten more about magic than Rall was ever likely to learn!

Eyeing Rall for a moment the old man blinked. “Today’s not grocery day, now get girl. My dog is missing and I must go fetch him or her. She changes so often you see.”

“Thank you Master Martello, I’ll leave you to finding your dog then.” Rall smiled as he left the shop. Crazy as the old bat might be, he just couldn’t help but like Martello.

Paying heed to Martello’s advice, Rall tried the trick to shift his vision. Like before the world exploded into a vivid range of new colors that could not be described and strange sights. Most people seemed to radiate weak halos of light all the time, in varying colors. It wasn’t until Rall spotted an argument between two guildsmen in the craft district that he realized that the colors could reflect emotions.

Odder still, some things that existed in his othersight didn’t always exist in the real world. Once he tried to enter an old bakery that seemed lively and bustling with energy. He could almost smell the breads baking, and the old storefront spoke of the comfort of home. But when he reached the open doorway, he ended up bumping his head directly into a stone wall with an audible thud and a few laughs from passersby at the idiot child. He rubbed his bruised forehead and looked up to find the bakery completely gone, replaced by a very new looking blacksmithing forge. The door was on a different part of the wall, and much larger.

Rall ignored the laughter of the people around him, once again focusing on that strange world of color and lights, and found the bakery flickering out like a fire, or perhaps it was on fire. He turned away and continued wandering, watching the odd insect fly colorful circles in the air, or a dog with a bright yellow glow padding up for a scratch behind the ears from his master.

But then, something changed. He could feel the muscles in his neck tense, the scales stiffening oddly in a way that brought to mind raised hair on the back of his neck just before his old master would lash out with some punishing spell. A deafening roar thundered like a great forge raging from the south. He turned towards the sound and his eyes shut involuntarily, the afterimage of the source burned into his retina: an orb of orange-red so bright that it eclipsed the sun itself.