 
Seeds of Virtue

Dark Descent

Book I

by Christopher Lapides

Smashwords Edition

Books by Christopher Lapides

www.cal-productions.com

The Slayer Series

Dragons Plight

Town Shadows

Kingdoms Peril

Heritage Lost

Identity

Lineage

Destiny

Dark Descent

Seeds of Virtue

Seeds of Doubt

February 2014

Seeds of Malice

December 2014

SEEDS OF VIRTUE

Copyright © 2013 Cal Productions

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Cal Productions.

All characters in the book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters, character names, and the distinctive likenesses thereof are trademarks owned by Cal Productions.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

For my girls. All three of them.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BOOKS BY CHRISTOPHER LAPIDES

* * * * *

PROLOGUE

It was a clear night, without a cloud in the sky and Lunaria was shining bright. The streets were bathed in her cool glow and though it was late, there were plenty of people navigating the cobblestone roads. Since it was the middle of spring, the citizens of Atlurul stayed out late into the night, enjoying the cool air and breeze that wove its way through the maze of buildings. It carried the scent of rain, promising that tomorrow would be a day filled with heavy showers. There would be some grumblings about the rain for there were many that stayed indoors, not wanting to get wet, but there were others that welcomed the early year showers for it gave life to the crops and washed away the grim that every city managed to accumulate over the year. Then there were the children who welcomed any chance to dance in the cool downpour, despite their parent's objections. Regardless of the way anyone felt, it would be a damp day when next the sun rose.

But tonight the roads were dry and the streets busy. Business's doors were propped open and merchants welcomed all who had a little extra coin to spend. In fact, they even encouraged those with heavy purses to come in a purchase a trinket or two, regardless of the need. Mothers walked with their children and couples lazily strolled down the avenue, free from worry or doubt. Even the city watch, referred to as the Lances, was at ease for tonight was a night that they knew would be free of skullduggery. Even thieves and scoundrels took off from their usual practices for such a beautiful night.

The dozen or so taverns that were spread throughout the city were full, with music filling the air and ale flowing from the tap. Bards played their fiddles, lutes, and harps, entertaining the crowds and hoping for a generous donation or three. Mugs were kept full, plates were piled high with meat and roasted potatoes, and every hearth held a fire, warming any and all who sat near.

One such tavern, the Crying Lady, was especially full, with people resting against the wall, leaning on the bar, or standing in any place that happened to be empty, if only for a few seconds. But despite the cramped surroundings, which would make even the most drunken dwarf stand up and curse, only joyful voices and humorous music filled the air. Conversations were free of business and dark dealings. Family, pleasant memories, and the occasional jest was the only thing painting the lips of the tavern's patrons this night. The dark cherry wood, chandeliers decorated with tear-shaped crystals, and the comforting warmth of the fire made this one of the most desirable places to sit and have a drink and it put everyone in a jovial mood.

The Lady, as many called her, was one of the largest taverns in Atlurul and considered one of the best, with the finest wine, the most delicious cheeses, and ale that possessed the perfect balance of bitterness and sweetness. The meat was cooked well and brought out fresh, further contributing to the fine mood of the establishment. The bards that were employed by the tavern's proprietor–a large woman who was rumored to cry at the drop of a hat, hence the name–were always the most talented and sang songs of adventure, romance, and enchantment. Many of those nearby would join in, if they knew the lyrics. Some would just watch and listen while others completely ignored the songs because they deemed their own conversations more important than listening to songs they may or may not have heard. One such figure was not singing with the bards, listening to the music nor was he conversing with his friend. His eyes were only on the empty table to his right, the only table in the entire tavern that sat vacant.

The simple wooden table was located near the back of the Lady, roped off so not a single soul could sit in one of the two chairs that surrounded it. People stood near the barrier, not even noticing or seeming to care that a free place to sit was going unused. Only Buldrik noticed and he was not happy with what he saw.

"Hey!" the young adventurer said rather harshly to a young woman who was walking by, carrying a tray full of foaming mugs. At first, she did not react for the clicking of the glass mugs had drowned out Buldrik's voice. Truthfully, she had heard his rude inquisition but choose to ignore him, but when he grabbed her arm, rather forcefully, she was forced to give him her undivided attention.

"Why's this table empty?" Buldrik asked when she turned to look at him, her face quickly turning to an angry expression.

"Let go of my arm and perhaps I'll tell you," Meena replied, holding her anger in check. Usually she would have kicked him somewhere that would have left him howling on the floor, but tonight she was in a forgiving mood, at least for a few seconds.

Buldrik held on for a few more moments but eventually let go, though the angry look on his face never faded. Meena held his gaze but finally turned to look at the table.

"Because no one is sitting there," she said with just the slightest curl to the edges of her mouth. Buldrik's eyes started to smolder.

"Why you smart-mouthed wen–"

"C'mon Buldrik," said his more levelheaded friend from behind him, cutting him off. "Not tonight. Can we just enjoy our drinks without you getting into another fight?"

"This place is packed!" Buldrik exclaimed, motioning to the crowd before him. "Yet here sits a perfectly empty space. Why would–"

"You must be new in town," Meena said as if she had had this type of encounter before. The two men looked at her strangely.

"Arrived earlier today," Buldrik's friend said, his voice indicating he wanted to know just how she had made such an observation. They had just arrived with a caravan coming from the east. Meena only sighed.

"This table is reserved every night for one of our guests. We keep it roped off so no one will take his spot."

"And if he doesn't show?" Buldrik asked, his voice filled with annoyance.

"Then it stays empty," Meena responded matter-of-factly. With that, she turned to go, wanting nothing more to do with idiotic young men.

"Not tonight it doesn't!"

Buldrik turned around and leaned over to where the rope was hooked to the wall. He tore it from the clasp and threw it to the ground. Then he grabbed one of the chairs and pushed it out, intent to have a seat.

"Hey!" Meena said forcefully. "I said this was reserved."

She took a quick step forward and took Buldrik by the shoulder. At this point, a few other patrons had turned in her direction, wondering what the commotion was. Many eyes full of mirth just seconds ago soon turned to anger as they saw what was happening, but no one made a move to help her. Meena's reputation was well known in the Lady. They knew she could take care of herself and, as many who did try to help her found out, wanted to. There was many a man who had walked away from Meena with a limp when they tried to defy her wishes. It looked as though two more were about to be added to that list.

Meena went to pull Buldrik around, to smash the tray of mugs right into his face, but his friend had moved too fast and snatched the tray from her hand. At the same time, Buldrik was turning, hand raised to give her a slap that would surely send her across the room, but the sudden sound of a throat clearing stopped them all.

"My dear Meena," said a voice filled with age, "is there a problem?"

The trio turned and saw a stooped old man in tattered robes standing before them. He looked ancient, with hundreds of wrinkles decorating his face. His hair was as white as the clouds and his clothing looked to have come from a garbage heap. A beard that came to his waist was unkempt and spotted with dirt. It appeared as if he would keel over if not for the gnarled staff he leaned on, which looked to have come from a rotted tree. Only his eyes, as brown as the wood that held up the Lady, showed any signs of vigor.

Buldrik and his friend lowered their arms, with the friend now holding a tray full of mugs. Both just stared at the man with a mixture of disgust and confusion.

"No problem," Meena said, sending daggers into the two men. "They were just leaving."

"Who in the hells are you?" Buldrik asked, his temper rising.

"Oh, just an old man who likes his ale cold and his maidens fair," the old man replied, sending a wink at Meena. She just rolled her eyes. "I am also someone who doesn't appreciate brash young men accosting young ladies who are just trying to do their job. That is the problem with adventurers these days. They think the world is theirs to do with as they please, never thinking of the consequences."

Buldrik and his friend continued to stare at the man as if he had grown two heads. Then Buldrik shook his head and the rage returned.

"You should watch your tongue old man, before these brash young adventurers give you what for. Why don't you just turn around and limp back to where you came from."

"Oh, I plan to," the man said as if he hadn't a care in the world, "but only after I have the drink I came for. It would be a mighty bit easier if you weren't standing in front of the table that Meena has so valiantly tried to defend."

"They have this roped off for you?!" Buldrik said in amusement.

The patrons that had been watching the entire confrontation had gone back to enjoying their music and ale. They either lost interest or knew that the old man had the situation in control. Buldrik and his companion didn't notice. They just continued to stare at the old codger as if he was crazy. Meena stayed where she was, enjoying every moment of the adventurers' confusion.

"Aye," the old man responded. "And if you would be so kind as to move aside, I can commence with the aforementioned drink."

"I don't think you're in any position to make demands," Buldrik said with a laugh, amazed at the bravado of the old man, but that amusement quickly turned to annoyance. "I think you should just turn around and go away before you get hurt."

"You see," the man said, "that's what really irks me, when people make threats they have no chance of carrying through."

"No chance?" Buldrik said with rising anger, his fists coming up. "I should beat–"

Suddenly, the eyes of the old man flashed and the area directly around the four figures went silent. Not the music, not the fire, and not a single voice penetrated the area. It was as if the rest of the world had just dropped away. Even though they were surrounded by people, only three seemed to notice the silence and the blue glow around the old man's eyes.

"Do you know what I think you should do?" the man said, his gaze solely on Buldrik and his friend, whose faces suddenly went slack. Meena stood off to the side, trying her best to stifle the giggle that was working its way to her lips.

"I think you should go to every tavern in the city and let the crowd know how rude and disrespectful you are and beg their forgiveness. And when you are finished, I think you should return here and offer your deepest apologies to Meena. If she is not here when you return, you will wait until she is, be it an hour, a day, or a week. When she has forgiven you and accepted, you may leave and continue on whatever quest you have come to Atlurul to complete. How does that sound? Hmm?"

"That sounds fine," Buldrik and his friend replied at the same time, in the same monotone voice. Without another look, Buldrik's friend handed Meena back her tray and the two turned and walked out of the tavern, heading for the closest neighboring tavern to express their regrets. When they were out of sight, the glow around the old man's eyes faded and the sound returned. He walked to the closest chair around the formerly roped off table, sat down, and looked up at Meena with a sly smile.

"The usual, please."

"You know," she said, walking next to him and placing a hand on her hip, "there are not too many people, let alone men, that I would allow to help me like that."

"I know, my dear," the man replied, a smile still on his lips. He raised his soft brown eyes to meet hers. "My apologies. Of course I know you can take care of yourself and any ruffian that thinks otherwise, but I thought these two needed to be taught a lesson in humility and only one with my...talents could have taught them as such."

"His friend really didn't do anything."

"And therein lies his crime in the confrontation," the old man replied. "A man that sits back and does nothing is just as guilty. Perhaps he will respond a little more forcefully when his friend starts misbehaving." Meena just smiled and shook her head. She then gave the old man a kiss on top of his head.

"Thank you," she said. "You drinking alone tonight?" she then asked while wiping down the table with a rag she had removed from her belt.

"Not tonight," he replied. "Hellric shall be joining me soon. Said he has something exciting to tell me."

"Oh no," Meena said, her eyes once again rolling. "Every time he gets excited the mayor and the nobles start to groan. Should they expect to have a few less gold in the coming weeks?" The old man only smiled.

"I'll admit that Hellric is a little..."

"Crazy?" Meena said when he trailed off.

"Eccentric," the old man corrected. "But he has done more to help this city and its citizens than I ever could. He means well. It's just that things don't always go as well as expected."

"Graeak Loyalar," Meena said, staring him straight in the eye, "that is the understatement of the century."

"Hey!" Graeak exclaimed. "He paid for what he damaged and–"

"Relax," Meena said, patting him on the head as if he were a child. Graeak went silent and a frown painted his face. "I'm only fooling. Is he going to come in here disguised as a sack of rotten potatoes as well?"

"Of course," Graeak responded with a smile, his mustache curling ever so slightly.

"Why don't you ever just drop the disguise," Meena said in all seriousness, "all this magical illusion, as you call it, and come in here as you are?"

"Why Meena," Graeak said, his eyes flashing, "you insult me. You don't like the old worn out look?" When she lowered her gaze and her eyebrows rose, he cleared his throat. "I prefer anonymity and far too many people in this city know my real appearance. Only you, your generous employer, and a few others know this disguise. I've learned long ago that if I want peace and quiet, relatively speaking," he said while motioning to the crowd before him, "then I need to lock myself in my tower, or change my appearance. So far, this option is working just fine."

"But," Meena said, leaning over so her ample cleavage was right in his face, "your true appearance is much more handsome." After a few moments of letting him enjoy the view, she leaned up. "I'll see about that drink." As she walked away, Graeak could not help but stare at her swaying, shapely backside.

"Calm yourself," Graeak said to himself, pulling his eyes from Meena. She's not even a quarter of your age yet. Besides, he thought, she is just doing that for a better tip, which works every time.

Meena brought his drink a few minutes after she had disappeared from view. Graeak sipped his wine, content to enjoy the sweet liquid and entertainment for however long it took Hellric to arrive. The night was late and any work he had could be done in the morning, or late afternoon, depending on when he actually got back to his tower. Until then, his apprentices could handle the load. The problem with Hellric was that the man was always late, which was why Graeak had arrived at the Crying Lady an hour and a half after their initial meeting time. He was not surprised to find the table still empty when he had first arrived. The question now was how much longer he would have to wait, or if his friend would show up at all. About an hour and a handful of drinks later, not to mention a few more flirtations with Meena, Graeak's guest finally arrived.

Hellric Sazzor arrived in much the same fashion as his friend. He was dressed in the illusion of a fragile old man. The same tattered robes, gnarled staff, and dirty hair decorated the man's true form. Graeak was a bit annoyed for his companion looked just as he had. It would be difficult to remain inconspicuous if people noticed two of the same old man sitting in the corner.

Hellric looked up as he entered and noticed the similar disguise. With a simple thought, he changed his robes to a dark blue, shortened his beard, and added little details in his face that would make them more noticeably different. When he sat down, Graeak was still wearing a frown.

"Punctual as usual," Graeak said in a flat voice, with more than a little annoyance mixed in.

"At least I'm here this time," Hellric replied in a raspy voice.

It was nice to see Hellric actually show up. Graeak had made many appointments with his friend in the past where the man didn't even show or he had sent a message that said he wasn't coming. Many a time had Graeak left the same way he had arrived: alone.

"I guess that counts for something, but must we keep meeting in public like this?" Graeak asked. "We both have towers in the city. I know there is ample room in mine so you must have more than enough space in yours. The least we can do is let each other know what the other is going to wear."

"And risk having every upstart wizard listening in to our conversation?" Hellric responded, referring to the dozens of apprentices they each had in their homes. Each man had the same problem of eavesdropping students, each trying to one up their fellow classmates, hoping they could overhear a piece of juicy gossip to use to their advantage.

"I'll have you know," Graeak said as if he had been insulted, "that my students are well-behaved and know their place."

"Uh-huh," Hellric responded. "Just like we were at their age?" Graeak said nothing. He just gave his friend a smirk. "Stop complaining," Hellric continued. "I see you have had plenty to keep yourself...entertained as you waited."

Graeak turned to see what Hellric was looking at, and saw Meena making their way towards them.

"Be serious!" Graeak exclaimed, his cheeks going slightly red. Not even his magic could hide that much blushing. "She could be my granddaughter."

"Your great-granddaughter," Hellric added with a laugh.

"Lord Sazzor," Meena said as she reached the table, interrupting the retort Graeak was planning. "How lovely it is to see you."

"And you, my lady." Hellric gave a slight bow.

"Can I fetch you something?"

"I'll have what my esteemed colleague is having."

Meena nodded and after making sure Graeak had plenty of wine, left the two alone. Hellric waited until she had disappeared in the crowd then wove his hand through the air. The noise around the two lowered so they could talk without having to yell. The spell he had just cast also made sure that stray ears would not overhear their conversation.

"Well?" Graeak said. "What did you wish to talk about?" He looked at his friend, whose eyes had just brightened. Hellric suddenly looked like a boy who had just gotten his first kiss.

"I found it."

All mirth and merriment was wiped from Graeak's face. He stared at his friend as if he had not heard him correctly. After a long pause, he finally found his voice again.

"What?"

"I found it," Hellric said again, his eyes wide and a large smile on his face. "It was buried in the ruins just a few hundred miles from here, deep underground. It took almost an entire month to extract it. The traps placed over the tomb were not easy to overcome either. We lost a few dozen men and I lost a few artifacts that, I am sorry to say, were irreplaceable. But I actually found it!"

Graeak just sat in stunned silence. He could not believe what he was hearing. He didn't want to believe it. He had thought the orb was just a legend, something that tyrants had made up to scare their armies and enemies into submission. He had tried to tell Hellric as much, that he was wasting his time searching for something that did not exist, but his friend would not be dissuaded. He was content to let Hellric waste his time. Every wizard had his or her obsession and this one kept his mind busy and kept him out of Graeak's hair. The man had spent over ten years searching for the artifact, combing through ruins, books, and tomes, always believing that it was real. Graeak always believed that something so powerful, something filled with so much evil could not possibly be real, but now his friend was telling him that it was, that he had actually found it and brought it up from the place it which it had been buried.

"Hellric," he said, in almost a whisper. "How did you–"

Just then, Meena walked up, bringing Graeak's comment to a halt. She paid no mind to the sudden change in noise level. She just set a glass of wine on the table for Hellric. She looked at him, then at Graeak. Her expression softened when she saw the nervous look on his face.

"Are you all right?" she asked with true concern. He must have looked more frightened than he thought. Graeak pulled his eyes from Hellric and managed to put on a fake smile.

"Fine, sweet Meena." He held that smile until she walked away. She looked back once, and then disappeared into the crowd. Graeak looked back at Hellric. "How did you find it? How did you manage–"

"None of that matters now," his friend said excitedly, cutting him off. "What matters is that I found it. All my work, all that time searching through endless lore has finally paid off. The legends were true and now I have one of the most powerful artifacts ever created."

"Wait," Graeak said, his face paling even more. "You...you have it here? In the city?"

"Of course," Hellric said as if his friend should have known. "It's in my tower. And don't worry," he said, seeing the grave concern that suddenly painted Graeak's face. "It is tucked away where no one but I have access to it. No one knows it is here except me. And now you."

Graeak blew a small sigh of relief. The last thing that needed to happen was having an unaccomplished apprentice stumble upon something that even wizards as powerful as Hellric and himself may not be able to handle.

"Hellric," Graeak said, thinking of handling the orb. "You should not have brought it here. Indeed, you should have never even brought up from where it was buried."

"What?" Hellric said, his voice filled with a little surprise. His friend would surely understand what this discovery meant. "What are you talking about?"

"It was buried for a reason," Graeak said, "tucked away from the world because it is too dangerous. You've read the lore. You know the legends. No one should be allowed to handle that much power. And I remind you that it is a weapon of evil, never meant to be used by the power of good, however noble the intentions. The orb is a bringer of death and destruction. Someone went to a lot of trouble to keep it hidden, with good reason."

"I understand your fears, my friend," Hellric said, "but–"

"No," Graeak interrupted, knowing that Hellric was trying to calm his fears, fears that were well deserved. "I don't think you do." He took a deep breath and looked at his friend with compassion. He could understand why Hellric had taken the orb. He had spent so long searching and to have actually found it was quite a feat. The temptation to leave it alone would be too much, even for him if he had spent over a decade searching for something.

"Every mention of the orb has always included plague or famine or death," Graeak said. "That doesn't include what it does to those unfortunate to die while in its presence, or the powers it has to create armies of undead. Those that use it are–"

"But I do not intend to use it," Hellric was quick to point out.

"Your intentions do not matter," Graeak responded. "How often have you tried a spell, mixed a potion, or enchanted an item with the intention of making it more powerful only to find out that something entirely different happens? The people that have used the orb only have one intention: to wreak havoc. You cannot hope to do anything with the orb other than cause harm, whether or not you intend to. I implore you to return it to where it was found, or destroy it, if such a thing is possible."

Hellric leaned back and looked at his friend with disappointment, shaking his head. He took a deep breath and looked deep into Graeak's eyes.

"Why do you use magic?" Hellric asked, catching Graeak off guard.

"To spread knowledge, to help the weak, and to make the world a better place," Graeak said after a short pause. He had been asked that question a million times and his answer was always the same. He taught the same answer to his students.

"Exactly," Hellric said, knowing what his friend's answer would be for he had also heard it many times. "As do I."

"Nothing that orb offers can possibly aid this world." Graeak said.

"Can't it?" Hellric replied. He continued after seeing the reluctant look on his fellow wizard's face.

"Imagine an object so powerful that it can cure any disease, heal any wound, no matter how serious the injury. Imagine an object that can bring people back from the brink of death, if not back from death itself. Imagine how much good an object like that could do. How many lives would be saved? How many people would no longer have to shed unneeded tears over the death of a loved one? How many children would be saved from plague and disease? Just think about what this world would be like."

Graeak finally understood the reason for Hellric's obsession with the orb. He had a wife once, but she had been taken many decades ago, when a plague had broken out over the entire city. Thousands died, including his beloved Dalria. Despite all his magic, all his power, he had been powerless to stop her sickness. He had to watch as the plague slowly took her life. Then he had to put her in the ground. Graeak had never been married, nor in love for that matter, and could not imagine the pain his friend had gone through. He had locked himself in his tower for almost a year, grieving for his wife. One day, when Graeak had finally managed to drag Hellric outside, Hellric had told him that no one should ever have to go through that type of pain. Now, with the orb in his grasp, no one would ever have to.

"You're thinking to reverse the orb's magic, to make it a giver of life, instead of a master over death."

"Exactly!" Hellric said with excitement, happy that his friend finally saw his plan. "No death, no sickness, no pain. Never again will we have to watch as our loved ones are struck down."

Graeak took a deep breath. "You can't bring her back," he said with sadness, not knowing if that was indeed his friend's intention. By now, Dalria's body would be all but dust. Even magic could not bring her back. Even if it was possible, Graeak believed he had known Dalria good enough to know she would not want to be brought from the afterlife. Luckily, Hellric next words indicated that he agreed.

"I know," Hellric said, looking into the wine in his glass, a somber look crossing his face. "But think of all those I could help. Think of all the pain I can stop."

Graeak looked at Hellric and what he saw, just the slightest hint of madness creeping into his eyes, made him shiver. He knew it was not actually insanity. It was obsession, which could be even worse.

"Hellric, though I can appreciate your desire and your intention to free people from grief, to free them from death, I fear that what you plan will have unforeseen consequences. The world needs pain, it needs disease and sickness. I dare say it even needs death, no matter how painful it may be. These maladies cleanse the world, much as a random fire clears brush that has grown too large to survive on its own. Imagine if plants never died or if the deer we eat could never be killed. Imagine if nothing ever passed to the gods. The world would be overrun. I even believe that these painful experiences are necessary. They make us stronger as a civilization for is it not these trials and tribulations that make us who we are? That teaches us what not to do? That strengthens our souls and makes us human? Death is nature's way of saying it is time, regardless of the means. What you are talking about goes against every law of nature. It even goes against the will of the gods and that is not something to be taken lightly."

Hellric just stared at Graeak with the same disappointed look, but this time he was actually smiling. He knew he would never convince Graeak. He was well accustomed to his friend's beliefs for he had heard them many times before. All he had planned to do was share his discovery and try to see if his old friend would simply understand. Unfortunately, it seemed Graeak did not. He was not surprised with his friend's reaction, just a little saddened. He just did not see the larger picture.

"I knew you wouldn't understand," he said with a sigh. "You are too much of a purest, which is an odd thing to find in a wizard. Perhaps you should have been a priest."

"You know I never had the patience for prayer." Despite himself, Graeak actually chuckled, which eased the tension. Hellric let out a deep laugh for wizards indeed needed to have a very different kind of patience than priests.

The two enjoyed the moment of levity, if only briefly. The feeling quickly faded and a serious tone fell over the two men once again.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider?" Graeak asked, knowing that despite his pleas and concerns, Hellric would still go ahead with his experiments on the orb. He knew that his friend was just trying to make him understand. He appreciated the attempt, but he could never go along with such an obvious attempt to challenge the laws of life itself.

Hellric looked right into Graeak's eyes. "I can't. If there is a chance, however small, I have to try. I have to make the attempt, if for no other reason than to see if it is even possible. You know," Hellric said after a short pause, a grin coming to his face, "it may be a little easier with help."

"I cannot," Graeak answered calmly. "I just don't think it is right."

"So why not try to stop me?" Hellric said, surprising Graeak. His voice wasn't abrasive. He truly sounded as if he wanted to know how his friend would react. "Why not take the orb or tie me down?"

"Tis not my place," Graeak answered truthfully. "If you were to use this for evil, then I may have tried to stop you, but this was your discovery. It would be no more right for me to try to stop a king who finds a magical sword. As long as he doesn't turn it on me or the innocent, he is free to do as he pleases. You spent your coin and your time to find the orb. It belongs to you now. It is your property and you may do with it as you please, as long as it brings no harm to this city or its citizens."

"Should I take that as your endorsement?" Hellric asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I wouldn't go that far," Graeak responded with a smirk. "To be honest, a part of me hopes you don't succeed for I fear that what you may discover would violate the laws of life itself. I only see bad things coming from this."

"And the other part?"

Graeak just smiled but remained silent. A small part of him wanted to see Hellric succeed if for no other reason than to see the orb's power of evil destroyed. That would surely happen if he managed to reverse its effects. Another small part–the wizard in him–also wanted to see his friend succeed because it would be one of the greatest accomplishments in history. If he could actually succeed on an artifact that is supposedly as powerful as the orb, it would be amazing.

He looked over at Hellric and saw him smiling. His friend knew his feelings and found the conflicting emotions humorous. Though Graeak preached purity of life, he had been known to dabble in a little magic that helped extend his youth. Even one such as he had hopes of living a much longer life than the gods had planned. But Hellric knew he would not delay his destiny forever.

"Well," Hellric said, draining the rest of his wine. "I think it is well past my bedtime. After all, I have a very busy day tomorrow." He looked at Graeak and smiled.

"Please," Graeak said with concern. "Be careful. The last thing I want to see is Godspire blown to pieces." Godspire was the name of Hellric's tower, a name that Graeak had actually come up with when they were younger, before either of them had a place to call their own. Graeak would always joke with Hellric, saying he would never be able to afford to build a god's spire of his own, a name many arrogant wizards had used to describe their homes. Little did he know that Hellric would use the joke many years later to name his residence.

"But then The Fount would be the tallest tower in the city," Hellric responded with laughter. Graeak had named his tower Fount of Knowledge, believing that magic was useless without the knowledge to use it. Over time, people had just referred to his home as The Fount, finding the shorter title much more desirable.

Graeak just shook his head and watched his friend leave the tavern. The spell Hellric had woven went with him and the sound returned to normal.

Graeak spent a few moments watching the crowd. He watched their smiling faces, listened to the joyous music, and enjoyed his last sip of sweet wine. He suddenly found himself wondering where Meena went and if, when the time came, she would miss him when the gods called him home. His eyes turned towards the door that Hellric had left through.

"Watch over him Dalria. I fear he knows not what he is getting into."

When Meena came back to the table a few minutes later, she found that Graeak had already left.

* * * * *

The massive fireball blazed right over his head. It had come so close that the intense heat singed his hair and sent wisps of smoke rising from his robes. If not for the protective magic he had cloaked himself and the others behind him in, Graeak knew he and the contingent of Lances that were following him would have burst into flames. He was lucky to have magic to wrap himself in, but those caught in the massive blast when the fireball landed were not so fortunate.

The roar of the flames were deafening and only intensified tenfold as it hit the building down the street from him. The structure and all those within were instantly incinerated, dissolving into a pile of ash. The explosion that followed rocked the entire city, throwing Graeak and everyone within five blocks to the ground. The whoosh of hot air that followed blew him even further along the road, rolling along the hard cobblestones. His shields flashed as they absorbed the impact and the small bits of debris that managed to survive the explosion. He looked up and saw that the other homes and business next to the building that was suddenly gone, those parts that were not destroyed from the blast, immediately caught fire and started to burn.

Only minutes ago, he had been sound asleep in his bed, enjoying a wonderful dream of a sultry elf he had once known when he was suddenly, and quiet rudely, shaken awake by one of his apprentices.

"My lord," the boy named Vambalar had said frantically. "The city is under attack! The Lances request your aid!"

Though he was old and his bones always ached after waking from a deep sleep, Graeak rose quickly from bed, donned his golden robes, grabbed his staff, and rushed down the stairs. A large group of Lances, dressed in their gleaming, golden platemail armor and armed to the teeth, was waiting with eyes filled with concern. Supreme Lance Camruadd Delonshire, a man Graeak had known for many years, stood out in front, eagerly awaiting Graeak's arrival.

"My Lord Loyalar," the Supreme Lance said with a steady voice. "We need your magic."

Though Graeak was just a normal citizen of Atlurul, the Lances, nobles, and the mayor always came to him and the other dozen wizards that called the city home when there was trouble. True, they had their own host of wizards that were employed by the city, but he and a few others were much more powerful, able to study and experiment as they pleased without the weight of government on their shoulders. Graeak always lent his help when needed. Now appeared to be another one of those times.

"What befalls?" he said, mentally readying his spells. His dark gray hair was wild from sleep and his short beard was tangled in knots. He wiped the sleep from his brown eyes and sniffed the air with his bulbous nose, smelling something burning.

"We'll explain on the way."

When he had gone outside, he saw that the night sky across the city was bathed in red light. Flames reached towards the heavens and people were screaming in terror. Guards were racing past him, running towards whatever trouble he was now heading for. Supreme lances, capital lances, and lance captains were shouting orders and horses were galloping through the streets, with armored riders in their saddles.

Graeak could feel the magic in the air and felt the rumbling of explosions beneath his feet. As he cast a few spells on himself and the guards with him, he quickly scanned the rest of the city and saw that whatever was happening appeared to be concentrated in only one area of the city. Behind him and to the side, all was quiet. The city walls were calm and the land beyond the gates was empty save for the insects and rodents that woke during the night. Whatever was happening had started from inside the city.

A surge of fear shot through Graeak as he turned back to where the commotion was coming from. The explosions, flashes of light, and streams of magic that were filling the night sky seemed to be coming from only one structure. It was the tallest structure in the city, and the home of his friend. His fears were quickly confirmed when Supreme Lance Delonshire next spoke.

"We don't know why, but about an hour ago he just started firing spells into the city without warning," the Supreme Lance said, keeping his eyes forward. "We tried to breach the wall but thick magic protects the entrance. Our wizards are powerless against it. Some attempted to teleport to the top, but they were met with resistance. Some disappeared only to reappear seconds later, turned into something I...I cannot really describe. I only know that it was dead when it came back. Our arrows are useless and any spell cast against him rebounds, twice as strong as before. We came for you as soon as we realized we needed spells that are more powerful.

"My Lord Loyalar," the Supreme Lance said with remorse, "it appears that your friend Hellric has gone insane."

Graeak tore his eyes from Delonshire and found Godspire in the sky. As they came closer, he could see beams of light, bolts of lightning and other spells coming from the top of the tower, all directed into the city. Buildings burned, people screamed, and the streets ran red with blood. All around it was fire and destruction, as if a ring of chaos had fallen from the sky to settle around the tower.

"By the gods, Hellric," Graeak said under his breath. "I told you to be careful."

It had only been a few months since he had last spoken to Hellric, in the Crying Lady, but since then, he had seen neither hide nor hair of his friend. The man had locked himself in the tower, no doubt performing his experiments on the orb. Graeak cursed himself for a fool for not checking on Hellric, knowing what the orb was and what he had been doing to it. He should have been more involved. He should have made sure his friend was all right. Now it seemed his negligence would cost them all. The old wizard must have unlocked something terrible, and everyone was paying the price.

"Let's get to the tower," Graeak said. "I need to–"

That was when the gigantic fireball had come screaming towards him. Now, Graeak was picking himself off the ground, old bones protesting. He looked back towards Godspire. They still had a ways to go but at this rate, they would be blown to pieces before they came within a hundred yards.

"Are you all right?" came Delonshire's voice. Graeak nodded and brought to mind a spell that would get them past this madness.

"Hold tight," he said and cast the spell. The Supreme Lance must have realized what he was doing for fear suddenly painted his face.

"No!" he screamed. "I told you teleporting into t–"

His words were ripped away as Graeak and the entire contingent of Lances were instantly teleported only a few hundred feet from Hellric's tower. When they appeared, half the guard emptied their stomachs, this being the first time many of them had experienced teleportation. Delonshire and a handful of others managed to hold in their dinner but they still looked a little queasy.

"There is no harm if we don't actually teleport into the tower," Graeak said as Delonshire and his men regained their wits. When they were stable, the group took off down the street, coming to the tower gates within moments.

A dozen city wizards were there, along with dozens of Lances. Graeak was quick to note a few dead bodies that had been pulled to the side. One was a burnt out husk, obviously a wizard. The other two were guards, who looked to have been burned to death. Graeak quickly surmised that the men had tried their hand at the entrance and met a grim demise.

The thick wooden doors of Godspire were dotted with burn marks, scorched from spells of acid, and marred by other forms of magic. Only two small sword marks indicated that someone, or a pair of someone's, had tried brute force. The result now lay in a heap off to the side.

"Graeak," came a voice. "Thank the gods!"

Graeak looked to a small man dressed in bright blue robes, carrying a glowing red scepter. The archmage had known Waalharim for over fifteen years and knew he was one of the most capable of the city's wizards. When the man saw him, relief painted his face.

"Waalharim," Graeak said as the two clasped hands. "Any luck?"

"No," the aging man said. "We have thrown everything we have at it, to no avail. Two guards tried their swords but you can see the unfortunate result. Grimermal tried a touch spell and met his end. We dared not try anything like that twice. Graeak, I have never seen anything like this. It is as if the gods themselves bar our way. I don't understand why Hellric would do such a thing."

Graeak looked at the doors, then up towards the sky, to the top of the tower where spells of destruction continued to fall into the city. Luckily, Hellric's attention was turned out toward the city instead of near the base of his tower. If he sent a few spells straight down, he could have killed them all.

"Stand back," Graeak said, knowing that time was of the essence.

The wizards and the Lances stepped back. The wizards cast spells of shielding against death, fire, and any other form of offensive magic they could think of. The Lances ducked behind walls or hid behind their shields.

"Get ready to lend your magic," Graeak said to Waalharim and the other wizards. "It may take all of us to break these wards."

Graeak cast a series of spells on himself in case he set off the magical traps that were no doubt placed upon the door. Then he cast a spell that let him see magical emanations of nearby objects.

Godspire glowed like a small sun, which was no surprise to Graeak. Most wizards had dozens of magical wards and protections upon their towers, which protected the structure from thieves and the ravages of nature, but what really caught his eye was the black glow surrounding the doors. It was like nothing he had ever seen. It appeared as a black sun, surrounded by a ring of purple fire. Though he had never seen such a thing, he knew exactly what it was from. The orb's influence had wormed its way into the tower itself and veins of its magic had crept into every surface. Graeak could sense that the dark ward was somehow connected to the orb and he could feel, just barely, that it was connected to something on the upper levels of the tower. If he could severe the connection, the ward should fade. No wonder the others haven't had any luck, he thought to himself. He had just barely sensed the connection, and that was only because he knew what to look for.

Graeak took a deep breath. He cast his spell and thrust his will against the ward. The force of the backlash that came at him almost knocked him from his feet. Luckily, he had been expecting some type of defense and was able to fight off the power, but it still rattled his teeth and made his head pound.

"By the gods!" he growled. "The power!"

After he steadied himself, he threw everything he had at the ward. It continued to resist, sending that power back at him, but he was able to keep the backlash at bay while simultaneously chopping away at what made the ward so strong. He felt other magics start to boil to the surface. His eyes widened as he realized that he was powerless to stop those from reaching him. Concentrating his magic on two tasks at once was hard enough. Blocking a third was almost impossible.

Thankfully, the surrounding wizards had been watching and waiting for just such an occurrence. They sent spells of dispelling and rebounding at the wards that Graeak could not counter. The dangerous protections shattered and blasted to oblivion, allowing Graeak to throw a powerful surge of anti-magic at the ward.

The tendril that connected it to the orb cracked and crumbled. To his eyes only, there was a burst of purple brilliance, temporary blinding him. When his vision returned, he saw that all the magic guarding the doors were gone.

"Are you well?" Graeak heard Waalharim ask.

In response, Graeak cautiously approached the doors. He slowly placed his hand upon the wood. When no spell of death attacked him, he pushed.

The door swung open, revealing the inside of Godspire. The only thing that greeted him was an empty foyer.

"He will know we have gained access," Graeak said. "Stay close and let me engage him first. Your swords and armor will do little against his magics. Keep your eyes open for his apprentices. We know not if they are suffering from the same affliction." No one said a word. They just followed Graeak inside, weapons and spells at the ready.

Hellric's tower was five hundred feet tall and consisted of twenty-five levels. The stairway was a single path, set against the outer wall, winding its way around the circumference of the tower, all the way up to the top. Most rooms were open, which would make searching for the apprentices and servants easy, but a handful of levels consisted of a half dozen smaller quarters, so they would have to be searched separately. But first, they had to reach Hellric and put an end to his madness. Graeak was not looking forward to the coming confrontation. If he could bring Hellric back from wherever his mind had gone, he would. But if he could not...

He took a deep breath and quickly scanned the ground level. It was empty, save for some scattered furniture. Not a single soul was present.

"Higher we must go," Graeak said and started up the stairs.

They cleared the first ten levels in just a few minutes. They found no one. Every room had been empty. The lack of bodies–be they living or dead–did not put any of the men at ease. Usually the tower was alive with activity, at all hours of the day. Now it felt like a tomb. As they climbed higher, they started to see signs of life, or more appropriately, the signs of struggle.

Clothing, glass, wood, and other debris they could not identify lay scattered across the ground. Scorch marks and chunks of rock also lay in random places throughout the rooms they passed through. The chaos just got worse the higher they climbed. As they went higher and higher, they could hear explosions from the other side of the wall. When they passed by windows, they could see that Hellric was still at it, throwing spells of death down into the city. Was there no end to his magic? Graeak thought. It wasn't until they reached level eighteen that they found the first body.

The mass of burnt flesh and bone looked to have been a female, though they could not be certain. Whatever it had been, it was melted into a fleshy mass by some insidious spell. They found three more masses nearby, as if the four people had been caught in some type of fireball. The ground was scorched black, as were the walls.

"We can do nothing for them," Delonshire said, seeing the remorse and regret on Graeak's face, though he had no idea why the old wizard would feel such guilt. Graeak know why he felt so, but nodded to the Supreme Lance and continued up the path in front of him.

The next level looked as though gravity had suddenly reversed. All the furniture and experimental equipment were on the ceiling. No one could tell if anyone was buried under the mass of destroyed debris, so they moved on.

The next three levels looked like something out of a nightmare. Everything that decorated these floors had been blasted to pieces, including the dozen or so people that called these chambers home. Blood lay splattered against every surface and bodies were scattered everywhere. Blood dripped from the ceiling, falling into pools on the floor below. A few of the younger guards could be heard emptying their stomachs as they passed through.

"What the hells happened?" one of the wizards asked in a whispered voice.

"Evil," replied another. "This is not insanity. This is pure evil."

"Something devilish has a hold of your friend," Delonshire said, looking at Graeak. "This is no botched magic. If he cannot be saved, he must be put down, for the safety of the city."

Graeak could not bring himself to voice his agreement for he knew that he might have to kill Hellric in order to protect the city. The question now was, was killing his friend even possible? The power displayed here was beyond his understanding. Could he even stand against such strength?

Graeak nodded and continued climbing towards his friend, a little more swiftly this time. If Hellric was capable of what he had just seen, it was imperative that he stop him as soon as possible.

They ran through the next level without stopping. Graeak did glance into the room and caught the sight of a few more bodies that appeared to be burnt out husks, lying in a large pile of ash. He ignored them, intent on reaching Hellric before he did anymore damage. The men behind him simply followed, feeling Graeak's intensity, his need to end this now.

When Graeak reached the next level, the one before Hellric's own, he rushed forward without stopping for the stairs had come to an end before him. The only way up was across the room to a single spiral staircase, rising up through the floor, but when Graeak finally looked up, he suddenly stopped, frozen in his tracks by the sight before him. The men following almost barreled into him, throwing him forward. They were about to run by him, thinking he had lost his mind, when they heard the moans, sounds that drove the icy finger of fear through their hearts.

The rest of the tower's inhabitants stood before them, standing like statues made of gray stone. But they were not statues, but they weren't alive either.

Their clothes, those that still wore them, sat in tatters on their bodies, bodies that were covered in rotting skin, flesh as dead and pale as the god of death's own. Their eyes were glowing pools of purple light though they were lifeless and without feeling. Many were missing limbs but most were whole yet they sported vicious wounds that would end the life of even the most battle-tested warrior. Their hands ended in sharp claws and when the party entered the room, they raised their arms and started to shuffle forward. Their moans of despair echoed throughout the room, further sending icy shivers up everyone's spine.

"By Kilgar," Delonshire whispered behind Graeak. "Undead!"

Any hope, however miniscule, that this entire ordeal had not been brought on by the orb, was dashed to pieces. Seeing those shambling zombies, those perverted creatures of undeath slowly moving towards him, Graeak no longer had any doubt that Hellric had been turned–or taken–by the artifact he had hoped to change. Now, that force of evil had made his friend into something that Hellric had always hated: a bringer of pain and destruction.

Anger crept into Graeak then. Not only just at the orb and Hellric, but at himself, for not being more vigilant and making sure Hellric had not strayed. He had failed his friend and the city. He had always said that a man that stands by and does nothing is just as guilty of the crime. He may not have turned these unfortunate souls into undead or caused the death of the gods knew how many people outside of these walls, but he shared in the blame. But before he accepted punishment, he would stop this madness.

He started chanting, calling to mind a powerful spell to blast the zombies into nothingness, but a hand fell on his shoulder, pulling his thoughts of destruction away.

"No," the Supreme Lance said. "I have a feeling you will need everything at your disposal, all your power, to overcome Hellric. Save it for him. We will take care of the undead. Go. Quickly."

Graeak hesitated but the confidence on Delonshire's face made it last only a few seconds. After nodding his acceptance of the situation, he backed away and let the guards and wizards rush into the room, engaging the zombies so he could make it to the stairs. He stepped back and ran along the perimeter of the room, moving away from the battle. To his complete shock, as soon as the undead were engaged, they sprang to life, with all the movement and ferocity of a caged demon of the Infinite Hells. The men were soon sorely pressed, finding the fight much more difficult than they first thought.

"Go!" Delonshire yelled, seeing Graeak pause, contemplating on lending his spells to the suddenly fierce battle. He saw the look on the man's face, one of courage and strength, then ran to the stairs. A few zombies went to stop him but the wizards lit them up with spells of lighting, fire, and force. He reached the stairs and ran up into Hellric's private chambers. What he saw when he reached the top made his heart almost burst from his chest.

Hellric's personal chambers used to be the envy of every wizard that called Atlurul home, consisting of dozens of tables filled with beakers full of bubbling liquids, gems that glowed almost as bright as the stars, items of wondrous power whose strength the wizard hoped to unlock, and other artifacts that an archmage could only dream of possessing. Potions that could enchant the mind, capture the soul, or heal even the most grievous wound used to sit on shelves that wrapped around the circular chamber. Items that even Graeak could not identify used to bob in the air, hang from the ceiling, or blink in and out of existence used to fill the air, pulsating with powerful magic.

But now, the circular chamber was a broken shadow of its former self. The tables–some made of stone, some of wood–lay in shambles, most appearing as if they had spontaneously exploded. Bits and pieces lay scattered around the room, some even floating through the air as if gravity had failed to take hold after the destruction. Globes of liquid, shards of glass, and other strange objects floated through the air as well and decorated the floor. Black marks, splotches of strange colors, and deep grooves also painted every surface, adding to the chaos. Stains that could only be blood, perhaps the remnants of some of the small animals Hellric used to experiment upon or keep as pets, turned the usually gray stone red.

A flash of light tore Graeak's eyes from the bedlam. He turned to see that an entire section of the wall, along with half the ceiling, was gone. Only the sky filled his vision, as well as some of the city, but that was not all.

Hellric stood at the edge of the void, bathed in an eerie purple light. His robes, which were usually as silver as a newly forged blade, were black as night, almost blending in with the openness before him. If not for the flames that filled the air with an orangish light or the glow that surrounded him, he would have been invisible against the sky. Every time he sent a spell into the city, the glow would brighten then flash, filling what was left of the chamber with a surge of magic and light. Strangely, his staff was nowhere to be seen. He used only his hands to send death raining into the city.

Though he could only see the back of him, the sight of Hellric's bald head shocked Graeak, even more so than he did already. His usual shinning white hair was gone, replaced with what Graeak could only guess was burnt flesh. His skin looked almost gray and twisted into something that resembled the surface of a rotted piece of fruit. The screams of elation that came from Hellric every time he cast a spell also sent Graeak back on his heels. What in the name of all the gods had happened to him?

Graeak took no time to assess the situation. He had to put an end to this madness and he had to do it now, so he brought to mind one of his most powerful spells. Hopefully, it would dispel all magic within a certain area. He planned to center it directly on his friend.

Suddenly, as if his intentions had been spoken aloud, Graeak felt a presence within his mind, urging him to abandon the foolish notion of stopping his friend, and join him. It was so sudden and shocking that he almost lost the spell. Luckily, he held on but the magic he had started to gather slowly started to fade as something powerful began sucking the energies from it. Graeak took a step back and forced the presence from his mind. It faded but did not disappear completely. He looked all around the room, searching for whatever had assaulted him.

Floating in the air, not three feet from Hellric, was a sphere so black that Graeak swore he was looking into the end of time. Strange that he had not noticed it before for it looked to have been sitting there the entire time. He had the odd feeling that some type of magic emanating from the orb was trying to make him ignore its presence.

It was about three feet in diameter and bobbed up and down as if floating on a column of air. Small arcs of purple lighting played across its surface and a low hum issued forth, a sound that Graeak was just now noticing. Just below the orb, looking as though it was cut directly into the ground, was a hole, about four feet wide, filled with red light. The light pulsated and hummed, making Graeak's head pound. He looked back to the orb, to the utter blackness, and gazed inside.

Images too repulsive and terrifying to comprehend played across the surface of the orb, making Graeak want to scream. He pulled his eyes away and tried to calm himself. It wasn't easy but he managed to get a hold of his thoughts once more. He knew a lesser man may have run screaming from the room and he could not imagine what those visions had done to his friend.

Graeak quickly came to realize that what he was looking at was the dreaded Orb of Decay, an item so evil that it was rumored even gods were afraid of it. It was the orb that had driven Hellric mad, that had corrupted him and turned him evil. The artifact that Hellric had unearthed and brought back to his tower in hopes of using it for good had turned one of the world's most benevolent and powerful wizards into an agent of death and chaos. It was the orb and not Hellric that had to be destroyed, Graeak realized. Not only for Hellric's sake, but for the world's.

Graeak poured his will against the orb's influence and pushed it out completely. He felt anger and hatred but ignored them both. He started to gather the magic for his spell, to blast the orb into oblivion. Banishing it to another dimension or teleporting it away from this place wasn't enough. He had to destroy it, to make sure that it never fell into the wrong hands again.

As if sensing his intentions, the orb flashed and sent a surge of energy into Hellric, as if yelling for aid. The mad wizard must have heard for he turned and screamed.

"Blasphemer!"

Graeak almost dropped his spell when his eyes fell upon his friend for his face looked just like the back of his head, the skin twisted and colorless. His features were barely discernible. The only things Graeak recognized were his eyes, but they were not the bright vibrant blue he had known. They were a dark red, blazing with power and malice.

The orb and Hellric both flashed with power. The spell that hit Graeak had come from his friend so fast that he hadn't even had any time to scream. The blast of force lifted him from his feet and slammed him into the back wall. His staff went flying and his head crashed into the hard stone. Stars danced before his eyes. If not for the spells protecting him, he had little doubt he would be nothing but a bloodstain.

"Hellric!" Graeak struggled to say as the magic held him aloft, pinning him against the wall. "Fight against it!"

His friend said nothing. He did not even acknowledge that he had heard the words. His eyes just flashed, along with the orb, as he sent another blast of killing magic against Graeak.

The magic broke apart against another of Graeak's shields, but it also took the ward with it, destroying yet another protection. Another spell followed after Hellric saw the first two had done nothing. That spell destroyed another of his friend's wards.

Graeak knew he would not last forever. Hellric seemingly had an endless supply of power, granted to him by the orb. He had to separate the two, but he did not know how.

"Hellric," Graeak said again, this time with more force. "Stop this!"

The only response he received was another spell of death, which tore away yet another protection and sent a surge of pain through Graeak's body. A few more like that and he was done.

Graeak closed his eyes and sent his senses forward, hoping to feel Hellric or something that had been his friend. Unfortunately, all he sensed was darkness and death. He had hoped there was something of his friend left inside that twisted body, but there was nothing. The man he had known was gone. There was only one way to save him, but even he doubted he had the power.

Even though he was pinned, he managed to wriggle his arms free and blurt out a handful of powerful spells, meant to throw Hellric away or distract him enough that the pinning magic would fail. Each spell was met with failure, being blocked by Hellric and the orb or fading away before they even came close. Hellric just laughed hysterically. Luckily, the maniacal laughter and countering kept him occupied, which gave Graeak more time to figure a way out of this mess. Unfortunately, he saw no way of getting free except by luck so he continued to throw spells.

They were blocked as before, but Graeak did notice something that could prove useful. Though Hellric was unaffected by the magic cast against him, the ground at his feet showed that it was not. If that was the case, the orb's protection only stretched to Hellric.

Just as Hellric was about to send another spell at Graeak, a guard appeared at the top of the spiral stairs.

"By Kilgar!" he said, seeing the chaos.

"Back!" Graeak shouted, but by then, Hellric had already sent a ball of fire at the guard's head.

The man disappeared beneath an explosion of fire and heat. The blast of air slammed against Graeak and his wards flashed as they fought against the flames that filled the room. The floating debris was incinerated, as were many of the broken objects that lay scattered throughout the chamber. The tumult continued for many moments and it felt as though it shook the entire tower. And that shaking is what gave Graeak his chance.

He dropped to the ground as the stones behind him shook. The fall was unexpected so he fell onto his backside when the magic disappeared, but even in his old age, Graeak was quick. He brought to mind a spell and as the smoke and flames cleared, sent it streaming at Hellric.

Hellric still stood, laughing as if he had just heard a humorous joke. It could have been raining daggers and he would not have cared, so when Graeak's spell came at him, he did nothing to stop it. The orb flashed, lending its strength to Hellric to assist in overcoming the magic. But the magic had not been aimed at the maddened archmage, but at the very ground he stood on so the orb was powerless to stop it.

A section of stone heaved, as if a tremendous amount of pressure had been building beneath it. Hellric, now giggling, was thrown back, right out of the tower and into the night. Graeak just caught the tail end of his friend's robes as he disappeared from sight.

Graeak turned to the orb and watched as it flashed and hummed with vigor. The purple lightning also flashed and grew more intense. It looked as though the orb was trying to lend its magic to Hellric, to protect him from the fall. For a moment, Graeak wondered if it had that kind of power, but when the glow around the orb suddenly winked out, the purple lightning fading away, and the sphere settled on the ground, he knew that his friend had met his end. Though the wind that was flowing through Godspire assaulted his ears, Graeak swore he had heard his friend laughing all the way to the street.

"I'm sorry, my friend," Graeak said in remorse. He desperately wished that there had been another way but he knew that Hellric had offered him no choice.

"You should not have died like this," he said, painfully rising to his feet. "Rest easy now and give Dalria my best."

Graeak closed his eyes and struggled to hold back the tears. He let a few go and wiped the rest away. He would mourn his friend and drink to those that had fallen, but that would have to wait. Now he had sort through the chaos that ensued and rid the world of something that never should have been created.

"My Lord Loyalar?"

Graeak turned from the orb and looked to the stairway. He could see the tip of a blade just emerging from the opening.

Thinking quickly, he turned and cast a spell, creating an illusion over the orb that hid it from sight. He would take no chances with something so dangerous. No one needs to know it existed and until he found a way to destroy it, he would keep it hidden, from everyone.

"The danger has ended," he said as Supreme Lance Delonshire came up from below. "The zombies?"

"Their life has once again left them," Delonshire said. "Where is Hellric?"

Graeak just pointed toward the sky. The Supreme Lance walked over and looked down to the street. He could just barely make out the mess that had been Hellric Sazzor. He looked over the city, at the dozens of fires and broken buildings that surrounded the tower.

"I'm sorry," he said, tearing his gaze away from the destruction and walking back over to Graeak. "I know he was your friend."

"I had to be done," Graeak responded softly. "For the safety of everyone."

"What happened? What could have caused this?"

"I know not," Graeak lied. "But what I saw shall haunt me forever. Hellric was taken by something. Perhaps a ritual gone wrong? A potion? Whatever the reason, I shall try to find out so it is never repeated. How fare your men?"

"We lost a few," the Supreme Lance said, looking toward the stairway. "The rest are combing through the tower, searching for survivors."

Graeak nodded and walked to the edge of the opening. He looked out over the city, staring at the pain and suffering his friend had unwittingly caused. Seeing his expression, Delonshire left him in peace, to join his men, looking for any that may have survived what had happened.

"Lord Loyalar?" came a soft voice a half-hour later. Graeak had not moved in all that time. He had just stood gazing into the city, thinking of all the memories he and Hellric had shared. When Delonshire called, he turned slowly.

"We found only one survivor. A small boy, about five winters."

"A boy?" Graeak asked in confusion. Most of the apprentices that Hellric had taken on were in their later years, the youngest he knew of being about fifteen. He did not remember his friend mentioning a boy.

"Yes, my lord," Delonshire said. "His mother and father were students here, accomplished wizards by the looks of them. It looks as though they hid him away when the madness started. We found him in a closet, buried underneath a mountain of clothing."

"His parents?" Graeak asked. When the Supreme Lance shook his head, Graeak went silent. Delonshire did not elaborate on how the boy's parents had been killed, and Graeak really did not want to know.

Graeak turned and looked into the city once more. Just another young innocent soul caught up in this tragedy, he thought to himself. How many more families had been destroyed because of Hellric's actions? Because of his own lack of action? He knew of at least a dozen, a dozen or so apprentices who would never again see their mother or father again, whose families would spend the next weeks, months even, mourning the loss of their children.

"Does he have any other family?" Graeak asked, fearing the answer.

"None that he will speak of," the Supreme Lance said. Graeak knew that meant the boy had other family that he was estranged from or that he truly was alone.

"So you know," Delonshire added, seeing the distressed look on the wizard's face, "the boy looks like a practicing wizard as well. He was dressed in robes and wielded a wand. Almost blasted us. Took a moment for him to recognize us as his saviors."

Graeak looked at Delonshire, a hint of interest creeping onto his face. A five-year-old wielding magic? It was not unheard of but very rare. He could let the guards take the boy but Graeak knew what growing up in an orphanage could do to a child, especially one coming from tragedy. If he truly had the aptitude for magic, it would be lost unless he was placed in the proper care and tutelage. He only had one real choice.

"Please take him to my tower and tell Vambalar to give him food, new clothing, and a room to stay in. He is to by my...guest until he chooses otherwise."

"I have already seen to it, Lord Loyalar," Delonshire said with a smile, knowing Graeak would take the boy in. The wizard nodded and smiled back. Delonshire turned to go.

"What is his name?" Graeak asked before the Supreme Lance disappeared. He wanted to know what to call his new guest.

"The lad gave his name as Druzeel."

Supreme Lance Delonshire gave his old friend one last look and left him in peace. Graeak turned back and looked into the city for a few more moments. With a heavy sigh, and an even heavier burden, he turned toward where the Orb of Decay lay and dismissed the illusion.

"I will find some way to destroy you," he said to the orb. He felt an intense hatred but was able to focus his will and push it away. "But first the city needs my aid and a young boy needs a new teacher."

Graeak left the chamber then, knowing he would have his hands full in the years to come, not just with trying to find a way to destroy the orb, but also with repairing all the damage his friend had done. He intended to start with repairing the city then turning his full attention to the young student that he had just inherited.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 1

He held his eyes shut and concentrated, feeling the mystical energies all around him, brushing against his skin, snaking through his hair, and even passing through his body, sending shivers down his spine. Though his eyes were closed and his mind was set upon the spell he was trying to master, he saw the waves of energy before him, looking like sparks of light, saturated in hues of blue, white, and silver. To someone accustomed to the sight, they may have shielded their face from the brilliant light or even turned away thinking they were hallucinating, but to a practicing wizard, there was nothing more beautiful than the magical emanations floating before him. They were like a second skin, settling over him, offering their protection and comfort, much like a mother does to her newborn child. Along with that protection and safety, the magic also offered power and provided the weapons a young man needed to become a mighty wizard.

No matter how many times he felt it, the sensation of those tendrils of magic flowing through him always filled his soul with joy for there was no better experience than feeling that energy, the energy that flowed through all living things. That power, that energy he so enjoyed, flowed around everything, even the world itself, penetrating deep into the ground, the rock, and the very air he breathed. It lived within every being, be they dwarf, elf, orc, or dragon and whether they knew it or not, it was a part of their soul. It connected them to each other and made them a part of something only a select few, perhaps only the gods, could even begin to understand. Magic was in everything and for those who knew how to call to it, to shape it to their needs, and draw it to them, it was a powerful tool, and wonderful experience.

By now, he would have thought his body would have become used to such feelings, would have become bored and uninterested in the way magic made him feel. After twelve years, he would have thought that the routine would have lost some of its appeal, but each time was the same, sending waves of pleasant emotions flowing through him. If he could spend all day basking in magic's brilliance, he would, but eventually that power had to be used, had to be expelled and directed from his body or he risked being burnt out. Magic was wonderful, yes, and in the right hands could bring about wonders that could change the world, but it was also dangerous and if not used properly, could kill a man or turn them into something...undesirable. Holding that power inside one's body for too long could be perilous, but one of the first things his mentor had taught him was how to control the flow, how to shape it, and how to expel it so that it did its wielder no harm.

"Very good, Druzeel," came a voice, muffled and seemingly so distant. Druzeel knew his mentor was close but being so deep in a trance, it sounded as though he was far away, standing behind a wall of glass.

"Feel the magic," his mentor said, his words becoming clearer the more he spoke. "Let it build and tell it what you want it to do. Do not force it. Ask it to do your bidding. Remember, magic is not your slave, but your partner and will do as you desire if you treat it with respect."

If his eyes had been open, Druzeel would have rolled them. He had been hearing those same words from his mentor since he was five, since Graeak had begun teaching him the ways of wizardry. He knew what to do, and more importantly, what not to do. He would think I know this by now, the young wizard-in-training thought to himself. But he also knew that Graeak was just being Graeak; always over-cautious. The knowledge that his mentor cared so much brought a smile to his face.

"Now speak the words," Graeak said, a bit of hesitance in his voice. Druzeel had never attempted a spell of such power and though if he failed the spell would most likely fizzle away, there was always a chance, albeit small, of something bad happening.

Druzeel heeded his mentor's words and began the words to the spell that, if successful, would turn his skin as hard as stone. No apprentice had even tried this spell before their twenty-first birthday, but Druzeel was extremely skilled and adept with all things magical, or so his mentor had told him, and was confident he could do it. Graeak had resisted the seventeen-year-old's pleas to try the spell for almost an entire month, but he eventually relented, as he always did when being prodded by his star pupil. He only agreed to let Druzeel try under the strictest supervision: his own. Now Graeak walked around his apprentice, watching intently, with more than a little bit of angst, as Druzeel began casting the spell.

He pulled in just as much energy as he needed and started to shape the spell. To pull in anymore would be dangerous and he knew if he showed the slightest bit of trouble Graeak would intervene and that was not what he wanted. He wanted to prove he could do this, that he had the skills and training to pull this off.

As the words continued to pour forth, he pictured what he wanted and felt the magic react, settling over his body and clinging to his skin. For just a second, the magic slipped away and he felt the spell start to fade. He clenched his teeth and threw his will at the spell, concentrating as hard as he could. His face must have showed signs of distress for he heard his mentor wince. Fortunately, Graeak stayed his hand and let his apprentice work through it. A quality that Druzeel loved about his mentor was that he was not afraid to let his students overcome such obstacles on their own. He believed that if he always lent aid whenever one of his apprentices was in trouble, they would never learn. For some reason, his stance on that had lessened considerably with Druzeel, but over the years, he slowly let the budding wizard fight through his own battles. Thankfully, this was one of those times.

Druzeel felt the magic snap back and the spell took shape. It fell over him and a slight constricting sensation took hold of his body, but the feeling only lasted a few seconds. When it faded, the magic he had held also fled from his body and the energy dispersed. He opened his eyes and looked to his hands. The flesh looked as it had before. There was no noticeable difference. Since he had never cast the spell before, he had no idea what to expect. He had read about what may happen, but wanted to be sure. He looked up to find his mentor standing before him, a blank look on his bearded face.

"Did it work?" he asked.

Graeak Loyalar, his mentor and teacher, stood before him donned in golden robes that shined bright in the candlelight. The fabric had the same sheen and reflection as with a bar of gold. Some whispered that Lord Loyalar, as most people called him, had found some way to spin gold into fabric and had knitted himself fine clothing indeed. Odd swirling patterns decorated the robes and a deeper gold color, almost brown, lined the edges. If not for Graeak's long white beard, hair of equal color and length, and the odd red hat he wore, he would indeed look like a golem made of the auriferous substance.

"Well?" Druzeel said, staring into his mentor's brown eyes, eyes lined with almost a century of wrinkles.

Graeak's mouth, lined with just as many wrinkles as his eyes, slowly curled up into a smile. Druzeel saw the expression and was about to put on a smile of his own when his mentor waved his hand through the air a dagger suddenly appeared within. It looked like a simple dagger and Druzeel was about to ask what his mentor was doing when Graeak suddenly sent the weapon sailing straight at his apprentice's heart.

"Wh...?!" was all Druzeel managed to blurt out before his hands flew up to deflect the missile. The weapon slid through his arms and hit him right where his heart was, but instead of slicing through his flesh, penetrating his heart and ending his life, the dagger just bounced off him, as if a piece of stone had been set beneath his cloths.

He stared at the dagger in shock then frantically put his hands to his chest, to make sure there was no blood. Assured that he was indeed unharmed, he turned narrowed eyes to his mentor.

"It appears to have worked," Graeak said with a smile.

"Not funny," Druzeel replied in a level tone, but his dismay soon turned to delight as he realized that he had done it. He had successfully cast the spell!

"I did it!"

"Yes," Graeak said with both pride and relief. "Very good, but don't let this small success go to your head."

"Small?" Druzeel replied with surprise. "Small? I just did something that no other apprentice has ever done at my age and you call that small?"

Graeak kept his face neutral but inside he was feeling the same elation as his student. He was proud of the young wizard for he had come further in his young age than any wizard Graeak had taught in the same time frame. Indeed, what young Druzeel had just done was quite a feat, but he could not let the young man let that accomplishment, or the sense of power, go to his head. It was time for a little lesson in humility.

With a simple flick of his wrist, Graeak dispelled the spell that Druzeel had just cast. It had been fast, so simple that Druzeel did not even have time to blink, but he felt the magic fade. He knew what his teacher had just done.

"You have done well," Graeak said, seeing the dismay that suddenly filled his student's face, "but do not think you have come farther than anyone that has come before you. Remember, there will always, always be someone just a little bit faster, just a little bit smarter, and a with a little more power. It is not enough to know how to cast a spell, but how to use it in the best way possible. That is what can make the difference between life and death. I am proud to see you achieve these feats, but there is much left to learn."

"I know," Druzeel said, a bit more modesty to his voice. "I'm just trying to be the best."

"You don't have to be the best," Graeak said, looking his young apprentice in the eyes. "Being great is much more important. A great man. A great friend. A great citizen who helps where he can and lends his spells when aid is called for. Trying to be the best can lead to very bad things."

Druzeel stood still for a moment, absorbing his teacher's words. He had wanted to be the best, to be the very best at every spell he attempted, but perhaps that wasn't as important as he had once thought. Perhaps his mentor was right. How you used the knowledge you gained was much more important than how fast you learned it. His mentor was telling him that coming in first should not carry as much influence as Druzeel was allowing it to carry.

He walked over to a large mirror on the wall and looked at his reflection. Smooth skin, deep brown eyes, dark brown hair, and a nose with a slight point stared back at him. The beginnings of a beard and mustache were just starting to show on his young skin. He reminded himself he would have to shave in a few days for it took almost a week for any real growth to take hold, but until then, he was content with the image he saw. Most women would call him handsome, if he ever got out of the tower enough to meet one, but his studies and lessons kept him in the tall structure. Graeak had given him numerous opportunities to go out and have fun in the city, but Druzeel was relentless in his studies, pouring over books and tomes, wanting to be the best. Perhaps now, after hearing his mentor's words, he would go out for a little leisure time.

"Are you happy with what you see?" Graeak asked, walking up behind Druzeel, looking at the young man's reflection.

"Are you?" Druzeel said, not knowing why he had just offered the offhand comment.

"Don't talk back to your elders," Graeak said, lowering his gaze, though a smirk split his lips a few moments later. Druzeel managed to stifle a chuckle and looked back at his reflection.

"Yes," he said. "I like what I see."

"Good," Graeak replied. "If you have no respect for yourself, if you do not like what you see when you look into a mirror, your actions will reflect your emotions. A lack of self-esteem is detrimental to a wizard, especially one so young, who wields the power that you do."

"It's strange, is it not?" Druzeel asked. Graeak looked at him oddly. "For one so young to be able to control such magic?"

"Strange?" Graeak said. "No. Rare is the word that more aptly describes you, my young apprentice. Someone of your age, to learn and be able to wield magic as you do is a rare thing, but not completely unheard of. You indeed have a gift, a gift that you must use wisely. Thankfully, I am here to guide you." Druzeel smiled at that comment, but his mirth soon turned to distress as another thought entered his mind.

"The others don't treat me like someone with so much skill," Druzeel said, his voice carrying a hint of anger.

Graeak took a deep breath. He knew well of the taunts and teasing the other apprentices threw Druzeel's way. Most of the students in Fount of Knowledge, or The Fount as most called it, treated everyone as an equal, regardless of their wizardry level, but a handful, as with any school, were bullies and always picked on those younger than they, even if they did hold more power or possesses a larger aptitude of magic. Much of their vitriol came from jealousy for Graeak did give Druzeel a greater amount of leniency and attention, but that was not the entire reason for their behavior. Some people were just insolent and no amount of discipline could cull that behavior from their souls. There were a handful of apprentices that Graeak wished he could expel from his tower, but he had made promises, and taken gold, and he never went back on his word.

"Though I know you suffer through a large amount of harassment," Graeak said, "you are not the only one, though that does not excuse some of my apprentice's behaviors. You need to stand up to them, whatever the consequence. Eventually, their bullying will relent and they will come to respect you for your courage and talents. It may take time, but trust me; they will learn to respect you. Know that it will not last forever and though they see your age as a disadvantage and something to exploit, it is one of the best advantages you have."

"Being young?" Druzeel asked, baffled.

"Yes. When the time comes for you face combat–though I hope it never does, but it will for combat never leaves one alone forever–your opponents will think you weak, think you at their mercy because of your youthful appearance. What wizard would think a man of your age able to possess such magic? They will think you inexperienced and you will use their naiveté to your advantage. That will keep you alive and help you win the day."

"So," Druzeel said, finally understanding, "your enemies must turn tale and run as soon as they see you." Now it was Graeak's turn to look confused. "Someone as old as you surely has the power to destroy worlds." Graeak raised a single eyebrow.

"Not funny," he said, though a smile quickly formed on his lips. Druzeel started smiling as well and soon both were laughing.

After the mirth died down, the two went about cleaning up the sparing chamber. They placed the books back on the shelves that lined the room, bottled up the spell components that lay scattered on the floor, and placed sparing dummies back in their original positions. Graeak watched Druzeel during this time and a surge of pride shot through him. He truly was proud of the young wizard, the boy who had quickly grown up into a responsible young man and would no doubt become a powerful wizard, perhaps even more powerful than himself. That thought brought him both happiness and fear for he could only watch over the young man for so long. Eventually, Druzeel would leave his tower and venture forth on his own, to make his own way. Graeak was confident he would make the right choices when he did, but that small amount of worry in the back of his mind reminded him that he had been wrong before. All he could do was continue to guide the man down the right path and hope he followed it after his time at the tower ended.

"All right," Graeak said after the room was set back to its original state before they had started their lessons this morning. "Off you go."

"What next?" Druzeel asked, wondering what chore, task, or mindless work his teacher was about to give him.

"Whatever you wish," Graeak responded, bringing a look of surprise from Druzeel. "After what you have done here today, you've earned a little free time. I strongly suggest you spent it outside the tower. You could use some fresh air, as could I come to think about it."

"Are you sure?" Druzeel said. "I could–"

"Go!" Graeak said rather loudly, with force to his voice. "Before I change my mind and have you cleaning the refuse pits, without magic!" With that promise, Druzeel was down the nearby stairs in less than a heartbeat. After he was gone, Graeak slowly, and with more than a little pain, made his way up the tower to his personal chambers.

He walked to the small wardrobe and took of his golden robes, robes that had grown quite heavy over the years. He then walked over to his elaborate desk, took a seat, and poured himself a glass of wine.

Although he had successfully put up a facade of vigor and vitality in front of his students, in private, Graeak's bones and joints ached. It seemed that the years, almost a century, were finally catching up to him. Lately, it was taking him longer to dress, indeed, to even get out of bed in the morning. True, he could use spells and potions to make himself younger, but those would only do the trick for so long. The body could only take so much magic and it looked as though their use had finally come to an end. Unless he chooses to become a lich, something that he would never do, he knew he had only a few more years of life. The thought of death did not scare him for he knew that all things must die eventually and he had lived a good life. Death would be his ultimate reward and truth be told, he was looking forward to seeing his family and friends once again, those that had passed before him. His only regret, his only remorse, was that he would not be able to see Druzeel progress into the great man he knew his apprentice would become.

Druzeel knew that Graeak was finally feeling his age. Though the young wizard hid the knowledge from his mentor, Graeak knew that his student had seen the signs. A stifled grown, a slight limp, or a long breath, held longer than usual, was all Druzeel needed to see to know that his mentor was growing older and would not be with him forever. The boy didn't miss much, Graeak mused. Thankfully, Druzeel only needed a few more years of tutelage before he was ready. Who knew, perhaps one day, the aspiring archmage would eventually become Graeak's replacement and take The Fount as his own.

"You would have been proud of him," Graeak said, talking into his wine, seeing much more than the burgundy liquid. In the surface, in his mind, he was picturing his old friend, the man from whom he had inherited Druzeel.

Not a day went by when he did not think of Hellric and the tragedy that had struck his friend. In his dreams, he still saw his friend's mangled face and the insanity that had taken him, just moments before Graeak had been forced to kill him. He still had nightmares about that night, horrible dreams about what may have happened had he not acted as he had. He knew those visions were still haunting him to this day because of the guilt he carried, guilt of not being more involved with his friend, not making sure he watched Hellric's back as he experimented on that horrible artifact, an artifact that at this very moment sat tucked away in the room right above his head.

Graeak had wanted to destroy the orb right after Hellric's death, but with the damage to the city, the wounded throughout the streets, and his new apprentice, now an orphan, he hadn't found the time. When the city had finally been put back together, he had done some research but failed to find a way to destroy the orb. And he was not about to do experiments on it to find out if it had any weaknesses. After what had happened to Hellric, he did not want to come within a hundred yards of the dreaded Orb of Decay. So he tucked it away in his tower, hiding in a pocket dimension and surrounding it by some of the most powerful wards he knew. He also destroyed any mention of the orb in old tomes or scrolls he or Hellric had possessed. No one would ever find or read about the orb again and he was confident that its secret, its existence in this world, would die with him. The only thing left from the terror it had caused all those years ago was the small boy Graeak had taken in, the sole survivor of Hellric's dark descent.

Amazingly, Druzeel had escaped unscathed on that tragic night and Graeak thanked the gods every day that he had little memory of that awful night. He hardly remembered his parents let alone the terrified screams that had no doubt filled the tower when the slaughter began. When he was old enough and started asking questions about his parents, Graeak had told him that they died in a tragic accident, that they died saving his life. The explanation must have been good enough for he never asked about his parents again and threw himself into his studies. That dedication, that yearning for knowledge, is what Hellric had no doubt seen in Druzeel, and his parents for that matter, for they were aspiring wizards as well. That was why he had taken the boy into his tower and that was why Druzeel was now as powerful as he was. That and Graeak's tutelage.

Those feelings of guilt, of obligation were why Graeak had been so involved with Druzeel and gave him so much more attention than the others. It was why he was so intent on making the boy something far greater than he or his friend had ever been. Graeak felt an obligation to him as soon as he heard he had survived the calamity that he could have helped avoid. He had done nothing to help his friend but he would do everything he could to make sure that one of Hellric's students, his last student, grew up and had everything at his disposal to succeed.

At first, the obligation to Hellric and the guilt he felt is what drove Graeak, but over time, the old wizard came to realize that he cared deeply for Druzeel. The boy had become like a son to him, a son he never had.

Graeak never married nor had any family. Druzeel, and some of the other apprentices and tower servants, were the closest people he had to a family, but Druzeel more so than the others. The fact that Druzeel progressed so much more rapidly than the other apprentices also helped grow their relationship. He did feel a little guilty about not spending as much time with his other students, but Druzeel was unique and with the right amount of attention and teaching, had the ability to become greater than any wizard Graeak had heard of. That would be what he left when he passed from this world. Druzeel Sesstar would be his legacy.

He drained what was left of his wine and slowly moved to his bed. The sun had barely started to dip below the horizon and there was plenty of daylight left, but Graeak found that he was tired. Teaching Druzeel could be exhausting sometimes. He lay back and close his eyes, hoping that for at least tonight, his dreams would be pleasant.

* * * * *

Druzeel practically skipped his way down the stairs and out of the tower. Not even the taunts from some of the older apprentices could damper his spirits. He just ignored their jeers and made his way out into the streets of Atlurul. He had invited a few of his friends to go along, those handful of students who he actually got along with, but they were busy with their studies. After seeing what they were going to be doing tonight, a small part of him thought he should stay in the tower and get a little extra work done. But he knew if his mentor caught him inside after giving him explicit instructions to leave he would be made to do some insidious chore that he was sure he would not enjoy. So out of the tower he went, in search of a few drinks and perhaps a pretty lass he could fool into kissing him.

The night was crisp with not a cloud in the sky. Solaris was just about to disappear below the horizon and Lunaria was already shining brightly in the sky. Druzeel took a deep breath enjoying the cool air and the scent of flowers that decorated the tower grounds. He wiped away any dust that might be clinging to his dark blue shirt, patted down his brown pants, and left the tower behind him. His robes he had left behind for he did not want the added attention wizard's robes always brought. There were times when he liked animosity, when he could walk into a tavern without every eye turning in his direction. The only eyes he wanted to draw were that of a serving wench, and perhaps a few ladies as well.

He felt good, having just cast his most powerful spell yet and had hoped that in the coming months ahead, a dozen more would be following. The energy and feelings that magic brought always excited him and he could not wait until he was at it again, attempting a difficult spell. When he was in that trance, that moment when the magic passed through him, when the energy built to a climax and grabbed hold, he truly felt alive, alight with the fires of life itself. He could not imagine anything else feeling so wonderful. Nothing else in all the world mattered to him at that moment when magic was within his grasp, except for maybe the approval of his mentor. And even now, he heard his mentor's concerns echoing in his head about power and responsibility. That energy was wonderful, yes, but he had to be careful not to let that feeling take him over completely. That could lead to corruption, to evil, and that was something Druzeel would never let happen. Doing good and becoming a great man was his path and woe be the one who tried to steer him off course.

Even though his mentor had warned him, constantly it seemed, of the dangers of trying spells that were above his current experience, Druzeel knew his teacher was just as happy as he was and was looking forward to his student's next lesson. After all, Graeak's teachings and guidance had brought him to this moment.

As Druzeel walked, nodding and smiling to the many people that passed him, he thought of the man that had become like a father to him.

Graeak cared for him deeply, Druzeel had not doubts, and the attention and encouragement the old wizard gave to his most adapt apprentice only made Druzeel love and respect the man that much more. But it was more than just love. His teacher respected him and treated him like an equal. That was what Druzeel truly craved: the respect and trust of his mentor. Graeak was many years his senior and much more powerful as well, but he had treated Druzeel, indeed, all his students, as adults, at least when they behaved accordingly. That mutual respect, and the way he taught, was why Graeak was such a highly sought after teacher.

Many of Atlurul's citizens came to him, practically begging him to teach their children should they show an aptitude with magic. Some paid gold, others offered services, and many offered only good will for they were too poor to pay. Regardless of their position in the community, be they noble or poor, Graeak considered all. He only had a limited amount of space and took only those he thought could become not just powerful wizards, but good men and women. Sometimes he would take in a poor man's daughter while rejecting a rich man's son. Other times, the reverse occurred. He had made some enemies along the way but had secured more friends than adversaries. It all depended on what Graeak saw in the potential student. There were a few times when he took in some students that Druzeel felt were not quite up to his mentor's standards, but Graeak said he had made promises, and he was a man of his word. Those students, more often than not, usually ended up being the bullies. It seemed politics were in everything, Druzeel surmised.

But as time stretched on and as Graeak aged, the number of students he took in lessened. Even though Druzeel knew his mentor could not live forever, though when he had first come to Fount of Knowledge it appeared to him that his mentor would, he had never thought of a time when Graeak would not be around. The man had always been there, to teach him, to guide him, and yes, to even berate him when he had done something stupid, which all children do on occasion. Druzeel really did not want to lose Graeak but knew that eventually, all thing pass. He had already lost his real parents and was not looking forward to the day when he would have to tell his adoptive father goodbye.

He had little memory of his real parents. Graeak had told him they died protecting him and he took the wizard's word as fact. He just wished that he could remember how they died or how his life had been before their premature deaths. He knew they had been wizards and took great pride that those qualities had passed to him, but a part of him wished he could remember what they were like.

The last memory he had before the guards had found him was being hurried into a small closet and buried underneath a mountain of clothing. His mother's voice was still embedded into his mind. It was just her face, and his father's, that were a bit hazy. He had heard the muffled screams and the tiny space around him shook dozens of times, like a small earthquake had attacked the tower they lived in. But eventually, the sound and shaking stopped. The Lances eventually found him and escorted him from the room. He never saw his parent's bodies, just the shape of two people lying underneath a bloodied blanket. That vision stayed with him even to this day. He was taken to Graeak's tower then, offered room and board, and soon after, a chance to learn magic. That was when his tenure with Graeak had started. He never spoke of what he had seen to his new mentor and kept it to himself. His soul was still pained a little by the tragedy but again, he hardly had any memory of what his life was like before coming to The Fount. Could he really mourn two people he never really knew?

Druzeel shook all the sad thoughts from his head. Now was not the time to think of such things. He had accomplished something great and was going to reward himself justly. The coins in his pocket seemed to be beckoning him to spend them, so he made his way to the Crying Lady, a nearby tavern that Graeak often visited and he himself had been in a time or two before. A small part of him wished he had a few friends with him to celebrate, but he had always been a bit of a loner and was content to offer a toast to himself.

The tavern was busy but he had no problem finding a table. The proprietor of the Lady, whose name Druzeel could never remember for some reason, always kept a table empty for Graeak, his friends, and a select few whose names the wizard had given to the owner and help. Druzeel happened to be one of those select few so he walked right in and took a seat. One of those employees, an attractive young woman with auburn hair, bright blue eyes, and full lips, saw him sit down at Graeak's table and walked over, a frown on her smooth face.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice betraying her annoyance, "but that table is reserved."

"I know," Druzeel said, trying his best to keep his eyes on her face and not her chest. She wore a loose shirt with a V-shaped collar, cut so low that it would make even the noblest of men blush. "I'm a student of Lord Loyalar. My name is Druzeel. Druzeel–"

"Oh," she said, her lips quickly forming a smile. The annoyance faded from her voice. "We know all about you. Graeak never stops talking about his prized apprentice."

"Really?" Druzeel said, his mood brightening. He knew that his mentor spoke of his students outside of the tower, but to hear that he was often the topic of those conversations made Druzeel beam even more.

"Oh, yes," the woman said, her smile widening as she saw the affect of her words. "He's very proud of you, have no doubts. You are welcome to his table anytime. What can I get for you this night?"

It took Druzeel a few moments to come down from his elation. The serving wench couldn't suppress a giggle as he just stared off at nothing, eyes wide with joy. In truth, he was looking in the direction of Graeak's tower, to the only home he had ever known, and ever wanted.

"A glass of the best wine you have," Druzeel said gleefully, finally finding his voice.

"Had a good day, have you?" the woman asked with a chuckle. Druzeel turned a wide smile in her direction.

"My best."

* * * * *

CHAPTER 2

The candle flames were burning low and the room was growing cold. Though it was the middle of spring, the nights in Atlurul could grow quite chilly and sent even the most thick-skinned warrior reaching for a thick blanket. Even surrounded by walls of stone, stone that was supposed to be enchanted to keep the nighttime cold at bay, the bitter chill managed to sneak in and wind its way around Druzeel's shoulders.

It was well past midnight, but Druzeel was still up, sitting at a large desk in one of the many studies of the tower. This particular study took up the entire floor of the nineteenth level and at this time of night, he was the only one in the large room. He knew he should be sleeping but the pull of his books had been too much. Just a few hours of reading, he had told himself, and then he would rest. That had been four hours ago and he was still reading, still learning the proper ways to perform the next handful of spells he was going to attempt in the next few days. He wanted to be perfect. He wanted to show his teacher that no matter what spell he attempted, he could perform it without folly and though he remembered well Graeak's words about not putting so much emphasis on perfection, he just couldn't help himself.

The next spell he was going to attempt, in just two days from now, was on the same level as the stoneskin spell he had successfully completed last week. It was just as difficult and supposedly too powerful for one so young to attempt. But so was the last spell he had cast. As before, he was determined to succeed. If he did the spell correctly–which would bring forth a dimensional door that allowed him to teleport short distances–he would prove to his mentor that he was ready to go even higher, to learn more difficult spells that had previously been out of his reach. Perhaps Graeak would even allow him to attempt some offensive spells.

When beginning any new level of magic, Graeak had always instructed his students to start with defense, spells that would protect and shield the caster and those he targeted from harm. He did this for a variety of reasons, the most important being that if an apprentice botched one of these spells, no one was likely to be hurt. If someone managed to cast a fireball incorrectly, the consequences could be disastrous and deadly. Another reason was that in battle, it only took one shot, be it with spell or arrow, to end one's life. The first step for any wizard before they entered combat was to shield oneself with spells of protection and deflection, and more times than not, they had to do it rather quickly. Until each student mastered the defensive, they were not allowed to practice offensive spells. Druzeel had mastered both in every lower level he had attempted and wanted to proceed. Graeak was reluctant but eventually agreed. His one condition was that they continue at the pace he set, which to Druzeel's chagrin, was rather slow. But he got his wish and was now working on his second spell. With hard work and determination, he would cast the spell without flaw and be able to climb up the magical ladder.

The frigid air once again slid over his shoulders and across his neck. He shivered and a yawn managed to escape his lips, no matter how hard he tried to hold it at bay. After rubbing the tiredness from his eyes, he pushed himself back from the desk. The words in front of him were starting to get fuzzy. Maybe it was time for sleep, he said to himself. If Graeak knew he was still awake, his mentor would probably use a spell and send him to bed. But Graeak was not in the tower at the moment. He was across the city visiting an old friend, or so Druzeel had been told.

Though he missed his company, Druzeel enjoyed these moments when Graeak left the tower. All the apprentices did for it gave everyone some free time to do as they pleased. It was true that the servants kept a watchful eye and made sure no one misbehaved, but they were not as stringent as their employer was. Many even encouraged a little mischief from time to time, and managed to get in a little of their own. It was good for people to let loose every now and then.

"Just a few more minutes," Druzeel said to himself, knowing it would be more than just a few minutes. Regardless, he stood and stretched, reaching to the ceiling and coming to the tips of his toes. Another yawn and shiver passed through him.

He walked away from the desk to a nearby couch, one of many that sat around the room. Thankfully, all the couches held thin blankets intended for use when the night grew cold. He grabbed it and threw it around his shoulders. When he turned to sit back down, he noticed a form in the doorway.

"Master Sesstar," came the voice of Vallia, one of the servants that helped keep The Fount in order. She wore simple cloths and had her short hair tied in a knot at the side of her head. Her blue eyes scanned the study but quickly fell back to Druzeel when she realized he was the only one here. "It's rather late, don't you think?"

Even though Druzeel had lived in the tower for almost a dozen years, he had only seen her a few dozen times. The tower was large after all. Luckily, he had the mind of a wizard and remembered who she was. He also remembered that the young woman, just a few years older than himself in fact, had gone out of her way to say hello or be kind whenever she ran into one of the apprentices that called this place home.

"Good evening, Vallia," Druzeel said, greeting her. "Yes, it's late. I'm just brushing up on my research."

"For your test two days from now?" she asked with an innocent smile. Druzeel looked at her in bewilderment. It should not surprise him that she knew for most knew of his rapid ascent in magic, but for some reason, it did.

"Um...Yes," he finally replied after the moment of confusion had passed.

"Don't be so surprised," she giggled, seeing him stumble. "We know a lot more about what's going on in the tower than you think. I'd say some days we know more than Lord Loyalar."

"I don't doubt that," Druzeel said with a smile of his own, thinking of the times his teacher had seemed to forget something, which was increasing as of late. "I'm almost done for the night," he continued, seeing her staring at him. "Then I'm off to bed."

"Don't burn yourself out," Vallia said with true concern in her voice. "I have seen many a wizard crack trying to do more than they should."

"I won't," Druzeel replied.

"See that you don't," she said with a smirk. "We'd be sad to see you go. Lord Loyalar is quite fond of you and I know seeing you succeed brings him happiness, even if he won't admit it."

Druzeel couldn't hide the wide smile that crept to his face upon hearing her words. Every time he heard how his mentor felt about him made him surge with pride. He just hoped he could continue the trend.

"Make sure you get some sleep," Vallia said, pulling him from his daze of elation. "Busy wizards never seem to get enough."

"What about you?" Druzeel asked, wondering why he was not the only one creeping through the tower at night. "No sleep for you?"

"During the day mostly," she replied, bringing another odd look from Druzeel. "Why do you think you never see me?" she said. "Most of us work during the night. It is much easier to clean this place without busy apprentices getting in your way. I'm going upstairs to put the library back in order. Many of you don't seem to understand that books don't put themselves back on the shelf."

"I put mine back," Druzeel replied, finding himself wanting to impress her.

"I know," she said, shooting him a smile. "That's why you're one of our favorites." She gave him a smile and he returned one in kind. "Because so few are granted access to Graeak's library, it is cleaner than usual so it shouldn't take me more than a half hour," she continued. "When I get back, make sure you're not here."

"I will. I mean...I won't," Druzeel rambled. She narrowed her eyes playfully and left him alone. A few seconds afterward, he heard giggling from down the hallway.

Druzeel shook his head, let out a quick chuckle of his own, and sat back at the desk. He lit a new candle and looked at the tome in front of him. The book didn't seem quite as blurry as before but he knew if he were not in his bed by the time Vallia got back, she would give him another tongue-lashing. Even though he found himself not wanting to upset her, the thought of seeing her again filled him with excitement. Perhaps he should stay up later more often.

He dove into the book, intent on finishing at least a few more pages before he left and finally let his dreams take hold. Time had either sped up or magic had somehow frozen him in place for when he finally looked up from the text, the candle was almost completely gone. It had been almost two hours!

"Oh no!" he exclaimed, as he slammed the book shut. The loud boom echoed throughout the room and he cringed. Not wanting to waste another moment or be present when Vallia came back, he practically sprinted from the room. But as he came to the stairs that led down the tower, he paused and turned his head back into the room, suddenly feeling that something was not right.

Vallia had never returned.

Druzeel turned his eyes to the stairs leading up to the next level, to the library that she had gone to clean. He slowly walked up, not wanting to make too much noise.

Had she accidentally fallen asleep? Had she paused to read a book? Perhaps she had just not wanted to disturb him. Knowing what he knew about Vallia, Druzeel didn't think she was the type of person to leave him alone after telling him to stop studying and rest. Regardless of the reason for her absence, Druzeel was willing to risk her ire to make sure everything was all right. When his head cleared the stairway, Druzeel studied the room before him.

Thousands of books decorated the walls, which were covered in bookshelves. Hardly a stone of the tower shown through the wooden bookcases that Graeak had built when The Fount was first constructed. The only four places that did not have books were the large windows that allowed light in during the day. During the night, the room was lit by dozens of everburning candles that sat on a large chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Each candle was enspelled to flare up when it was dark outside and extinguish as the sun rose. The low light bathed the two large couches that sat in the middle of the room with yellow light, as well as the handful of desks, chairs, and trinkets that sat throughout. Decorative rugs, decanters full of water or wine, and other trinkets meant to give the room an aura of elegance also sat below the steel fixture.

This level was Graeak's personal library and one that only a few had access to, with Druzeel being one of them. Across from where Druzeel now stood sat a staircase that led to his teacher's personal chambers, which sat empty for Graeak was still out of the tower. Also sitting empty, much to Druzeel's bewilderment, was the library.

"Vallia?" Druzeel said, just above a whisper. When there was no answer, he came into the room fully, scanned every corner and every shadow, looking for the young servant. He found nothing but empty space.

Could she have gone upstairs? Druzeel asked himself. Graeak surely had some of his servants clean his rooms, but at this late at night?

He started walking across the room to the stairs that led up to Graeak's rooms. When he was only halfway across, something on top of the large table in the center of the room caught his eye. As he moved closer, he saw that it was droplets of some kind of liquid. It looked like...wine? He moved even closer. Wine wasn't that thick, he told himself. Suddenly, to his horror, he realized what the droplets were. Blood!

Druzeel stopped. It felt like ice had curled around his heart and frozen his blood. His flesh went pale and sweat started to appear on the surface of his skin. It suddenly felt very cold in here.

His eyes followed the droplets. There was no pattern to them but they led off the side of the table, to a small puddle directly underneath the table's edge. Next to that was a large puddle, and it seemed to be expanding by the second.

Druzeel slowly, cautiously, leaned over and peered under the table. That was when he saw her.

Vallia's body had been stuffed under the table, rather carefully, so none of her body could be seen, but that did not stop the blood from her slit throat from flowing across the carpet. Her eyes–empty, lifeless eyes–were wide open in an expression of terror, and they were staring directly at Druzeel.

Druzeel stumbled back so quick that he almost fell over. That ice that had curled around his heart after seeing the droplets on the table suddenly constricted. His breath came out in short gasps and his heart hammered inside his chest, threatening to burst through his ribcage. He thought he would pass out but swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat and steadied himself on a nearby side table. If the table hadn't been there, he surely would have tipped over. Though he had backed away and lost sight off her, he could not tear his eyes away from where Vallia's eyes were, eyes that had been so beautiful in life.

"Vallia," he said with a gasp as a stab of pain shot through him. He had never seen a dead body, let alone a fresh kill and the sight, a vision that would never leave his mind, shocked him to his core. He had seen pictures and read books about battle and the horrors of death, but no word, be it written or spoken, could have prepared him for the actual experience. It was ten times worse because he had actually known Vallia, had actually spoken to her just a short time before.

Then suddenly, through the dread he was feeling, he realized that whatever had killed her would most likely still be here. It could be in this very room!

Druzeel spun all around, eyes jumping everywhere. He looked into shadows, into bookcases, to the ceiling and the floor. He looked everywhere that could conceal the murderer, but there was nothing. Only he and the corpse lay in the room.

"When battle approaches," Druzeel suddenly heard inside his mind, a memory from not so long ago, "regardless of the pain or fear you may feel, remember that you are a wizard and your weapons are never far away."

Graeak had told him that as soon as he started to teach Druzeel his very first offensive spells. It was a lesson that he drilled into his students repeatedly for he said that one day it could save their lives.

For some reason, that memory had boiled to the surface and reminded Druzeel that he was indeed a wizard, a powerful one at that, so he quickly calmed himself and did his best to push the fear and terror from his mind. He succeeded and pushed some of the alarm away, but this was all new to him and he was still shaken. But he managed to clear his mind and cast a series of spells, magic that would provide protection against swords, daggers and all sorts of metallic weapons. He continued to cast and placed a shell of anti-magic around him as well, a spell that would deflect minor spells from reaching him. When he was finished, he brought to mind a handful of attack spells and scanned the room once more.

It still stood empty. Could the murderer have just come to kill Vallia? Had he or she left once the deed was done? Druzeel didn't think someone like Vallia would have such an enemy and anyone that would break into a wizard's tower certainly had other motives than the death of a simple servant. No, Druzeel said to himself, the assassin was still here. But where?

His eyes rose to the stairs leading to Graeak's chambers. It was the only logical option, so he slowly walked over to the stairs. He looked up and saw only the flickering of flame from the few candles Graeak always left lit when he was out of the tower. With a deep breath, Druzeel ascended.

For just a moment, as he walked up the steps to his mentor's room, he paused. Shouldn't he be alerting the tower? Should he not try to contact Graeak somehow? Did he even want to go up against whatever had managed to break into a heavily warded and protected tower? He did not know what awaited him above. For all he knew, a lich was waiting for him. Or something worse, though at the present time, Druzeel couldn't think of anything worse than a lich.

But what if the assassin was waiting for Graeak's return? What if it was hiding in the shadows with a dagger, eagerly awaiting the return of his mentor? What if the assassin was waiting to slit his throat, just as he had done to poor Vallia? Druzeel could not wait. He had to act and he had to act now, so he crept up the stairs.

And came to an empty room.

The candles were burning and the bed lay untouched, as was the dresser, closets, desks, chests, and other objects that sat in his mentor's room. None of the parchment on his desk had shifted. No drawers had been opened. Druzeel had been here many times and after a quick scan could see nothing out of place. The curtains over the two windows were still and flat, the shadowy corners were empty and all was still. The only thing moving were the flames and his chest, as he took a breath he never knew he was holding.

Where had the murderer gone? Could Vallia have really been the target? Could the assailant have truly left the–

The wall across the room suddenly shifted, ever so slightly. It was like a breeze quickly flowing over a loose piece of clothing, but disappearing almost immediately. Anyone else not familiar in the ways of magic may have missed it, but Druzeel had been taught about many forms of magic, including illusions. When the wall jumped, he knew what he was looking at.

He moved across the room, still keeping his eyes peeled in case the assassin, or assassins, he thought with dread, were in the room and he had missed them. When he reached the illusionary wall, a fake wall he never knew existed, he slowly eased his face through.

As soon as his flesh broke the plane of the wall, it faded away. Before him stood another stairway, leading to another level.

Druzeel had been through the entire tower in his twelve years of residence–in the basements and even on the roof, which one had to teleport to reach–and had never seen or heard of these stairs. Perhaps this went to the roof. Knowing there was only one way to find out, he walked up. And entered a room that made his body shiver and his mouth fall open in amazement.

The chamber was the same size as Graeak's own, but instead of being filled with regular furniture and trinkets, it was packed full of magical artifacts. He saw golden staffs, silver rings, odd-colored wands, and helms that seemed to glow with power. Swords, axes, spears, bows, and a hundred other types of weapons, all etched with runes, embedded with gems, or coated in glittering paint lay scattered on the floor or resting against the wall. There were piles of coins, orbs, and talismans, stacks of books, bags, and clothing, and shelves and bookcases full of potions, flasks, and vials of colorful liquid. There was furniture with intricate designs, odd armor and clothing that he had no idea where one would wear them, and other large objects that he could not even begin to guess their function or enchantment. This was a dragon's horde–no, ten dragon's hordes worth of magic. The power in this one room was enough to raze an entire kingdom to the ground.

Standing before such treasures and energy, Druzeel could feel the magic in the room, could feel the auras and power radiating from the things before him. His eyes were as wide as plates and his heart beat furiously in his chest. What he wouldn't give to spend time in this place and unlock the secrets of the tools before him. What he would not do to have Graeak...

His thoughts trailed off as he thought of his mentor and of where he was standing. Why had Graeak never told him of this room? Why had he kept it a secret? Druzeel was sure he had his reasons, but he couldn't think of any right now. His mentor said he trusted him, so why not trust him with this? Did any of the other apprentices know? He could not be the only one that was not aware that a cache of powerful magic laid just a few floors above their heads. Did the servants of the tower even–

The sudden sound of coins shifting from just around a large pile in front of him pushed the questions away. Druzeel quickly remembered what he was doing here: searching for a killer. He brought to mind a simple holding spell, praying it would be enough, and moved forward, slowly.

He came around the corner and saw a man, dressed head to toe in black studded leather armor, standing next to a pile of staffs. A cloak, just as dark as the rest of his clothing, hung from his shoulders and a hood was pulled over his head. The only skin that showed on the man was that around his eyes. The rest of his face was covered by a mask, making identification impossible. The only weapon Druzeel could see was a shortsword sitting on his hip, resting in a scabbard covered in runes. The pommel was in the shape of a claw, grasping a deep purple gem, and the small cross-guard looked to be a skull. Between the two sat a grip of black, a black as deep as the man's cape. Druzeel could feel the evil of that weapon just staring at the maliciously designed sheath.

But at the moment, that was not what alarmed him. What alarmed him was the golden staff–its shaft covered in what looked like red and white veins–that the man was placing into a sack that was connected to his hip. Impossibly, the entire staff, which Druzeel noticed was topped with a skull that seemed to change color every few seconds, disappeared into that small sack without trouble. It should have shocked him to see the large object fit into one that was many times smaller, but he was a wizard and had extensively studied magical item lore. The sack was no doubt a portal sack, which could hold hundreds of items without ever getting full. With but a thought, the owner of that extremely useful item could reach into the pouch, picture what they wanted in their minds, and pull it out with ease. Thinking of how long the assassin had been allowed to be in this room made Druzeel wonder how many items he had managed to pilfer. No matter how much he had stolen, he thought to himself with anger, his theft ends now.

"Hey!" Druzeel shouted before he realized that course of action might not have been one of the smartest things he had ever done.

The assassin's head snapped up. Druzeel let out a gasp when he saw the man's eyes. They were completely black, without a speck of white showing. His skin was the opposite, almost white, looking as if it was dead flesh. The sight unnerved Druzeel, but he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. There was no backing down now.

"You're under arrest!" Druzeel proclaimed, unsure of what else to say. What did one say to a murderer and thief? "Put back what you–"

His voice caught in his throat as the man's arm snapped forward. A dagger, materializing out of thin air it seemed, flashed from his hand and sped at Druzeel. He let out a squeak and made to dodge, but the speed at which the assassin had moved was too much, but just as the dagger was about to reach him, it bounced off one of the shields he had cast moments before.

Thank you, Druzeel said to himself, thinking of Graeak and all the lessons the man had drilled into his head. Going defensive first had just saved his life, like his mentor had said, but only for the next few moments. Seeing his dagger laying on the ground, the assassin's eyes narrowed at Druzeel. The man even looked a little surprised. But that expression disappeared so fast that Druzeel wasn't even sure he had seen it. What he was sure of seeing was a terrible sword, pointing in his direction.

The assassin had drawn his weapon so quickly that it appeared to have just materialized in his hand. The blade of that menacing sword was dark purple, matching the foul look of the gem in the pommel. Both let off a slight glow and seemed to pulsate, as if knowing they would soon be feeling blood.

Druzeel quickly dismissed the hold spell he had been thinking of. He knew that the man before him was entirely too skilled, too cloaked with magic, as he was, for a simple holding spell to stop him. He needed something more powerful, but he couldn't use a fireball or lightning bolt. With the powerful magic all around them, those two spells could be disastrous should they happen to destroy something. He needed something that would affect only the man skulking towards him.

The spell he wanted popped into his mind and he started to recite the words. The magic filled him and as he moved his hands and fingers in the intricate gestures that would bring to spell to the life, the thief sprinted forward. Luckily, Druzeel had spent hours mastering this spell, on his mentor's wishes, and finished with plenty of time.

The assassin skidded to a stop as a band of steel suddenly took shape around him. When Druzeel uttered the last word, it started to contract, to trap the thief and hold him in place.

Excitement spread through Druzeel as he saw the spell take effect, but that excitement turned to gloom as the assassin, with relative ease, dropped and rolled out of the tight loop before it closed on him completely. Amazingly, he was out, rolling across the ground, and on his feet again in less than a heartbeat. Druzeel was so dumbstruck by the man's speed that he stood frozen. That moment of paralysis would have been his doom if the assassin had acted, but instead, when the thief stood, he wore a look of surprise.

He looked to the band that he had narrowly avoided, then to Druzeel, then back to the band. When the spell faded away, he turned back to Druzeel, eyes flashing with interest. Or was it malice? Whatever the reason for his delay, Druzeel took that moment to back away, reaching for another spell.

The assassin leaped forward, that shinning purple sword leading the way. Druzeel leaned back and blurted out one of the first offensive spells he had learned, one of the first battle spells most wizards learn in their first years as an apprentice.

Three shimmering balls of silver light, about the size of a fist, leapt from his fingers and sped at his attacker. The magical missiles would hit any target they were cast at, even swerving and changing course to make contact. They were not as powerful as other spells Druzeel had at his disposal, but it was a spell he could cast rather quickly and with the distance between the two men rapidly closing, it was all he could think of. He never intended the glowing balls of energy to stop the thief. All he wanted was to make the thief pause, to give him some more room. But to his astonishment, the missiles never made it.

The thief did pause, but not because of the spell. He stopped and swiped his sword at the missiles, one swing for each one. As the blade made contact, slicing each ball in two, the energy fizzled and faded. A small spark and low pop was all that remained of the spell.

If Druzeel was surprised at the thief's avoidance of the steel band, he was completely flabbergasted at what he had just seen. It was now perfectly clear that whoever this thief was, he was far beyond Druzeel. He had to get away from him and he had to do it now. Perhaps if he could get in the open, one of his more powerful area spells may slow him down, but Druzeel didn't think he had a chance of stopping him.

He turned and ran, not even bothering to see what the assassin's next move was. All he knew was that he had to get away, had to put as much distance between himself and the thief as possible.

As he bolted around the corner and down the stairs, Druzeel screamed all sorts of obscenities to himself, cursing himself as a fool. Next time rouse the tower! he screamed in his head. Next time send a message to Graeak! Next time be smarter, if you survive to see a next time.

He came into Graeak's personal chambers and continued to run, never once slowing, never once looking back to see if the assassin was following. With any luck, the man would continue to pillage the magical horde and ignore the young wizard he had just encountered. Unfortunately, luck was not on Druzeel's side.

When he was only halfway across the room, he heard a whoosh of air and something tangled around his ankles, snapping them together. He lost his balance and fell, slamming against the stone floor. He managed to throw his hands out but the impact jarred his bones, blasted the air from his lungs, and snapped his teeth together, almost slicing off the tip of his tongue. When he finally regained his breath, he turned to see death stalking toward him.

The assassin was calmly walking across the room, strolling through the personal chambers of a powerful archmage without a care in the world. His eyes flashed with malevolence. Druzeel scrambled backwards, pushing against the floor, grasping for salvation. His eyes darted all around the room, looking for anything he may use against that awful man coming at him. When his back bumped against the wall, he knew he had run out of room. He knew he would never be able to get a spell off. He knew that the moment he raised his hands, the man would lop them off. He had finally run out of time.

The thief stepped right up to his bound feet and look down at him. Druzeel looked up, intent to be defiant to the end. He was surprised to find courage and strength inside him. He was surprised to feel that the urge to grovel, to beg for his life, was not there. The thief would have no satisfaction from him.

To Druzeel's surprise, he saw something then in the thief's eyes. He saw something when he faced his death without fear or panic. He wasn't sure, but he thought it was respect.

The purple blade rose, but before the thief could even begin to swing, to plunge that blade into Druzeel's body, there was a loud bang and a puff of smoke suddenly appeared across the room. The cloud quickly dissipated and a very angry Graeak Loyalar was peering at the thief, who had spun around to face the newest arrival.

"What is the meaning of this?!" the archmage bellowed, annoyance clearly displayed on his face. When his eyes fell on Druzeel and his bound ankles, anger blazed behind his eyes.

The thief sprinted toward the nearest window. The sudden action caught both Druzeel and Graeak off guard. They expected some type of attack, some sort of combat. At the very least, they would have thought the thief would have thrown a dagger at one of them. But he just took off towards the window, reaching into one of his many pouches as he went.

Be it the knowledge that the windows were heavily warded or the speed at which the man moved, Graeak was slow to react, to cast a spell against the thief to prevent him from escaping. He assumed the magic he had cast on The Fount that prevented people from breaking in would also prevent them from breaking out, but his assumptions were dashed to pieces when the assassin flung out his hand.

Tiny black beads flew at the window. When they hit the curtains and glass, they exploded in a puff of black smoke. The protective wards and spells burst, filling the room with sparks and flashes of light. The assassin dove right through the cloud, disappearing from view. Graeak expected to hear a thud when the man smashed into the seemingly unbreakable glass, but as the mist cleared, all he saw was an opening where the glass and fabric used to be. Whatever magical objects the man had used had successful destroyed his wards.

Graeak ran to the window and looked out into the night. Instead of seeing the thief falling to his death, he spotted him soaring through the sky. His cloak, or whatever it was that was clinging to his back, was fanned out, allowing him to glide through the air as would a bird. Graeak brought a spell to mind and pointed his staff at the fleeing thief, but did not send his magic against the man. The thief was too far away and if he managed to dodge, the spell could fall into the city. That was not a risk Graeak was willing to take.

"Master!" Druzeel said. He pulled the binding from his ankles and ran to the window, next to his mentor, watching as the thief blended into the night.

"Tell me what happened," Graeak said, pulling himself and his apprentice from the window. The thief had escaped. All he could do now was assess the damage and pray it was minimal.

Druzeel told him everything, how he had found Vallia and tracked the thief to his personal chambers. When he spoke of the illusionary wall phasing in and out, Graeak's face grew more concerned. When he described the pocket sack and the magical staff he saw the thief stuffing into it, Graeak spoke, cutting him off.

"How long was he here?" his mentor asked frantically.

"I don't know," Druzeel answered truthfully.

"Did you see him take anything else? Anything at all?"

"No," Druzeel said, growing increasingly worried seeing the fear creeping along his mentor's face. He had never seen his teacher shaken so and the sight unnerved him. Graeak must have seen his look of concern because he quickly wiped the worry from his face.

"Master," Druzeel said, "I know I should have roused the tower or sent you a message. I know I should not have followed and that some things even I am not privy to, but I thought–"

"No," Graeak said, his voice calm and free of anger. "I'm glad you investigated for I felt it when the illusionary wall was broken. It is what alerted me that something was amiss. Somehow, the thief made it through without setting off my wards. If you had not followed there is no way of knowing how much more he could have taken or what damage he could have caused."

Hearing the praise washed away Druzeel's fears. He still sensed some distress in his mentor's voice, but he assumed anyone would be upset about just being looted.

"Now," Graeak said, bringing Druzeel's attention back. "Rouse the tower and send for the Lances. See if the thief has harmed anyone else. Do not tell anyone of poor Vallia. I will break the news to them myself."

Druzeel nodded and ran from the room. Graeak watched him go, holding his calm until his apprentice was out of sight. When Druzeel was gone, the worry and fear returned.

He hurried across the room and up into the hidden chamber. He strode past the piles of rings and orbs, walked right by the bundle of armor and weapons, and completely ignored the collection of staffs, the same collection the thief had stolen one from. None of those things mattered. The thief could have stolen every item he passed and he would not have cared. Only one item mattered.

Graeak walked to the back of the room, to where the pocket dimension he created resided, the resting place of the Orb of Decay. He rattled off a few words and a line appeared in the air. The glowing rent split and opened, revealing a small room lined with protective wards, inscribed with powerful runes, and protected by ancient spells. Graeak entered and spoke a command word. Light suddenly filled the room.

"No," Graeak whispered, as another surge of fear shot through him.

The wards he had set, the runes that had taken countless days to write, and the spells he had cast were all broken, the power fueling them destroyed. And the pedestal that sat in the middle of the room, the resting place of one of the most dangerous artifacts he had ever been exposed to, was empty.

The orb was gone.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 3

The next day, as the Lances were scouring The Fount, looking for explanations as to how the thief could have entered unaware, Graeak broke the news of what happened to his apprentices and servants. Thankfully, the only casualty was Vallia. Druzeel knew, with the skills the thief had displayed, it could have been much worse. The man could have killed every living soul that night. He could have crept through the tower, room by room, and slit everyone's throat as they slept. The loss of one person in the tower was tragic and completely unacceptable, but it could have been a bloodbath. They had been fortunate indeed.

Yet a small part of Druzeel wondered why he had not been a victim that night. He had been up, just as Vallia. Had the thief seen Druzeel sitting at the desk and just passed him by? Could he have not noticed him at all? Why was she dead and he left alive? Had she walked in on him? When she went upstairs, did she see the thief making his way up to Graeak's personal chambers? Or had the thief seen her first, snuck up behind her and slit her throat? If that was the case, why had he left Druzeel alive? Druzeel had not heard a scream. Whatever the reason, the visions in his head of how Vallia could have died were disturbing and wondering why she had died was not making it any easier to forget the horrible sight of her body stuffed underneath the table. Seeing Graeak trying to comfort Vallia's mother, whose face was slick with tears, did not help either. That sight only intensified Druzeel's feelings of remorse and sorrow. He had not known Vallia very well, but he felt her loss just the same.

As his mentor continued to offer support to Vallia's friends and family, as Druzeel stood quietly watching the tears falling to the floor, he found himself getting angry. He found a small part of that anger–perhaps a little guilt as well–directed towards himself, for being alive while Vallia lay dead. He knew that the anger was misplaced, that he really had no reason to feel this way, but he could not help it. Just as Vallia, he had been awake. He had been up and walking through the tower, yet the thief passed him by. Luck was with him last night, but he wasn't feeling very lucky now.

The other part of that anger, the larger portion by far, was directed toward the thief. How could a man, a human being, if that was what the murderer had been, commit such a crime against such an innocent person? Druzeel knew murders were committed every day, that someone died almost every minute, somewhere around the world. He wasn't naive enough to think that there were no bad people in the world, that evil did not exist. But seeing it happen firsthand had been a shock to him, had made it more real. The knowledge that such a heinous act had been committed just a few feet from him, that someone so gentle and kind was the victim, made him sick, angry, and want to scream. These things should not happen. People like Vallia should not be victims of evil.

But what could he do? He was a wizard and had powerful spells at his fingertips, but as he found out last night, he had much more to learn. He was still inexperienced and did not possess the skills to combat someone with abilities as the thief he had encountered last night. With practice, years more of study and concentration, perhaps one day he would. But until that day, he could only hope that the Lances and his mentor could track down the murderer and bring him to justice.

"Spend time with your families," Graeak said, pulling Druzeel from his thoughts. Vallia's mother was led away and taken somewhere in the tower, presumable her chambers. Graeak stood before his apprentices and servants, eyes full of sadness.

"I make this vow before you now to hunt down the man who committed this crime and bring him before the magistrate of Atlurul," Graeak said with passion. "He shall answer for the life he has stolen from us. Until that time, I want all of you to spend time with your loved ones and pray for Vallia and her family. You are all welcomed to stay here, if that is your wish. If you choose to leave, you are welcomed back at any time. Regardless of your decision, I shall all keep you updated on any progress made by the Lances or myself."

His eyes rose from the crowd toward the back of the room. Druzeel turned and saw Lance Captain Camruadd Delonshire standing in the doorway. He silently walked in and stood against the back wall, patiently waiting for Graeak to finish. The captain met Druzeel's eyes and nodded.

Over the years, Druzeel had seen Lance Captain Delonshire in the tower hundreds of times. He and Graeak were the best of friends and whenever calamity struck, be it in The Fount, the city, or somewhere else that affected Atlurul, the Lance Captain would always appear, asking and receiving guidance from Graeak. Druzeel had spoken with the man many times and the two quickly formed a friendship. It wasn't soon after that friendship had begun that Druzeel found out that the Lance Captain had been present the night Druzeel's parents were killed. Back then, he had only been a supreme lance, but over the years, had worked his way up the ranks. Now, he commanded a large portion of the city guard. Delonshire was a kind and gentle man and Druzeel knew he cared for him. Many of those feelings came from the fact that the man had been one of the guards that had found Druzeel on that fateful night, but Druzeel didn't care why the man took a liking to him. It only mattered to him that he did.

After Graeak finished his speech, he dismissed his students and servants. All the servants left the room, as did some of the first year apprentices, but many of the others walked up to Graeak, offering their spells and talents to help track down the murderer. The old wizard thanked them for their enthusiasm and assistance but said he wanted to leave the investigation to the Lances. Many disappointed faces left the room for they had wanted not to just track down a powerful thief, but to test their talents and prove themselves to their teacher. Druzeel wore a look of disappointment as well for he had hoped to help find the murderer as well, but he trusted his mentor's judgment. He turned to go back to his chambers, but suddenly, he felt a presence in his mind.

Meet me in my library in ten minutes, the voice said, the voice of his mentor.

He turned and saw Graeak approaching Delonshire. His mentor offered him a quick glance and nod then engaged the Lance Captain in conversation. The two walked away, towards the stairs, to his private library.

He wants me to be a part of the investigation? Druzeel asked himself in surprise. He had already told the Lances everything he knew so the only conclusion he could come to was that Graeak wanted his help, or at least his opinion, of the situation. The fact that Graeak would trust him with something like this filled Druzeel with gratitude and he soon found himself practically skipping up the stairs.

But as he remembered why his mentor and the Lance Captain were meeting–the death of Vallia–the mirth disappeared from his steps and a feeling of sincerity fell over him. This is no time to be happy, he told himself as he ascended the stairs.

He entered the room and found Graeak and Delonshire standing in the center of the room, looking down at the bloodstained carpet. Druzeel's eyes immediately fell to the rug, to the place where he had seen Vallia's body. The table was gone, moved somewhere else in the tower, and only an empty space remained. His steps toward the two men slowed and eventually stopped all together. He felt his eyes widening and his mind turn to the memory of last night.

A gentle hand fell on his shoulder, startling him. He looked up into the eyes of his mentor, who wore a look of concern.

"Are you all right?" Graeak asked. "I asked you here to listen to what the Lance Captain has to say because I feel you should be a part of this, but if you are feeling unwell..."

"No," Druzeel said, keeping his eyes on Graeak. "No. I'm fine. This has all just been a little...overwhelming."

"I know," Graeak replied. "And I know you are tired. We all are. It has been a long day and you are handling this well. I ask for you to handle it just a little while longer, and then you may rest."

Druzeel nodded and Graeak led him over to a small table with three chairs. Delonshire walked over, gave Druzeel a strong handshake–the man's grip was like steel!–and sat down.

Lance Captain Camruadd Delonshire was a large man, with powerful arms, strong shoulders, and large, blue eyes. His face was clean-shaven but his brown hair was long, sitting on the shiny steel plates that covered his shoulders. His armor, platemail that was etched with a blue lance, was thick so when he sat down in the small chair, it gave a great groan of protest, but held together. He looked a little uncomfortable but quickly wiped the discomfort from his face. If the chair broke, so be it. He had more important things to worry about.

"Please, Captain," Graeak said, starting the conversation, "tell us what you and your men have found." Druzeel got the sense that Graeak already knew part of what the man was going to say, but he still listened intently.

"I'm afraid very little," Delonshire replied with a little anger. "No tracks or traces of passage. It as if the man was a ghost, slipping through the cracks and crevices of the tower."

"He was solid enough," Druzeel found himself blurting out, remembering the dagger his magic had deflected and the purple blade coming toward him. He looked at Graeak as if he had made a mistake, but his mentor just nodded in approval.

"Which adds to my puzzlement," Delonshire replied. "Even the best of thieves leave some kind of residue, be it magical or otherwise. We have combed this tower and find no evidence that he was even here."

"He had plenty of magic at his disposal," Druzeel said.

"Indeed," Graeak added. "I saw firsthand how he defeated wards, my wards, and escaped. As you know, my magic has been unable to locate how he broke in as well. Whoever he was working for had adequately supplied him with the necessary tools to counter some of my most powerful magics."

Druzeel knew he was lucky to escape last night's encounter with his life, but upon hearing the surprise in his mentor's voice as he spoke of the power the thief held, he realized just how lucky he had been.

"You think he was working for someone?" Delonshire asked.

"Oh yes," Graeak replied. "Thieves rarely work alone and to acquire those artifacts I observed him using can take a lifetime of work, or a few moments if someone were to hand them to you."

"Any idea who he could be working for?" the Lance Captain asked.

"The gods know I have made my share of enemies," Graeak said and Druzeel found himself nodding in agreement. He had heard many tense arguments between his mentor and nobles, politicians, and other unsavory characters over the years. Any one of them could have sent the thief as a warning. "But I could not think of one who has the means, let alone the wealth, to send such a person into my home. That thief would have cost a king's ransom."

"Perhaps his fee included a share of the spoils?" the Lance Captain asked.

"I found little missing," Graeak said. "That which he stole, a few minor rings and such, were not worth the coin it would have cost to purchase such a theft."

Druzeel looked at Graeak in surprise. It was more than just a few trinkets, he thought to himself. Why would his mentor not tell the Lances what was stolen? Someone unfamiliar with Graeak may have spoken up, but Druzeel knew better. If his mentor did not tell the Lances, let alone a good friend like Delonshire, about what was stolen, he must have had a good reason. A similar reason as to why he had not told Druzeel of the hidden treasure room?

"Perhaps a warning then?" Delonshire suggested. "Maybe whoever did this wants you to know you are not as untouchable as you think."

"Possibly," Graeak said, rubbing his chin. "I cannot fathom who or why but that is possible."

"What about Vallia?" Druzeel said. Graeak and Delonshire looked at him.

"What about her?' the Lance Captain asked.

"Could she have been the target all along?" Druzeel replied. "I know how it sounds, a simple woman like her attracting such violence, but could she have been the target all along? Perhaps after she was killed, the thief was just looking for something to steal, to pad his pockets. Everyone knew she lived here and to break into the tower you would have to have magic at your disposal, which explains the power the thief was carrying. Could the thief have come here just for her?"

Delonshire looked at Druzeel for many moments. He then turned his gaze to Graeak, who appeared just as confused. It was clear that neither man had thought of such a thing. Truthfully, Delonshire felt a little...amateurish and ashamed for not thinking of such a possibility. Vallia was just a simple servant but that did not mean she or her family did not have powerful enemies. You're getting old, he told himself.

"That is a distinct possibility," Delonshire said after a short pause. Druzeel could not stop the grin from forming on his face.

"I think my young apprentice has just added to your workload," Graeak said.

"Indeed," Delonshire replied, "but an addition that could prove fruitful and bring a murderer to justice. I will spread the news to my men and have them start looking into Vallia's history."

Delonshire rose from the table, followed by Graeak and Druzeel. The conversation had been shorter than Druzeel thought it would be, but then again, his mentor and Delonshire had spoken earlier, when the Lances first arrived.

"If you remember anything else," Delonshire said, shaking hands with Graeak, "please let my men know. I will leave a few of them in the tower tonight, just as a precaution."

"Thank you, my friend," Graeak said.

"I wish I could provide you with more trackers," Delonshire added, "but even I have to approve the use of more men with the city leaders and a good size of our force has been sent to the east. The goblinkin have started showing themselves again."

"I hope it is nothing serious."

"Just a precaution," Delonshire said. "You know how those monsters multiply. Regardless, if you need someone with tracking skills, there are plenty of adventurers in the city you can hire."

"I already have a few in mind," Graeak replied. The two men nodded to each other. Delonshire then took Druzeel's hand.

"It was good to see you again," he said. "And thank you for the suggestion."

"You're welcome," Druzeel said, hoping the Lances would pick up on the thief's trail soon. If too much time passed, the trail would grow cold and Vallia's murderer would get away. He didn't want that to happen. The evil that had occurred here last night must be punished.

After a hardy shake, Delonshire left the room, making his way downstairs to inform his men about the new prospects that Druzeel had suggested. Druzeel and Graeak watch him go.

"You no doubt have questions," Graeak said, turning to face his apprentice.

"A few," Druzeel replied. Indeed, questions were rolling around in his head. He was glad his mentor had said something because he did not think he would get any sleep if they went unanswered.

"Then let us sit and discuss."

Graeak took a seat in the same chair while Druzeel sat down directly across from him. He held a little worry about the answers he hoped Graeak was going to give him, but they were answers that he needed to know.

"Could you truly find nothing of the thief's trail?" he asked, unnerved that someone as powerful as Graeak could be so easily blocked. There were dozens of spells that would show a wizard where someone had passed through. Many were simple to cast but others could be more complicated. The more difficult spells gave more information, but even the most powerful magic could be blocked if you had the right knowledge or tool.

"I'm afraid that I could not," Graeak said with a sigh. He was powerful, yes, but even he could have his spells blocked using rudimentary means.

Druzeel studied his mentor, seeing the sorrow and distress in his eyes. He knew Graeak was old, living far longer than any normal man, but he had never looked even close to his actual age. At that moment, the man looked old. This whole ordeal–Vallia's death, the break-in, the thief's escape–had appeared to age the man greatly in just a few hours. Druzeel did not like what he saw and felt bad about the questions he was asking, but he needed to know. He had to know to be a better man, to be a better wizard, and to help his mentor–his friend–make things right.

"Why didn't you tell the Lance Captain about what was stolen? From the secret room?" He added in the last part because he wanted to know why Graeak would keep such a secret from him. He thought he might have pushed too hard, that the question was out of line, but he wondered why Graeak would share almost everything else with him and not that treasure trove of magical artifacts.

"I know you realize," Graeak said, meeting his apprentice's eyes, "that there is evil in this world and that it takes many forms. Most of the items in that secret chamber contain evil too great and malicious for anyone, anyone, to know about, including even my most trusted associates. No one knew of that chamber, save but one: me. I have spent much of my life gathering those objects, many too dangerous to even attempt to destroy, to rid the world of such terrible evil. It was my hope that they would fade from memory and time, but it seems that even the most awful evil cannot stay hidden from everyone forever. I am just happy to know that because of your intervention, my young apprentice, many of those items still remain above us and not out in the world."

Druzeel looked down to hide his smile. It was good to know his mentor was not upset about following the thief and discovering his secret chamber.

"As for why I did not tell Delonshire," Graeak continued, "it is the same reason I have not told you or anyone else. It needs to stay secret. The less that know of its existence, the safer the world is. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Druzeel said truthfully, knowing his teacher was silently telling him to keep what he knew to himself. He also now understood why his mentor had kept the room a secret. It was not just to protect the tower's denizens, but to protect the entire world. Nothing good can come from having items of evil in the hands of the wicked and deceitful. Druzeel knew that good would always prevail, but if those artifacts managed to get out, good would have a harder time keeping the world safe and secure.

"I sense that you have more on your mind," Graeak said, seeing the look on Druzeel's face. "Speak freely, my young friend."

"You knew that the thief could have come just for Vallia, didn't you?" Druzeel did not think that his mentor, one of the smartest men he knew, would not come up with that hypothesis. He knew he must have known of that possibility. The fact that Delonshire had not come up with that prospect was not surprising. He was a military man and the death of a simple servant would seem inconsequential when viewed against the larger picture. But Graeak had to have known.

"I did," Graeak responded with a nod of his head.

"Then why make me voice the possibility?"

"Two reasons," Graeak said. "I wanted to see what conclusions you drew and I must say that you have done me proud. Your mind, a wizard's mind, must constantly be moving, thinking of the improbable and impossible at all times. The second reason was because the suggestion would seem less suspicious coming from the one who actually witnessed the crime."

"Suspicious?" Druzeel asked in confusion.

"I have known Camruadd for many years and he is suspicious by nature. If I had suggested the connection, he may think I was trying to guide him towards something, something I am not even sure exists. But coming from you, it seemed a bit more...innocent. Now he will concentrate fully on the task at hand, instead of having his men snoop around, watching to see if you or I act in any way that may not seem ordinary."

"Would he really do something like that?" Druzeel asked. He could not believe that Delonshire would suspect either himself or Graeak of something malicious.

"Do not fault him or look ill upon the captain," Graeak said, seeing Druzeel's distress. "His suspicious nature is what makes him such an excellent soldier and an even greater captain. You and I both know that what little deception we played on our friend will only make him focus on his task with more intensity."

Druzeel thought about his mentor's words and could see the logic. He just didn't like deception of any kind. He thought a straight on approach was always the best way to handle every situation, but in this case, he would once again trust in his mentor's knowledge and experience.

"You and Delonshire mentioned trackers?'

"Yes," Graeak said, leaning forward. "Delonshire has provided all the help he can, so I plan to hire my own tracker now, to find the trail and bring the murderer to justice. But I need more than just a tracker. I need those who know how to fight for I do not believe this thief will come quietly. For that, I have picked a handful of adventurers to go on this journey. And I want you to go with them."

"What?" Druzeel asked, surprised.

"You have learned much in this tower," Graeak said with pride, "and you shall learn more in the years to come, but it is time you received some real experience. It is time for you to adventure forth, on this quest I have set for you, and see what the world holds."

Druzeel just stared at his mentor dumbstruck. Graeak wanted him to be on this quest? To seek out the assassin, the things he had stolen, and bring him back for judgment? Did Graeak believe he had progressed far enough? Did he think he had the necessary skills and talents to pull this off? More importantly, did Druzeel think he was ready? He had talent and wanted to do this, to show his mentor he was ready, but he had already failed once against the thief. How could he hope to succeed this time?

"Master, I..." Druzeel started to say, but trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"I know this is a lot to ask," Graeak said, "but I truly believe you can do this. I know you can do this. As soon as you pick up the trail, you and the adventurers I choose shall find this thief and bring him back for judgment."

"Wait," Druzeel said, trying his best to find his words. "You...you won't be coming along?" He could not imagine going somewhere without his teacher. What if he did something wrong? What if he had questions? He knew he would eventually leave Graeak and set out on his own, he just did not think it would be this soon. He also wanted to go out on his own, but now that the opportunity presented itself, he found fear coursing through him.

"No," Graeak answered with a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid I have grown too old for a journey like this. This is an adventure for younger men, and one you could learn from. I shall stay here and offer guidance as best I can."

His voice sounded full of regret but Druzeel knew the truth of his words. Graeak's mind may still be as sharp as a sword blade, but his body was aging and with that came the pain of deteriorating joints and weakening bones. Those aches and the weight of old age would prevent him from keeping up with the rest of the group.

"You said others will be going," Druzeel said. "What others?" Graeak offered another sigh.

"The Knights of the Chipped Blade."

Druzeel looked at his mentor as if he was trying to place the name. Then his eyes widened and his brow furrowed in disgust. "Not Brask!"

The Knights of the Chipped Blade was a group of six adventures well known throughout the area and often hired to do a variety of deeds, many of which some thought were unseemly. Though they always produced the desired results, they had little reservations on who hired them. The only thing that mattered was the coin they were paid. Depending on who you were, you either loved or hated them. Druzeel, knowing many of their deeds due to the gossip throughout the tower and the local taverns he sometimes visited, really had nothing against the group itself, for he hardly knew many if its members, but who he did have an issue with was the group's leader, Brask Battlebeard.

Brask was a man with little morals and ethics, if any. He was ruthless, cruel, and cared not for who he stepped on to accomplish his goals. Druzeel had only run into the man a couple times, but those meetings had not been pleasant. Brask had taken an immediate dislike to Druzeel and he was very vocal about it whenever the two met. This animosity had not come from anything Druzeel had done, but from what had happened to Brask's little brother.

It seemed that between the two Battlebeard siblings, Brask had inherited all the strength and physicality from his father while Browen inherited an aptitude for magic from his mother. Much to the agony of the apprentices, Browen had been admitted to The Fount some years ago. Graeak had owed the elder Battlebeard a favor for something that Druzeel could not recall but the admittance of their youngest son had been the payment. Soon after his acceptance into the tower, the bulling had begun, and Browen had seemed to be a master at it. It was commonly whispered that if the young Battlebeard had half the magical talents as he had at administering torture, he would surpass Graeak within weeks. Luckily, his stay at The Fount had been short lived. He lasted only a year before he was expelled. He had pulled off a prank that had almost killed two students, Druzeel being one of them. For some reason, he had held Druzeel responsible for his expulsion, and told his big brother, who was just as cruel, all about it. Since then, Browen had left the city, sent somewhere to the south to train with another wizard, but Brask often found himself in Atlurul and every time he ran into Druzeel he made sure the young wizard felt his brother's anger.

"Please," Druzeel implored. "Not Brask."

"I know how you feel about him," Graeak said, trying to calm his apprentice's worries, "but Brask employs Ristil Trueseeker and he is the best tracker in the city. I will need them for this journey. The Knights have performed for me in the past and I know they are up to this challenge." Druzeel just growled in irritation.

"Now," the aging wizard said, signaling that the conversation was at an end, "get a few hours sleep. I want you rested and alert when you go to meet with Brask and his crew."

"What!" Druzeel exclaimed. "You want me to meet them?"

"Absolutely," Graeak said. "I have already contacted them and they know I am sending someone to give them the details of the mission. Who better than you, my apprentice, to let them know what they will be doing?"

"Master, I don't think–"

"Imagine the look on Brask's face," Graeak said, cutting off Druzeel's argument, "when he sees that it is you that I am putting in charge."

Druzeel's words caught in his throat. It took a moment for his mentor's words to sink in, but when they did, a wide smile came to Druzeel's face. Graeak offered a smile of his own and nodded his head.

"Tonight," Graeak said. "Go get some rest. You'll need it."

Druzeel stood, gave Graeak a bow, and raced off to bed. He found himself now looking forward to his meeting with the eldest Battlebeard.

* * * * *

Graeak watched Druzeel go. When he was out of the room, he leaned back in his chair and took a couple of deep breaths. At that moment, he truly felt old. He felt his age and the soreness creeping into this body.

He hated deceiving his most valuable apprentice, but the urgency at which he needed him to act, everyone to act, required as little questions as possible. Now he just had to hope that he could get Brask to go along with making Druzeel think he was actually in charge. A few extra precious stones should get Brask to play along.

Truly, Druzeel had the potential to lead this quest and Graeak had faith that he would perform as expected, but he needed someone with real experience. He needed warriors that could do what must be done. He needed men that could disregard laws and morals when necessary. He hated turning to the Knights for he knew about many of their illegal activities, but he had no other choice. Time was of the essence. He had to get the orb back, at any cost.

How had the thief known where to go? Graeak had asked himself repeatedly since he saw the empty pedestal. The man had known exactly where to go, how to dispel the illusionary wall, and where he had hidden the orb. No one, not a single soul that Graeak could remember, knew where the orb had been hidden. What loose end had he, or Hellric for that matter, left untied? Perhaps when his friend had brought it from the earth, the workers he had employed had finally wagged their tongue to the wrong person. Whatever the reason, he had to get it back.

Graeak did not tell Druzeel about the orb and never planned to. The less his apprentice knew about the actual reasons for the mission, the better. Let him think the quest was to capture the thief, to return the staff. That, and Graeak's urging, would be enough. He debated about even telling Brask about the orb, but he had to tell someone and Brask's ineptitude with magic made him the perfect candidate for it made him less corruptible, if such a thing was possible for a man like that.

Graeak took another deep breath and looked to where the budding wizard had disappeared. He hoped that his young apprentice was up to the challenge and could handle the barbs that Brask would surely try. And he hoped that Druzeel, the boy he had come to see as his son, could resist the horrors and harsh reality that the outside world may throw at him.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 4

During the day in Atlurul, especially in the middle of spring, when the sun was shining, a comfortable breeze was blowing, and merchants lined the side of every road stretching throughout the city, the citizens would roam along the avenues enjoying the cool air while hoping to spot a deal or two. Loud voices, many bargaining for a better price, would fill the air and the sound of coins being tossed onto tables or dropped into heavy purses was an often-heard tone. It was widely said that if one wasn't trying to spot a bargain along the streets of Atlurul when Solaris was offering his glorious streams of light, then they were lost or an outsider, trying to find their way home. Yes, day was a time of business for the city, but when night fell, a night just as cool and pleasant as the day before, the people made their way to the next great practice in their fair city: relaxation.

Atlurulians were very good at business, but they knew when to sit back and enjoy the few hours of freedom before sleep came calling. True, not everyone was able to enjoy a respite when Lunaria floated high into the sky. Many were still on the streets, trying to make as much as they could before closing down shop. Others were just getting started for in every city there were those–some perfectly good-natured but others with perhaps a little malice in their hearts–that were hoping to sell a vial of poison, a spell of mind control, or information that would topple their enemies. Those of the more amiable persuasion included the proprietors of the dozen or so taverns that sat scattered throughout the city. Those men and women were hard at work, selling plates of food and goblets filled to the brim with golden ale or crimson wine. At one such establishment, one of the most popular in the city, the owner was indeed hard at work, serving the seemingly hundreds of people that were back in her building.

Dimaterra Cribildrum, owner and operator of the Crying Lady Tavern, was serving drinks, cleaning mugs, and shouting over the din of the crowd at her employees to move faster when a customer wished for a refill or another decanter full of whatever sweet liquid they had been drinking. The yelling was truly uncalled for for her staff was very good at their jobs and usually had a mug refilled, a plate restacked, and smiles back on faces quicker than a dwarf would down a fresh mug full of ale. It is what made the Lady popular: the quick service, the comfortable environment, and the friendly serving wenches.

Of course, not everyone could be satisfied with the service they were receiving. That just came with owning such a large business that served hundreds of people on a daily basis. You could not satisfy everyone and Dimaterra had stopped trying to do that a long time ago. She did make an honest effort to placate those she could, but some people just weren't happy with anything, no matter what you did.

"Wench!" yelled a particularly ugly man whose face was caked with dirt and grime, though it was not those two aspects that made him unseemly. The sneer he held and the slight tilt to one of his eyes were the reason many women shied away from him. His rudeness and impatience also added to his repulsiveness. Even Belladrix, who made it a rule never to show disgust toward one of the tavern's customers, could not help but curl her lip every time the man looked her way. But she was one of Dimaterra's best serving wenches and she would act accordingly, no matter how ugly or rude the man was.

"You bellowed, my lord," she said in a calm, clear voice. The man looked at her with longing as she neared. Belladrix had to bite back the bile rising in her throat.

"I've been callin' fer ya for hours!" he said again, in a voice that was louder than necessary. His two friends, not quite as ugly as he was, but close, chuckled from across the large round table.

"My apologies," Belladrix said, batting her long lashes, trying her best to behave herself and not bring the tray she held down on the man's head. "What may I do for you? Perhaps a final round for you and your friends before turning in for the night?"

The men had already had half a dozen drinks each and as every serving girl in the tavern knew, tempers and behaviors only got worse as the drink addled the mind. Dimaterra had instructed everyone she employed to keep an eye on the customers, making sure they didn't drink too much and get unruly. It was usually not a problem at the Lady. Most customers knew their limit or they were cut off before they reached a certain point, but the tavern had been extra busy tonight and these men had gotten away from her.

"I be drinkin' til I'm ready," he said, his speech noticeably slurred. "Not til some servin' whore tells me so! So get me anothur. Mayhaps I'll be asking fer something else later on."

His hand shot out and grabbed Belladrix's leg, just above the knee, and was quickly moving higher. His eyes widened and his tongue swiped across his lips, much as a dog would when expecting a delicious treat. The two other men at the table only laughed. Belladrix went to move away but his other hand took hold of her arm, his grip fierce.

"Let go!" she shrieked, trying to pull away.

"Not til ya give me what I–"

There was a loud clang and the man went stiff. Then his grip on Belladrix fell away and she found herself looking at the man sprawled on the floor, unconscious. She looked up and saw Dimaterra standing right behind where the man had been sitting, a cast iron pot in hand.

"I just gave you exactly what you needed," she said, her eyes filled with fire and her large chest thrust out in anger. She turned her gaze on the ugly man's two companions, who were rising from their seats. Their laughs had silenced as they saw their friend on the ground and their faces showed only anger. "Don't you start," Dimaterra said, turning her meaty hands in their direction, "or you'll get the same."

Be it the drink or their stupidity, the men seemed not to hear the threat. Their hands just went to the swords at their hips, intent on giving this large woman the thrashing she surely deserved for assaulting their companion. But as soon as their fingers brushed their hilts, each man found his head suddenly, and quite brutally, slammed into each other's. The crack echoed throughout the tavern, but no one seemed to notice. Nor did they notice the two men slump to the floor, blood and bruises now painting the side of their heads.

Dimaterra and Belladrix looked up at the large, bearded man standing above the now unconscious men. His broad face was painted with a wide sneer as he spit on the men at his feet.

"I hope you didn't kill them," Dimaterra said with all honesty. The impact had been violent. "The last thing I need are the Lances shutting me down for an investigation."

Brask Battlebeard looked down at the men briefly then turned his eyes back to the owner of the Lady. "They'll live," he said with no emotion. "Shouldn't have been at my table. You got someone to clean them up?"

Dimaterra just narrowed her eyes at the leader of the Knights of the Chipped Blade. Had he truly only cared that the men were at this particular table? Or had he actually helped the two women? She knew he would never admit to helping for Dimaterra knew Brask as an uncaring and sometimes cruel man. He showed a little emotion every now and then, but most of the time he was unreadable. She really did not like him, or many of his crew, but his coin was real and she wasn't one to turn away a paying customer, no matter how foul they were. Regardless of her feelings, the situation was handled. She just had to get these ruffians out of her tavern and she knew she could expect no help from Brask.

"Belladrix," she said, keeping her dark eyes on Brask. "Fetch Gralic and Hoarck. Have them take out the trash." She spit the last word, her eyes never leaving Brask's face. The man just offered her a smirk. Ten minutes later, after her guards had removed the unconscious men, Brask was sitting at the table, facing both women.

"Where is your band of misfits?" Dimaterra asked.

"They'll be along shortly," Brask replied, his cold eyes never leaving hers. He sat like a statue, his hands on the table and his face expressionless.

Belladrix just stood off the side in silence, watching the tense confrontation. She knew how her employer felt about the Knights and never understood why she held such animosity. She had heard of the Knights' deeds and she knew of their reputation, but they had always treated the serving wenches with respect and tipped generously. Whatever the reason for her feelings, Belladrix let the drama play out. Turns out, she didn't have to wait long.

"Belladrix will take care of you," Dimaterra said.

"I'm certain of it," Brask replied. Something most people would call a smirk suddenly cracked his face and he glanced at Belladrix. He still held the expression when he looked back at Dimaterra, but she remained stern.

"Be welcome to the Lady," she said, "and make sure the only pockets Vistalas's hands finds are his own."

"Of course," Brask replied innocently, but only after the smile disappeared from his face. Dimaterra just narrowed her eyes more.

She eventually turned and walked away, leaving one of her most capable servers with the unscrupulous mercenary. Belladrix watched her go. She then turned back to Brask, intent on being friendly, no matter what her employer's feelings. The man did tip generously after all.

* * * * *

The walk to the Crying Lady was a slow one. Druzeel knew that his task was urgent, that they had to act quickly before the thief's trail went cold, but he could not bring himself to move any faster knowing who he was meeting.

When Graeak first told him he would be in charge of the quest, to find the thief and return the staff, he was elated, delighted that he would be able to order Brask and his cronies around. But as he walked to the Lady, reality had slowly set in and his hurried pace quickly became a slow meander. He knew there was no way Brask would let someone he perceived as inept to give orders, especially to his own men. No, Brask would be in charge of this mission, but if the large warrior thinks he could command Druzeel like a dog, Druzeel was determined to show him differently. He was a strong man and an even stronger wizard and he deserved respect. Getting that respect was the problem.

Druzeel knew that Brask was not an evil man. He and his band of adventurers had done a handful of heroic deeds over the years, bringing happiness and joy into people's lives, though it seemed the unseemly accomplishments far outweighed the honorable. The leader of the Knights of the Chipped Blade was just a bully, putting it simply. Brask was a man that wanted his way and he would get it, no matter the consequences. That quality alone was enough to make Druzeel despise him, but when the mercenary started to harass him after the whole debacle with Browen, it made Druzeel dislike him even more. There was no way, that he could see, where the two of them would ever get along, but they were going to be working together and Druzeel would do his best to be polite and treat the man with respect, regardless of how he was treated. He knew he was the better man and would act accordingly. Hopefully, the others would see it as well.

There were five other members in Brask's band but Druzeel had only met two others: a giant of a man named Thorstar Doverson, who wielded a large sword almost as long as Druzeel was tall, and the group's rogue, a wiry fellow by the name of Vistalas Daggerkin.

Thorstar was clearly the muscle in the group. He was almost seven feet tall and possessed arms the size of tree limbs and every time Druzeel had seen Brask, the large man was close by, as if he was a bodyguard, though Druzeel doubted the Knights' leader needed a guard. Druzeel held no resentment toward the tall warrior for the man hardly spoke. Now that he thought about it, Druzeel had never heard him utter a single word during the few times he saw him. Vistalas, however, was a different matter entirely.

Druzeel had been introduced to the thief when the man had lifted several items, all it once it seemed, from his body during a confrontation with Brask. He eventually returned the items though it was more out of the knowledge that he would have to answer to Graeak than out of fear of Druzeel. Since then, Druzeel had learned to guard his items carefully whenever the thief was near. He did not dislike the man, he just found him extremely irritating, and talkative. The man talked like a wonder pixie, only shutting up when he was told or when the person he was speaking with walked away. Being a thief, Druzeel had found his loquaciousness an odd quality for he figured people who steal for a living would keep more to themselves. Perhaps it was how he learned so much about the people and environment around him. Whatever the reason, Druzeel planned to keep the man in his sight at all times.

Though his pace had almost slowed to a crawl, Druzeel eventually reached the Crying Lady not long after leaving The Fount. That was the problem with having the tavern so close to his home. It was just a short walk away. He took a deep breath and walked through the doors.

As always, the inside was full of people crowding the bar and filling every empty seat in the establishment. Smiling faces, glazed over eyes, and a few nodding heads loaded with too much drink dotted the landscape before him. It always filled him with joy to see others happy. To see his fellow Atlurulians smiling and laughing always made him want to do the same, but tonight he did not feel like being so jovial. The events of the past few hours were still fresh in his mind and he knew that the moments of leisure would have to wait.

Even with the crowd before him, Druzeel easily navigated the press of bodies to where he knew Brask and his crew would be. They always sat at the same table: near the back of the tavern where the noise did not carry as loud. It allowed them the best attempt at privacy, though with all the noise it was hard to overhear their conversation. You would have to be at the table and even then, one had to shout to be heard.

Druzeel maneuvered around a rather husky man and spotted Brask, sitting exactly where Druzeel expected him to be.

He was a large man, well muscled with a wide black beard, piercing gray-blue eyes, short wavy hair, and a nose that had been broken on more than one occasion. His face was hard and carried sharp features, with a very broad chin and short forehead. Women would call him handsome or rustic but Druzeel knew as soon as they learned of his hostile personality, they would call him something else entirely. He was dressed in dark banded armor and a red vest. A large axe lay strapped on his back.

On Brask's right was Thorstar, whose armor looked pieced together with bits of leather, hide, and chain. Much of his flesh was exposed but that didn't seem to bother him. Druzeel was surprised to see him sitting for he did not believe there was a wooden chair that could hold the man's bulk. His long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail and he carried a short reddish beard. His face was as blank as ever but his deep blue eyes were constantly scanning the crowd, making sure no threat loomed nearby. His right hand sat on the hilt of his great sword, which was leaning against the table, reaching toward the ceiling. Druzeel could see the muscles of Thorstar's hand constantly flexing. The man was clearly uncomfortable in such a confined place.

Based on what Druzeel had heard from Graeak, the half-elf sitting next to Thorstar could only be Ristil Trueseeker, the group's ranger. His pointed ears clearly marked him as half-elven but his eyes showed that human blood ran through his veins, though based on his smooth skin, delicate features, and silky chestnut hair, there was more elf in him than human. Hide armor colored like spring grass covered his body and a scimitar hung from his hip.

On the other side of the table were the other members of the Knights that Druzeel had never met, though he had heard of them through gossip.

Dex Swifthood, a human who many considered the strategist of the group, sat on Brask's left. He was a normal looking man who kept his face clean-shaven. His hair was sandy, his nose narrow, and his eyes were a light brown. There was a light scar across his chin and a small notch from his left ear, but other than that, his face was unmarred. Based on the quick observation, Dex looked pleasant and kind, far from the air of hostility that always seemed to surround his leader. He wore splint mail, a combination of dozens of small metal plates, and his longsword sat against the table.

Sitting next to him, and wearing a similar smile, was the smallest member of the Knights, the halfling Jannda Cupsheight. She sported long black hair, a petite nose, and large, green eyes that seemed to sparkle in the nearby torch light. Studded leather covered her body and daggers sat on her belt, which Druzeel could see for she was sitting on a pile of large books, the only way her short frame could reach the table. He forgot exactly what her role in the group was but for some reason he thought of music when looking are her. Wasn't she a bard? he thought to himself. Perhaps. Whatever she was, she was very beautiful and if she had been a human, she would have caught the eye of every man in the tavern. Instead, she was mostly ignored by all except the Knights. Druzeel thought it odd that someone like her would be a part of such a group.

After passing over Jannda, he looked around the table for the final member of the group, but Vistalas was nowhere to be seen. Druzeel quickly scanned the crowd for the lithe man, and all around himself, but the man was absent. Either he decided not to join the group, which was unlikely, or he was getting drink, relieving himself, or, most likely, working the crowd. In a packed building such as this, where people had coins to spend, a rogue would be right at home.

Regardless of where Vistalas was, Druzeel had already wasted enough time. Brask was the one he had to speak with, so he steadied himself, got ready for the usual berating from the rude man, and moved to meet the group. Sure enough, as soon as Brask's eyes met Druzeel, the harassment began.

"He must be joking," Brask exclaimed, leaning back in his seat, a disbelieving smile on his face, an expression that said he had a feeling that Druzeel would indeed be the one sent to meet them. His fellow companions stopped talking and turned their attention to the new arrival. Druzeel suddenly felt like a wounded pig surrounded by a handful of hungry dragons. But he steadied himself. He had to show them he was in control of himself.

"Now I know the old man has lost his mind," the leader of the Knights continued, shaking his head. He leaned forward and took a sip of ale, or whatever it was he was drinking. The others just looked back and forth between their leader and the young man standing at their table.

"It is nice to see you again as well," Druzeel said, refusing to let Brask control the conversation, as he always ended up doing when they met.

"Who's this?" Dex asked, looking back to Brask.

"Druzeel Sesstar," Druzeel said with a slight bow, before Brask could respond. He knew Brask would have had some obnoxious comment so he took the initiative. "I am an apprentice to Graeak Loyalar and have been sent to–"

"This the kid that got your brother expelled?" Ristil asked, cutting Druzeel off. Druzeel looked at him with annoyance then his gaze turned to Brask.

It appeared that he needed no introduction. After Ristil's comment, Druzeel knew that Brask had told his traveling companions all about him. It was going to be extremely difficult to earn their respect now. Brask had no doubt already tarnished his reputation and filled all of their heads with lies. Perhaps since he was going to be traveling with them, he could fill in the holes that Brask had undoubtedly left out.

"Browen got himself expelled," he replied quickly, trying his best to keep his voice calm. He saw disdain already forming on Ristil's face. Surprisingly, Dex and Jannda's faces were flat and without judgment. Maybe not everyone in the Chipped Blade was swayed.

"Browen was stupid and dangerous," Druzeel continued, locking eyes with Brask. "I'm just glad he was thrown out before he killed someone."

All eyes had been on Druzeel, but when he finished, they slowly panned over to Brask, to see what his reaction would be at the harsh words for his brother, a brother that everyone knew the man cared for. Their leader showed a hint of anger but he looked more annoyed than anything else.

"Yes," Brask said after a few moments of tense silence. "It is so wonderful that nobody," he eyes cut into Druzeel, "was killed. What a shame it would be to deprive the world of such...talent."

The two men just stared at each other for many moments. Druzeel's eyes narrowed. Brask just sneered and took another sip from his goblet.

"So," Dex said, breaking the silence that had suddenly surrounded the table. "Druzeel, Graeak sent you to–"

"Annoy us to death," Brask cut in. Ristil and Jannda chuckled and Thorstar cut a smile though no sound came from his throat. Dex looked at Brask with a raised eyebrow. The companion's leader just took another drink.

"You have a job for us," Dex continued, getting straight to business. "Graeak's message said someone had broken into his tower and he needs us to track down the thief."

"Yes," Druzeel said, tearing his eyes from Brask. He would rather deal with Dex, who seemed to be much more agreeable than the Knights' abusive leader. "The thief broke in and stole some very powerful items from the tower. One person was killed. I managed to confront the thief but he escaped using–"

"What a surprise," Brask interrupted. "Someone managed to get by the all powerful Druzeel? The crown jewel of Graeak's tower? I'm shocked." Thorstar and Ristil cracked a smile again. Jannda just rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Brask," Dex said, irritation in his voice. He obviously did not find the humor in Brask's teasing. He seemed to be all about business. "The boy is just trying to do his job."

Druzeel was unsure whether he should be glad Dex was standing up for him or insulted by being called a boy. Graeak had told him that people would think he was much younger than he appeared. He just had a young looking face, so he let the comment slide. He even managed to resist getting angry at all the barbs Brask was throwing his way. He had become accustomed to those long ago. Perhaps he could even use Brask's abrasiveness against him.

"I can see that Graeak has chosen wrong," Druzeel said, drawing a few stares from the table. "I'll go back and tell him to find someone else for this mission." He turned to go.

"Wait," he heard Dex say from behind him. Druzeel turned around and looked at Dex. Next to him, an angry glare was creeping onto Brask's face.

"Yes?" he replied, feeling satisfied. He had succeeded in controlling the dialogue and now he had the advantage. Though it shouldn't have mattered to him because of the reason he was here, it felt good to finally have the upper hand over Brask. Unfortunately, in the end, all his grandstanding was for nothing. No matter what Brask threw at him, he was going to gain the Knights' assistance. Graeak had made it clear that they needed Brask and his men for this mission, but they didn't need to know that.

Dex looked at Druzeel and then back to Brask. His face clearly displayed his displeasure with the exchange.

"Graeak," Brask began with a tight mouth, "has always been a good employer. Even though his judgment has sometimes been...flawed," he said, his eyes solely on Druzeel, "we will lend him our services."

"Hmm," Druzeel said, his finger tapping the tip of his chin. "I think an apology is ord–"

"You got a chance!" Brask said rather loudly with anger in his voice. His hand also slipped dangerously close to the handle of his axe. Druzeel looked at him and then to Dex. The man wore a look that told Druzeel not to push it. Druzeel realized he had gone far enough and decided to drop the issue.

"As I said before," Druzeel said, "a thief–"

"Payment first," Brask said, drawing another rankled look from Druzeel.

"Partial payment," Druzeel corrected. Brask frowned but reluctantly nodded in agreement. Graeak had told Druzeel that whenever he hired the Knights he always paid a portion of their fee upfront. Before they began any job, they required coin to buy tools and supplies.

With a reserved sigh, Druzeel reached for his money pouch, a pouch filled with dozens of precious gems, but his hand grasped on empty air.

"What?!" he exclaimed and looked to his belt to see his pouch missing. Fear shot through him. Had it dropped during his trip? Did he forget it in the tower? Or had someone grabbed it from him as he walked through the crowd?

"Something wrong, boy?" Brask said mockingly.

At first, confusion and fear ran through Druzeel. He didn't know how he was going to explain this to Graeak, but when he heard the knowing in Brask's voice, he stood up straight and met his eye.
"Vistalas."

"In the flesh," came a voice right in Druzeel's right ear.

If it were possible for a man to jump out of his skin, Druzeel would have done so right then, and probably gone through the ceiling. Instead, he almost jumped onto the table, and twisted around.

The thief stood right behind him, dressed in dark leather and wearing a long black cloak. Daggers lay strapped to his belt and legs and a shortsword sat on the hip of the short man. He sported a short red goatee, dark blue eyes, and a hooked nose. His red hair was cut close to his scalp and a handful of earrings decorated each ear. A strange tattoo sat on the right side of his face and Druzeel could see another peaking just over the lip of his collar. As he tossed the pouch of gems he had so easily lifted from Druzeel's belt to Brask, he smiled and took a step away from Druzeel.

"Jumpy little thing," he said and sat down in the empty chair next to Jannda. All of his companions, even Dex though his was a little stifled, laughed at the exchange.

"Shocked I say," Brask said through his fits of laughter, "that a thief got by you. Truly I am."

"Any more besides this?" Jannda asked Vistalas as she looked out over the crowd. The sly man just put on a wicked smile.

"Plenty."

Druzeel just stared at Vistalas with anger. He had had the advantage in the conversation and in an instant, the man had taken it away. Now he was back to being the object of ridicule. At least he got to have some enjoyment tonight, but the mockery still stung.

"So what's the next step?" Druzeel asked when Brask tucked the pouch of gems away, obviously satisfied with what he saw.

"The next step is that you run home and let your daddy know we accept," Brask replied with a sneer. "We'll contact him in the morning."

"I don't think you understand," Druzeel said.

"It's you that doesn't understand, kid," Ristil said. "You're part in this is over. You gave us what we needed and now you can go home. Or get a drink and find a wench if you so choose. You've done your job. Now it's our turn."

So, Druzeel thought, many of them are just as rude and hateful as Brask. He made sure to keep a mental note of whom he could speak to during this journey. Unfortunately, the list was extremely short.

"I'm not going anywhere," Druzeel said in the strongest voice he could muster. "I'm going with you, to the tower and wherever else the path may lead, until the thief is brought to justice. Those are the conditions of your employment as set by Graeak."

Everyone stared at him as if he had suddenly grown four heads, though the reason for those looks differed from person to person. Ristil and Thorstar were just shocked to hear him speak in such a voice. Vistalas just laughed and shook his head. Jannda and Dex actually looked impressed, as if they were surprised to see this boy, as Dex had said, speak with such confidence. Brask, however, sat motionless with no expression at all. Everyone eventually turned their heads toward him, expecting a harsh reaction. Instead, they got a look of disgust and disappointment.

"He's gone mad," Brask said, referring to Graeak. "He's finally gone mad."

"But his coin is still every bit as good as it ever was," Vistalas replied, taking a sip of wine.

"True enough," Ristil replied. Thorstar nodded in agreement. Jannda and Dex continued to stare at Brask.

"Well then," the leader of the Knights of the Chipped Blade said. He downed his drink and rose to his feet. "I guess our newest...guest Knight will lead the way."

"What?" Druzeel asked. Now it was Druzeel's turn to look shocked. His voice had almost squeaked but he managed to hold it at bay. "Now?"

"Yes, now," Brask said harshly. "I know why he's sending you with us. Time for his star pupil to get some real experience. Well, if its experience you want, Sesstar, its experience you'll get. Now, lead on. Based on his message, time is of the essence, so get moving."

"But I haven't even told you the details of–"

"Tell us on the way," Dex replied, rising to his feet. The others drained their goblets and got to their feet. They gathered their belongings and started to walk towards the exit, none waiting for Druzeel to keep up.

"Vistalas," Brask said as he walked away. "Settle us with the Lady."

Druzeel was rudely shoved aside as Brask, Ristil, and Thorstar walked by. He stumbled but caught himself before he fell to the floor. Jannda just gave him a wink as she followed the others.

"Come on," Dex said, strapping on his longsword. "Better keep up if you're going to be coming along. I may be able to get them to slow down for you, but not for long."

Druzeel watched the man walk by and felt a little relief for it appeared that he had at least one ally in this adventure, if that's what Dex could be called. It was becoming increasingly clear that he would have to carry his own weight if he wanted the respect of the others, which he intended to do anyway, but he knew everything he did and every word he said would be scrutinized no matter what. He had already written off Brask and Ristil, but he saw a chance of getting the others to accept him. He just had to show them that he had the strength, courage, and wherewithal to be a part of the group.

A hand clasped him on the shoulder. He turned and saw Vistalas, who walked by him with a smile.

"Thanks," he said and strode toward the others.

"Thanks?" Druzeel asked with confusion. "For what?"

Druzeel turned and looked at the table. He saw a handful of gold coins scattered across the surface, left for the Lady. He looked back at Vistalas, who had just disappeared through the crowd. Then he looked back at the table and his eyes widened. Acting quickly, he grabbed the pouch at his waist, his coin pouch, and flipped back the lip. Staring back at him was a few bits of dust. The pouch, which had been full, was now empty.

Druzeel let his arms drop and a deep sigh escaped his lips. This was going to be a long trip.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 5

At this time of night, the streets were clear, so they moved swiftly through the city. There were no bodies to bump into or merchants stopping you along the road, doing their best to convince you to buy their wares. There had been nothing to slow them down. Druzeel kept up with the pace that Brask had set but he traveled at the back of the group. Though the Knights' leader told him to lead the way, he ended up in the back, telling Dex and any of the others who were close enough to hear about what had happened at the tower and what Graeak wanted them to do. He barely got out all the details before they reached the large doors that led into his home.

As the group came to a stop, Druzeel wound his way to the front, to find Brask standing before the doors, hands on his hips. Druzeel came up next to him, stopped, and waited, wondering what the large man was doing.

"Well?" Brask finally said, not bothering to turn his head toward Druzeel.

"I explained to Dex what happened but perhaps you didn't–"

"I heard you," Brask replied curtly, still not looking at him. "We all know why we're here and know our roles. Perhaps you need a reminder why you're here." Druzeel looked at him in confusion. Brask finally turned an angry look his way. "Open the damn doors! Or do you expect us to walk through wood? Not all of us possess your supposed talents."

Druzeel finally realized why Brask had not walked into the tower. Only people that Graeak had given permission could open the doors. Anyone else could pound on them for hours and never gain access. Though Graeak and his band had been hired, Graeak had apparently not granted them access. Perhaps that was another reason he had sent Druzeel. He needed someone he could trust, one of his own students, on this quest.

"Of course," Druzeel finally replied with a forced smile. Even though he had forgotten for a moment, he wanted to let Brask think he was toying with him. The man just turned his irritated eyes back to the doors.

Druzeel walked forward and placed his hand on the crease where the doors met. He recited a few words of magic and the doors slowly opened, revealing the great hallway of Fount of Knowledge.

"Welcome to–"

He was abruptly cut off as Brask bumped into him entering the tower. He caught the doorframe and turned in anger. How much of this do I have to take? he asked himself. Perhaps a few spells of uncontrollable laughter or an arrow of flame up his backside would teach Brask to respect him. As if reading his thoughts, Dex walked over and placed his hand on Druzeel's shoulder.

"He'll calm down," the man said. "Once we go to work, he'll have other things to focus on besides tormenting you."

"Yeah," came Jannda's voice. "Like tormenting us."

"I'm more than just a bag of bones," Druzeel said to Dex, anger on his face as he watched Brask and the others making themselves comfortable on the large couches and seats placed throughout the hall. "My magic can greatly assist us on our quest. I may not be as powerful as Graeak, but I can hold my own."

"I believe it," Dex replied, trying his best to offer a friendly smile, "and when trouble arrives, you'll have the chance to prove it."

"I'm surprised your group does not have a wizard," Druzeel said when the anger fled from his body. He did find it odd that a group like the Knights would not have some type of wizard or priest. Most, if not all of the adventuring parties he had read about or heard of always had some type of magic user in their group. The road was a dangerous place and you had to be prepared for every type of danger.

"Oh," Jannda said, offering him a wink, "we get by." Druzeel looked at her in confusion. She only smiled and joined the rest of her companions.

"She may not appear as strong as the others," Dex said to the bewildered young wizard, "but that halfling provides us with more than enough magic. She is quite an accomplished bard."

"Interesting," Druzeel said. "I've read little about bards but know they can use magic in their music."

"With any luck," Dex said, turning to move further into the hall, "you'll get to hear some." Druzeel smiled, finding himself wanting to hear Jannda's music, but that would have to wait. Now he and the others had more important matters to attend to.

"So where is the almighty Loyalar?" Vistalas asked no one in particular. He leaned back in the plush chair and took a bite out of the apple he had taken from the large basket of fruit that sat on the table in front of him. Druzeel didn't remember that basket being there when he had left for the Lady. It seemed that Graeak knew they would be coming to the tower tonight.

"Shouldn't you be fetching him?" Ristil then asked from the couch, his gaze locking onto Druzeel. "Isn't that what you do? Fetch things?"

Druzeel narrowed his eyes and brought a nasty retort to mind, but before he could speak, there was a loud pop and a puff of smoke appeared near the back of the hall. Thorstar sprang to his feet, sword in hand. The weapon had appeared in his grasp so fast that Druzeel hardly saw him pull it. His reaction was so impressive that Druzeel found a small sliver of doubt slide into his mind. Perhaps I shouldn't be going along.

"My apologies, mighty Thorstar," came a voice from the other side of the smoke. "It was not my intention to startle any of you."

The smoke eventually cleared to show Graeak, dressed in his golden robes and sporting a golden staff, standing before everyone in the hall. His white hair was neatly combed but his eyes showed lack of sleep. As he walked forward to greet his guests, Druzeel noticed he was moving a little slower than normal.

"Why not just use the stairs?" Jannda asked as Thorstar put away his weapon.

"At my age, my dear Jannda," Graeak replied, "it is much easier on my bones to just...appear. And my young apprentice does much more than just fetch things, Master Trueseeker. It is my hope you shall personally see his other qualities on the quest ahead."

Druzeel smiled and felt his chest expand hearing his mentor come to his defense, though he knew it would take more than just Graeak's kind words to earn the respect of this group.

"Speaking of the quest ahead," Brask said, coming to his feet and facing the aged wizard, "shall we get on with why you hired us?"

"Indeed," Graeak replied. "I'm sure by now young Sesstar has filled you in about the uninvited guest we had the other night and the artifacts he has stolen. Simply put, I require your services to find this rogue and bring him back here, along with the goods he wrongly acquired. As always, this quest is of the utmost importance and I would like you to be as discreet as possible."

"So he broke in here?" Vistalas asked when Graeak finished. "A wizard's tower nigh impregnable and warded with spells you personally cast?"

"And left no trail we can follow and no trace of his passing," Graeak added.

"Impressive," Vistalas replied, a smile of envy on his face.

"And you two are the only ones that saw him?" Dex asked, looking from Druzeel to Graeak, who nodded.

"Interesting," came the inquisitive reply from Ristil, the tracker of the group. "Any intrusion, be it magical or otherwise, should leave a trace."

"Unless magic was used," Jannda surmised, "to cover up the trail."

"Magic powerful enough to confuse one of the most powerful wizards in the city," said Dex. "No offense," he added, looking at Graeak.

"None taken," the old wizard replied. "I am usually the first to admit when I cannot figure something out so I must admit that I am baffled as to how the thief accomplished so much, or even got into the tower in the first place. I warn you all that he is powerful, or works for someone that is in good supply of strong magic and even stronger supplies. If I were a bit younger and had the time, I would pursue him myself, but I have passed this task to my very able apprentice, and you. I trust you shall succeed for the Knights of the Chipped Blade have never failed me."

"And we never will," Brask said with a confidence that had even Druzeel looking at him with respect. He did not like the man, but he admired his confidence and pride.

"Excellent," Graeak said. "My tower is yours then."

"Knights," Brask said with sincerity, turning to face his companions. He looked at each of them, who returned the serious look with one of their own. "Find the trail."

His words were like a flame to an oil soaked candlewick. Before he had even finished, the Knights sprang into action, searching through their pouches and packs for tools, examining the walls and floors for cracks, and looking to every shadow or crevice for hidden passageways. Druzeel knew they wouldn't find anything in the hall but he wasn't about to voice his opinion. They were at work and like any working man, he knew not to disturb them. He didn't know how long they would be at it, but based on their scrutiny, it could be quite some time.

Brask and Dex headed for the upper levels after a brief sweep. Vistalas and Jannda walked back outside, wanting to examine the tower itself. Thorstar and Ristil stayed in the hall, doing a more thorough examination. For the most part, Ristil was doing most of the searching. The large warrior just lent his eyes when asked. Druzeel watched them both, but eventually turned to Graeak, who had taken a seat on one of the couches. He sat across from him but stayed silent for a few moments. Only when Ristil and Thorstar disappeared down the stairs, heading for the lower leaves, did he speak.

"Master," he said in almost a whisper. Though the Knights were gone, he still felt like they would hear if he spoke to loudly. "Are you sure these men are the best option for this quest?"

"You do not trust them?" Graeak asked, looking at his apprentice with intrigue.

During his life in the tower, from the earliest days, Graeak had always encouraged his students to ask questions, to seek out answers even if the answers they sought were undesirable or unattainable. Seeking knowledge, no matter the outcome, made for a better wizard. The look he was giving Druzeel now told the young wizard that he approved of his inquisition, even if the answer he provided was not one Druzeel would like. He wanted his apprentice to know why he chose these men. It seemed only right for Druzeel would be traveling with them, possibly for a long time. If he trusted Graeak's judgment of them, regardless of his feelings for Brask, then he could trust them.

"It is not a matter of trust," Druzeel replied. "With the exception of Dex and maybe Jannda, I can't see them as reliable. Brask has no morals, no ethics. He seems to care only for the coin filling his pockets. What is to stop him from taking more coin from someone else? What happens if the thief, if they catch him, offers him a better deal?"

Graeak could not help but smile for Druzeel had come to the same logical conclusion that he himself had come to many years ago, when he had first hired Brask and his crew. The man seemed immoral, ruthless, and reckless, but Graeak had quickly found out that regardless of his faults, Brask was a man of his word and he had learned to trust him long ago. Now he just had to convince his apprentice.

"I understand your concerns," Graeak said, "but think of this: would the Knights be as renowned as they are if they turned on their employer for the chance of more coin? Would their deeds, however malicious or lewd, be as well known or often spoken of if they betrayed those they had sworn an oath to? Who would hire them knowing they could turn on them in an instant?"

Druzeel leaned back and thought on his mentor's words. He could see his point but he had a hard time believing that they could indeed trust Brask with such a delicate task.

"I know the way you feel about him," Graeak said, speaking before Druzeel could continue to voice his concerns, "but know that Brask and his men–all of his companions–have my trust, completely. He may be a bully and often times lean away from purity, but he has honor when it comes to his men and his reputation. He will keep his word to me, regardless of the wealth, fame, or fortune someone else may offer. And he will complete the task I set for him, no matter the time required or the obstacles set in his path."

"And the others?" Druzeel asked, still wondering if the Knights were the best choice. He honestly had no qualms with Dex or Jannda. They seemed a little more accepting of him, but the others, especially Ristil, he had an odd feeling about.

"As the saying goes, as goes the leader, so does his men. They are loyal to Brask and will follow his lead, to death if need be."

That last comment slowly washed away any doubts Druzeel had about the Knights. If Graeak trusted them with this task, then he could as well. But he still did not like Brask, or Ristil, and knew that before this adventure was over, if either of them kept berating and disrespecting him, they would come to blows. He really didn't want that, but he would only take so much.

"Patience," Graeak said as if hearing his thoughts. "Show them what I have taught you. Mystify them with your magic and use your spells wisely and they will come to see you as one of them. Remember, respect is not given freely. It must be earned."

"And if it cannot?" Druzeel asked, concern written across his face. He truly believed that it might be impossible to gain anything but hate from Brask.

"When you fight with him," Graeak said, trying to comfort his student, "when you are blasting foes that seek both your blood and basking in the glory that only victory can bring, you will gain their respect."

"And are there going to be many battles on this trip?' Druzeel asked with a smile on his face, though he felt a little nervous as well. Graeak smiled back and shook his head.

"One never knows what fate will bring."

"And if I should need your guidance?"

In response, Graeak snapped his fingers and a golden ring appeared in the air in front of Druzeel. It was a simple golden band, set with a sapphire. Druzeel caught it as it slowly drifted toward his hand.

"I had a feeling you would ask, so I prepared this ring. Just slip it onto your finger and turn it three times and I shall appear within."

Druzeel looked at the ring in wonder. He could have cast a spell to speak with his mentor, but the ring made the task that much easier. The fact that Graeak had prepared it for him made him love his teacher even more. It showed him that Graeak would always be with him, in one way or the other.

"Thank you," Druzeel said.

"Though its power is everlasting, use it sparingly. I want you to use this," he said, pointing at Druzeel's head, "when confronting a problem. Trust in yourself for you have the knowledge and talent necessary to combat any situation even though at times it may not feel like it. Though it would be nice, you cannot rely on me forever."

"I know," Druzeel said, tucking the ring away. "And I hope to never need this. It is just good to know that it is there."

"Peace of mind is an often overlooked benefit," Graeak said. He watched Druzeel take a deep breath and saw the weariness in his body. Neither one of them had had much sleep in the last few days. A few hours of rest would do both of them good.

"Now go and rest your mind," he said, slowly rising to his feet. "It may be some time before the Knights find what they are looking for. When they do, the real quest will begin."

* * * * *

"Something's not right," Ristil said for perhaps the sixth time in two hours. Thorstar only nodded, continuing to move boxes out of the way. He neither saw nor felt anything out of the ordinary, but over the years, he had learned to trust in his half-elf companion's instincts. So he moved obstacles out of his friend's way in the hopes of finding whatever it was they were looking for.

They had been combing over the lower levels of The Fount for almost two hours, searching for signs of the thief's passage. So far, they had found nothing, but as soon as Ristil had come to the lowest level, four floors underground, he felt a faint aura in the air, a wrongness that many would think just came from being under tons of rock and earth. Since the others had not yet come to find him, he knew that they were having just as much luck as he was, so he continued to search, feeling that he had finally found something worthwhile.

Most of their time had been wasted moving cases of food, boxes of clothing, and chests of supplies so they could search the walls and floors. The rest was examining every loose stone, every inch of mortar, trying to find the way the thief got in. Ristil's original feeling, heightened by the odd sensation in air when he had entered the basement, was that the thief had come up from below. Ristil didn't think the man could have gotten in any other way for the tower was well warded, inside and out, by a powerful wizard. The problem with those wards though, with many wards he and Vistalas had gotten past, was that there was always some place, some tiny section that was always overlooked.

"I know you're here," Ristil said, getting on his hands and knees, peering intently at the floor.

He rubbed his hands over the rough surface, feeling for any imperfection, anything that did not belong. In some instances, he closed his eyes, letting his skin completely take over, hoping to find the trail. Thorstar continued to move boxes out of his way, watching intently. The quiet man had neither the skill nor aptitude with finding secrets. Elves were particularly good at find things that people did not want found and even though he was only half elf, Ristil shared that quality. Thorstar had gone along for one purpose: as muscle. But he didn't mind. Everyone in the group had their role, and played it well.

After ten minutes searching the far corner of the room, Ristil was about to give up and go to the upper levels with the others, but just before he stopped, his hand brushed over something jagged.

It was the tiniest of imperfections. Most people would have thought it a loose rock or sliver of wood and ignored it, but to someone like Ristil, it was a shining beacon.

He leaned close and saw a small patch of mortar, no larger than the tip of his finger, sticking up from the ground. It could have been there for years, curled up from moisture or a dropped box, but Ristil wasn't taking any chances. He took out his dagger and cut around the large stone. The bounding was hard, but not as hard as it should be. It felt like this was recently replaced.

When he carved a good-sized groove from the floor, he flipped his dagger around so the hilt was facing the floor. He inhaled deeply then slammed the pommel into the stone. The stone sunk into the floor. Ristil growled and hit it again, thinking perhaps he had been mistaken. After three more hits, the stone fell away.

"Gotcha!" Ristil said with relief, looking into the gap. Thorstar walked over to see what had so excited his fellow Knight.

Before them was a hole, leading down into the darkness. Though Ristil had only removed one stone, the others around it looked to cover up a larger opening. Ristil peered closer and saw some type of net pushed up against the backside of the stones.

"Clever," Ristil said, realizing that the net was meant to brace the floor and make it stable. It appeared the thief had come through, set up the net, replaced the stone on top, and resealed it with mortar. A heavy person could jump on this and never feel a difference. It really was ingenious, and not a single speck of magic had been used. That helped to explain why Graeak had not sensed anything.

"Tie off a rope," Ristil said to Thorstar. The big man took a length of rope from his pack and went to tie it off while Ristil widened the hole. Now that one stone was gone, the rest were easily removed. In mere moments, a rope was hanging down into the darkness.

Ristil went down first, slowly, using his elven heritage to see into the darkness. Though not as good as his full elf cousins, he could still see a good ways without a torch. Luckily, he didn't have far to go. After about twenty feet, he hit bottom, which was covered in a layer of water. As Thorstar descended, he lit a torch to get a better view of the area. His night vision was good, but nothing beat a simple flame.

His was standing in a small chamber with a low ceiling and close walls. There was hardly three feet of room on either side of him. A small stream of filthy water flowed between his feet and the smell of mold and mildew filled his nostrils. The stone walls were covered with algae and other forms of growth.

At first, Ristil did not see how the thief could have come to be in this small space. The water flowing below him entered and exited through a tiny crack in the walls around him, but then he stepped to his right and brought the torch up before him. In the wall was a tunnel, about four feet in diameter, leading away from the chamber and into the darkness. As far as he could see, the tunnel was at last five feet thick. The torch light and his enhanced vision picked up nothing but darkness after that.

"How did you find this?" he said, referring to the thief. The walls around him looked old, perhaps a few hundred years and did not appear to be part of the current system of tunnels and sewers that ran underneath Atlurul. Either the thief had extensive knowledge, or someone had helped him.

"Wait here," Ristil said to Thorstar, who stood right where he landed. His bulk was barely containable in the small space and he fidgeted with discomfort. Ristil knew his large companion did not like enclosed spaces so he moved quickly yet with caution.

Ristil climbed into the tunnel and slowly examined the walls as he shimmed forward. It appeared that the old stone had been craved away by a combination of magic and good old-fashioned hard work, and it was done recently, which meant the thief had made this hole. As he scooted forward, he saw brackets and braces set against the stone, helping to secure it place. The devices were more commonly associated with a stonemason than a thief, which helped to further Ristil's thinking that the slippery man had assistance. Ristil continued forward, intent to find the end of the tunnel.

As he moved along the floor of the tight space, he felt his elbow hit something. He looked down and saw some kind of device appear and suddenly felt a surge of magic all around him.

"Stupid!" he cursed, realizing that he had just set off some kind of trap. He had just a few seconds to realize that whatever the thing was it had been invisible and he had moved right by it. Should have known better, he told himself. Of course the trail would be trapped. Any novice thief would have done the same, and the man they were tracking was no novice.

The braces all around him suddenly cracked and crumbled away, leaving nothing to keep the tunnel from caving in. The walls started to rumbled and chunks of stone started to fall on top of him.

"Hells!" he spat and tried to crawl back the way he had come, but his clothing snagged on something sharp near his waist, something he swore had not been there before. He was caught and he knew it. Fortunately, he only had a few seconds more to be upset.

Something strong suddenly clamped down on his ankles and he was yanked back. Whatever had pinned him down tore away and as the ceiling fell around him, he crashed to the floor of the tunnel, falling roughly into the small stream of water. A loud crash filled the air, as did dust and bits of rock. When the noise and debris finally cleared, the tunnel was gone, replaced by a wall of crumbled rock and stone. Ristil looked up from the floor, into the stoic face of Thorstar, who had pulled him to safety.

"Thanks," he said while rising to his feet. "Couldn't have thrown me to my feet, eh?" His clothes were wet and now smelled of dirty water. Thorstar just shrugged his shoulders.

"Come on," Ristil then said while gripping the rope. "We need to tell the others."

* * * * *

When Graeak came to get Druzeel later that night, just a few hours until morning, he found his young apprentice already awake. Though both of them needed a good rest, it seemed that the events of the past days were still rolling around in their heads, preventing sleep from claiming them. Worry, excitement, and agitation rolled around in their minds and it appeared that it would be some time before any of those feelings went away. It also seemed that the hundreds of questions that kept popping up would also be unanswered for days to come. Thankfully, one question, the reason Graeak was now retrieving Druzeel from his room, was about to be answered.

The two walked into the large library that took up the third level. Brask and the others were there, waiting for the duo to arrive. It was immediately clear on Brask's face that he was irritated with something. Probably angry that Graeak brought me, Druzeel thought to himself. Whatever the reason, Druzeel ignored the man's sneer and followed Graeak to one of the large couches in the center of the room.

"You have found the trail?" Graeak asked, looking to Brask. The band's leader had only told Graeak that he had news, but he had yet to reveal what they had found during their examination of the tower.

"Not exactly," Ristil said, drawing their attention. "But we have found out how the thief gained access."

For the next few moments, Ristil explained how he had found the opening, the tools the thief used to hide his tracks, and the trap that had almost buried him. He still had no evidence on how the thief managed to erase his passage from magic, but everyone in the room knew of simple spells that could wipe away all traces of someone's presence.

"The mere fact that he left a trap," Vistalas said, being the most familiar with thieves and their ways, "says that he expected his secret passage to be found out. It was a message, a warning, to all that may think about following."

"But follow we will," Brask said.

"Interesting," Graeak said. "I thought I warded the basements. Evidently, not enough. Who would have thought someone would burrow through over fifty feet of rock and stone to get into my home? Or would have the time and tools necessary? I caution all of you that this man is not to be taken lightly. If he had that much patience and time, he will be dangerous when confronted."

"We take nothing lightly," Jannda replied with a serious tone.

"And we will confront him," Dex said.

"But how do we find the trail?" Druzeel asked, unfamiliar with the Knights' methods. If the trail was buried, how could they hope to find the thief? He noticed an angry look appear on Brask's face when he used the word we.

"The thief's trail may have gone cold," Dex said, "but as Ristil said, the tools he used are most commonly used by stonemasons."

"And thieves don't usually carry contraptions like that around," Vistalas added. "Too bulky and familiar. No, the man had help, someone with knowledge of the tunnels under Atlurul, the tools needed to carve out the tunnel, and the braces to rebuild the hole in the floor. I know of a few masons with a few demons under their beds and I think we can find exactly who the collaborator is."

"So it seems you have a new task," Graeak said. Brask nodded.

"Vistalas," he said, "make some inquires with our contacts and find out who may be the most viable accomplice. Ristil, Thorstar: go with him. Some of them may need some persuasion. Dex, Jannda, and I will prepare our things. As soon as we find out where the thief is going, we set out."

"Can I do anything to help?" Druzeel asked, not wanting to be left out. He may be despised by some of the Knights, but he wanted to let them know that he was ready.

Brask opened his mouth, most likely to say something wicked, but he shut it as his eyes settled on Graeak. Dex also shot him a look that told him to calm himself and accept the help that was being given. The big man just took a deep breath, probably to control his anger.

"Prepare your things," he finally said through clenched teeth. "Meet Dex at the Lady in..." He looked to Vistalas.

"Two hours," the thief finished. "That is all the time I will need."

"Good," Brask responded. "Get going."

"One moment," Graeak said, rising to his feet. "Before leaving, may I have a word with you, Brask? In private?"

Brask nodded and followed Graeak away from the group, into a quiet corner of the room. Druzeel watched them go and wondered what his mentor could be saying to the man. The others seemed not to care. They just started talking to one another about items they needed, methods they would use, and where they might have to go. It seems they knew to mind their own business. Druzeel didn't hear many of their words for he was focused only on his mentor and the leader of the Knights.

What was so important that only Brask could hear? Wasn't he supposed to be leading this quest? He knew that wouldn't be likely, but why was Graeak hiding something from him? Calm yourself, he said into his mind. He has his reasons and perhaps the conversation is about their payment. That would be a private matter between the two.

"So, Druzeel," came a voice from behind him. He turned to see Dex standing before him. "Are you ready for this?"

"I think so," he said, his thoughts turning away from Graeak and Brask and back to the journey he would soon be taking. He knew it may take him away from the tower, away from Atlurul in fact, and thought he had prepared himself enough. A part of him was looking forward to the trip but another part was concerned on where he could be going and what he could be facing. The ring Graeak had given him helped him get over his worries, but he still felt a small amount of uncertainty.

"Better be sure," Dex said lightheartedly. "Do not second guess yourself. If you want to be a part of the Chipped Blade, you need to have confidence."

"Yes," Druzeel said more forcefully. "I'm ready."

"Good," Dex replied with a smile and clapped him on the shoulder. "Keep that confidence, fight with your heart and you'll eventually win over Brask." Druzeel doubted his words but kept an open mind. If he kept to his lessons and performed as Graeak had taught him, he would be just fine.

"So how long have–" Druzeel began to ask but stood as he sensed someone standing behind him. He turned to see Brask towering over him.

"Knights," he said, looking past Druzeel. "You know your duties."

Dex and the others nodded at their leader and started gathering their belongings. In a few seconds, they were heading for the stairs. Dex offered Druzeel a friendly nod and disappeared down the stairs. Brask watched them go then turned his gaze, a very unfriendly gaze, on Druzeel.

"Two hours," he said. "The Lady. You're one second late, you are left behind. Understand?"

Druzeel only nodded. Then he jumped to the side to avoid being trampled as Brask strode past. He watched the man follow the others then turned around and looked to Graeak, who was walking over to him.

"Prepare yourself," his mentor said and placed a delicate hand on his shoulder. "Remember your training, have confidence in yourself, and follow your heart. You do those things and you'll do fine and they will accept you."

With that, Graeak turned and made for the stairs. Druzeel watched him go. He turned his eyes to where the Knights of the Chipped Blade had gone and took a deep breath. He fully intended to do everything his mentor had just said. He just hoped it would be enough.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 6

An hour and a half after the meeting at Graeak's tower, Druzeel stood outside the Crying Lady. He had his traveling gear, his dark blue robes, a handful of daggers–each bearing an F in the pommel, standing for The Fount–and a silver staff that Graeak had given him long ago. With but a thought, he could call forth a trio of energy balls to send at his enemies. As long as he kept the staff charged with magic, he could continue to send the energy at his opponents without pause. It was not the most powerful staff he could have taken on his journey but it was one that he made a conscience decision to bring. He needed to show the others that he could be useful without the need for magical artifacts. His personal skills, not some magical trinket, are what he wanted to show them.

He made sure to get to the Lady long before Dex, just in case the man showed up early. Though he disliked taking orders from Brask, he needed to show them that he could do as instructed and be a cooperative member of the group. Being able to take instruction would show that he wanted to get along, that he wanted to be looked at as one of them. It would be hard, he knew, but it was something he had to do. This journey would not just be about experiencing what the outside world had to offer. It would also serve to develop his social skills and, concerning Brask, teach him patience and tolerance. He knew they would ridicule him and berate him, make fun of his youth and inexperience, but he would take what they gave him to show that he could take it, to show that he was a man and not some fragile school boy. He would use what they sent at him to harden his nerves, build up his tolerance, and make him a better person.

As time flowed by, as it got closer to the two-hour mark, Druzeel started to feel worried. Had Brask played yet another cruel prank on him? Was this another jab at the young wizard and a way to ditch him? Would they really leave and set off without him? The last few minutes seemed like hours, but true to his word, at exactly two hours since the meeting, Dex appeared down the street, walking towards him.

"Been here long?" he asked when he reached Druzeel.

"A few minutes," Druzeel replied without care. He didn't want Dex to see his apprehension. He did not want to show any weakness at all, even to the one person he saw as an ally in the group.

"Good. Come on. Vistalas found our accomplice."

"So soon?" Druzeel asked, astonished. He could not believe that the Knights had done in a few hours what the Lances could not do in a day.

"We are good at what we do," Dex replied with a sly smile.

The two walked north, heading toward the outskirts of the city. It was still early in Atlurul but the city was already showing signs of life. Merchants were opening their doors, tavern owners were polishing their goblets, and other citizens were going about their daily business. In just a few hours more, the streets would be abuzz with activity. Groups of Lances walked the streets, eyes open for mischief, but they were mostly relaxed, waiting for the crowds to thicken. Only then would the thieves attempt their trade. It was far easier to pick pockets in a crowd than an empty road.

Druzeel looked to the horizon and saw Solaris slowly making his way skyward. He bit back a yawn, just now realizing how tired he was. In two days, he didn't think he had more than four hours of sleep.

"Tired?" Dex asked, looking back at him.

"Not at all," Druzeel lied. No weakness, he told himself.

To his surprise, Dex stopped suddenly. Druzeel was so out of it that he almost walked right into him.

"You will get further with all of us if you tell the truth," he said in an honest tone. He wasn't lecturing Druzeel, just offering the truth. "One thing we all respect, from anyone, is honesty. If you're tired, say yes when asked. If sick, let us know. If wounded, don't keep it to yourself. Keeping secrets, however small, is dangerous and can mean the difference between life and death."

"Sorry," Druzeel said. "I just don't want you to think I'm weak. I want you, all of you, to know I can hold my own."

"None of us think you're weak," Dex said. "Even though he'll never admit it, Brask doesn't even think you are weak." That comment brought a surprised look from Druzeel. "If you were weak or couldn't hold your own, Graeak would have turned you away a long time ago. The fact that you are his apprentice, his star pupil so it seems, says more than you know."

Druzeel lowered his head, feeling shame creep into his body. He should have had more confidence in himself. He should trust that people would see his potential, even if he had a hard time seeing it himself. Dex seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

"Be more confident in yourself," he said. "Be truthful to us and you will be accepted. Trust me."

"I will," Druzeel said, Dex's words lifting his spirits. "And I am tired."

"I know it," Dex replied with a smile, walking once more. "You'd be a fool not to be. You've had quite the week."

The two walked in silence for a few more moments. After Druzeel had dismissed his shame and guilt, he asked Dex about who or what Vistalas had found.

"His name is Gret," Dex explained, "and he is a map collector. To no one's surprise, Vistalas also discovered that he is a former stonemason. Still creates statues, in fact, and sells them to other merchants. His descendants, dating back a few centuries, were masons as well and had actually worked on the building of the city, and its roads. Masons of the past were notorious for keeping detailed maps of every street, building, and tunnel, specifically the sewer systems. Keeping records was the only way new stonemasons did not accidentally destroy the old systems or open up a sinkhole."

"And you think he had a map of the area underneath The Fount?"

"Yes," Dex replied. "If his descendants were as meticulous as we think, he would have maps dating back to when that tunnel was built. Now we have to find out if he truly was the man that assisted the thief in breaking into the tower."

"And if he was," Druzeel said, "why he would do such a thing?" Dex turned around to look at him, almost coming to a stop again, but not quite.

"The whys do not matter."

"They always matter," Druzeel responded without thought. Graeak had always taught him to question things, to find out why they happened. It was an important part of being a wizard. If you did not understand why magic worked, why you were able to capture it and shape it to your will, you could not understand magic at all. He could not understand why Dex would not think the reasons behind Gret's heinous act, if it were out of malice, would be important.

Dex came to a stop one more. "We are not being paid to find out why," he said, drawing a surprised look from Druzeel, but he continued before the young wizard could argue. "Our job is to find the thief and return him and your mentor's belongings. That is all. That is what Graeak has hired us to do. If he wanted to know why, he would have told us to investigate further, but he did not. He said this quest is urgent and the thief is the target. Nothing else matters. Find and return. That is our mission."

Druzeel stared at Dex for many moments. Would Graeak truly not care about the motives of any of the thief's accomplices? Did he even care about why the thief did what he did? Perhaps he would inquire later. Maybe he just wanted to get the items the man had stolen from the tower back. Perhaps he wanted justice first, justice for Vallia. Whatever his mentor's reasons, he could not believe he did not care about the motives of the assassin and any of his associates.

"Find and return," Druzeel said with an agreeable voice. He still refused to believe his mentor would not want to know the reasons for what happen at the tower, but he was not going to argue. He would go along with Dex and the others, for now.

They continued along the road in silence for another few minutes, passing an ever-growing crowd. Druzeel kept quiet, still trying to fathom why Graeak would not want to know everything from the thief and any of his conspirators. Dex also remained silent, content to leave his young companion to his thoughts. Those thoughts didn't last long. They reached their destination a few minutes later.

They stood on a narrow street with hardly a soul in sight. Small buildings lined each side and many of them appeared in various states of disrepair. Druzeel looked around, not even realizing that they had traveled into a shadier part of the city. There was hardly a place in Atlurul that he did not feel safe, but in every city, there were areas that one tried to avoid. Where he stood now was not bad, but it was a place he usually wouldn't have traveled. What was a former mason and map collector doing in this part of the city anyway? Had he fallen on bad luck? Perhaps this was the only place he could afford to live.

Brask and the others stood before him, across from a small wooden building with a crooked roof, a smoking chimney, and windows blocked by thick wooden boards. As he approached, Brask took on an unsatisfied look.

"Surprised you showed," he said as Druzeel came to a stop before him.

"Surprised or disappointed?" Druzeel asked with irritation.

"What do you think?" Ristil asked as if Druzeel should know the answer. Druzeel just ignored him and turned toward the building. Take initiative, he told himself.

"The thief's accomplice is in there?" he asked.

"Yup," Jannda replied before either Brask or Ristil could respond to Druzeel with some snide remark. Though she didn't mind the entertainment, all acts eventually became boring. "And has only just risen, so he should be nice a tired when we question him."

"Let's go," Brask said, and started toward the door. Before he had taken three steps, Druzeel walked in front of him.

"May I try first?"

"What?" Brask said, almost running him over, but he stopped at Druzeel's question, an amazed look on his face.

"I want to talk to him first," Druzeel said. "After all, it was my home he broke into and I was the one who actually confronted the assassin." Besides actually wanting to question the man, Druzeel thought he could get some more information from the man, information the others would not care about.

"You're just as crazy as your teacher," Ristil said.

"I say let him," Jannda said with a smirk, amused at Druzeel's courage. Or was it stupidity? "Only way he'll learn."

Brask looked at Jannda with an irritated expression. Then he turned to Dex, who wore a smile, but nodded in agreement with their halfling companion. Brask didn't think Druzeel had a chance and there was danger of him scaring off the mason with stupid questions, but if he failed, it would be a good way to put the annoying young wizard in his rightful place.

"You really think you got the stones for this?" Brask asked, turning to Druzeel.

"Yes," he replied without question.

"Be my guest," Brask eventually responded with an amused smile. Druzeel's face lit up, but the smile was wiped away when Brask told Vistalas to go with him. "I'll give you a chance, but no way are you doing this without supervision."

That last comment sent a surge of irritation through Druzeel. He wasn't some child! But he let it go. He had his chance and he was not going to waste it, so he turned and walked toward the mason's shop. When Vistalas did not move, he stopped.

"Are you coming?"

"Shortly," the thief replied. "And when I do come in, don't talk to me" Druzeel looked at him in confusion, but turned away without a word and walked to the door.

The building was small but looked to have two levels, the second level being much smaller. The way Jannda spoke suggested that this was both a shop and the man's home. Druzeel knew of many merchants that made the building they owned both their place of business and their living quarters. It allowed them to save coin and made for a more homely environment. If this was Gret's home, he didn't announce it to those outside. The sign above the door said Stones and Shapes and he caught the scent of...clay? Fire? Perhaps he worked with more than just stone. Whatever the smell was, Druzeel opened the door and walked in, wondering what he would find.

The inside looked like any normal shop, with shelving, display cases, and dozens of small tables set randomly around the room. For this business, those level surfaces were filled with stone figurines, hardened clay statues, and other works of art carved from various substances that Druzeel did not recognize, though they all appeared to be some type of rock. Many of them were quite elaborate and took someone with great skill to craft. Others were fairly simple, but still took some amount of skill to create.

"May I help you?"

The voice came from the back of the small building, were a small, older man stood behind a long wooden counter. He looked to be in his fifties, with short graying hair, a pointed nose, and thin spectacles. Druzeel walked toward him, meeting his kind blue eyes.

"Greetings," he said as he reached the counter. The man was setting down a small, unfinished statue of a dragon, complete with fanned out wings and a long, horn encrusted tail. The head and body was not yet finished but Druzeel could see them taking form. Various tools sat along the counter yet its surface was clean. It appeared the man did most of his work on that very counter, but had not yet started his work for the day. Jannda was correct in assuming he had just awakened. Druzeel could still see the sleep in his eyes. He also noticed that the man's muscles were tone and his shoulders carried strength, though a bit diminished by his age. One would have to be strong to work with stone, the young wizard surmised.

"A little early for shopping," the man said in a calm voice, positioning the statue to where the head was in front of him.

"My apologies," Druzeel said. "Shall I come back later?" he asked, trying to be polite yet having no intention of leaving. He wanted the man calm and relaxed and he had learned being nice is the best way to accomplish that goal.

"No, no," the man replied. "It's fine. What can I–"

The door to the shop opened and a man wearing a thick gray cloak slowly walked in. He was hunched over, wearing a hood so his face was barely discernible. Druzeel looked a little more closely and thought he recognized the face beneath.

"Vis–"

His words caught in his throat as Vistalas met his eyes with a sharp glare, one that promised something unpleasant if he did not turn away immediately. Druzeel, swallowing the lump in his throat, averted his eyes and turned back to the owner of the shop.

"Be right with you," the man said, showing Druzeel that he had not heard his slip. "It seems that everyone is rising early these days," he said, looking over the dragon. "Now, what can I help you with?'

It took Druzeel a moment to realize he was talking to him. When he did, he quickly brought his questions to mind.

"I see that you have many exquisite works of art," Druzeel commented, wanting the man at ease before diving deeper. "I say that if I was a collector I would want many of these in my collection, but unfortunately, works of rock and stone are not the reason I have come here today."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Gret said, looking at Druzeel and bit more closely than before. "That is all I have to offer to the good people of Atlurul. If you are not here for stone then I don't think I can help you."

"Perhaps you can," Druzeel replied happily. "You see, I'm looking for a map and a good friend of mine has told me that you were the one to speak with."

"I deal in stone," Gret replied, turning back to his statue, trying his best to avoid Druzeel's eyes. "I don't deal in maps. I know of many map makers in the city that you can visit if you require a recommendation, but I'm sorry to say your friend was mistaken."

"Are you sure?" Druzeel asked, pushing the issue.

"Quite," Gret replied, perhaps a bit too firmly, though Druzeel seemed to have missed it. "I work with stone, not quill and ink. Don't have the patience for drawing maps."

"I guess Graeak was wrong."

"Graeak?" Gret asked. "Graeak Loyalar?" he said with an unsteady voice, but again, Druzeel seemed to miss it. "You're saying that your friend is one of the most powerful wizards in Atlurul?"

"Not just my friend," Druzeel replied, "but my teacher and mentor. He is looking for a map of the area around his tower. He wants to expand and the only way he can do it is down, but he wants to make sure he doesn't run into any of the old tunnels systems that may be beneath The Fount. He said you would have maps, many you may have inherited by your ancestors, which would show what lay underneath his home."

"Well, I'm sorry," Gret said with a quick voice, not a second after Druzeel had finished talking. "I know Graeak is wise and powerful, but on this matter, he is mistaken. Some of my ancestors were stonemasons, like me, not map collectors or cartographers. I don't have what your teacher is looking for."

"You must," Druzeel said, finding himself becoming angry. Surely, Vistalas had not been mistaken. Could this be another cruel joke that he and his leader were playing? Could they have purposely set him up for failure? Brask seemed intent on going to question Gret before he had suggested that he go. Could Brask have known I would step forward? Druzeel asked himself. Perhaps Vistalas's information had been wrong. That had to be it. The information was flawed.

"Look," Gret said in anger, his knuckles almost going white as he picked up some type of knife tool and pointed it in Druzeel's direction, "I don't deal in maps and don't appreciate you insinuating that I am a liar."

"I didn't mean to–" Druzeel began but Gret cut him off.

"If you don't intend to buy anything or speak with me about stone then I suggest you leave. As you can see, I have work to do and other customers to deal with."

Druzeel backed away, both angry at himself for calling the man a liar and angry at Brask for making a fool of him yet again. He turned and practically stomped out of the shop. He shot Vistalas an angry glare but the thief just ignored him. He was too busy pretending to be interested in a small statue of a unicorn. When he came outside, he found Brask and the others, save for Ristil, who was nowhere in sight, waiting for him.

"That was fast," Brask said with amusement in his voice. "You have all the details?" he said sarcastically. The berating continued. "You know everything about the thief, his plans, and the stonemason's motives? You have all the answers, right? I can see by the look on your face you were as successful as we all knew you would be."

"Brask," Dex said. "Give him a break."

"I did," the big man said in irritation. "And it appeared he blew it, like even you knew he would."

"You're information was wrong," Druzeel finally said, finding the courage to speak and confront Brask. "Gret doesn't collect maps. He knows nothing of the thief or what happened at the tower. He's just a mason, trying to make a living selling statues."

"Is that so?" Brask asked, his words dripping disbelief. "We'll see."

A few moments later, Vistalas came walking out of the shop, still in the gray cloak and hunched over. In his hand was the small unicorn statue, but as soon as he was clear of the building, he stood up straight and tossed the figurine into the gutter.

"Our young wizard here seems to think Gret is innocent," Brask said to Vistalas as he came over.

"That's because he's an idiot," the thief responded without pause. "The man knew exactly what he was talking about. He knows about the tower."

"But he said–" Druzeel began, but once again he was interrupted.

"Shut it!" Brask said loudly and turned angry eyes to Druzeel. "Because of your foolishness, the man now knows other people have found out what he did. Right know he is probably packing as fast as he can to leave the city before others come looking for him. Know your damn place and let us do your job, or by the gods I'll throw you all the way back to your precious tower, Graeak's word be damned."

"Easy Brask," Dex said. "He doesn't have the same skills as Vistalas to deceive deception."

"And now he knows to shut his mouth and do as he's told," the leader of the band said forcefully. "Now he'll stay out of the way and leave this to those who actually have the talents to get things done!"

Druzeel looked away in anger and felt hatred creep into his body. At that moment, standing in front of Brask, being yelled at in front of the others, he wanted to send a fireball straight down Brask's throat. Gods, he did not think it was possible, but that man was worse than his brother. Browen's punishments were always physical in nature. Those wounds healed quickly, but Brask was all about emotional torment. That type of harm could take years to repair.

"So what now?" Druzeel asked, his voice almost a whisper. He managed to quell his anger by focusing on finding the thief. That was more important than seething from a verbal bashing. If Gret was lying, shouldn't they be running to stop him from escaping?

"Now," Brask said harshly, "you be silent, watch, and learn."

Brask walked toward the shop, the others following close behind. Druzeel almost leapt to keep up but was soon moving right beside Dex, who tried his best to offer a reassuring smile. Druzeel nodded back though it was only with half his heart. Dex may have tried to stand up for him, but his words, his description of Druzeel's lack of skill, told Druzeel that the man still had less respect for him than Druzeel had originally thought.

Brask threw the door open, almost tearing it from the hinges. He strode through the small building and in seconds was standing before the counter. Druzeel came in and moved to the side to get a better view. To his astonishment, there stood the old man, fear clearly displayed across his face, with Ristil standing right behind him.

"Caught him trying to run out the back," Ristil said, shooting Druzeel a mocking look. "Was in something of a rush."

Druzeel expected Brask to say something, but he remained silent and just stared the man down. Finally, after tense moments, letting Gret sweat under his piercing gaze, he leaned forward, coming within an inch of the man's nose. Gret seemed to shrink. He took a step back but bumped into Ristil.

"You know why we are here," the large man said slowly and with the promise of future harm in his voice. "I'll only ask once. Where is the thief?"

Gret was visibly shaking, almost on the verge of tears. Druzeel would not be surprised if the man had wet himself. It was perfectly clear that he knew about the thief and what happened at the tower. Still, he remained silent. His mouth was clamped so tight that dozens of lines appeared around his lips.

"Thorstar," Brask said without turning around. Druzeel seemed confused, but slowly turned to look at the large man who was strangely standing away from the group, in the center of the room. He just stood as still as a statue.

Suddenly, the giant sword he kept on his back was in his hands, smashing through the dozens of sculptures and figurines all around him as he turned in a single, vicious circle. The blade even cut through the display cases and shelving as if they were hollow logs. Thorstar's reach, as well as his sword's, was so long that the tip of the blade even sliced through the walls around him. If any of the party has been just inches closer, that sword would have sliced through them as well.

The clay burst into powder, the glass into millions of shards, and the wood into tiny splinters. Gret let out a shout of anguish but remained still as all his hard work, every single piece, crashed to the floor. It had taken him years to create those marvelous pieces of art and in mere seconds, Thorstar had destroyed it all.

"This is not right!" Druzeel blurted out as the last piece of shattered clay hit the floor. He really hadn't thought about the words as he said them. They just came out. Gret may be guilty of working with the thief, but destroying the man's livelihood, years of hard work and sacrifice, was wrong. It was not their place to judge the man's guilt or innocence. That was the job of the magistrate, but they could gather information. They could also take his confession and have him arrested, but what Brask was doing almost amounted to torture.

Cold, hard eyes slowly turned and met Druzeel. Druzeel met Brask's frightful gaze and tried to look defiant but quickly looked away, unable to hold the stare.

"Be silent!" Vistalas growled through clenched teeth.

"My statues!" Gret finally cried, almost bursting into tears. Brask turned back to him.

"They are replaceable," he said angrily, much of his anger coming from Druzeel's outburst and not the little man's refusal to answer. "But your hands are another matter." The man looked confused, but only for a moment. His perplexed look soon turned to terror as Ristil grabbed his right wrist and forced his hand flat on the counter.

"No," Druzeel whispered and took a step to intervene. He could not let this happen. If he sat by and did nothing, he was no better than Brask, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder, holding him in place. He turned, expecting to see Vistalas or Thorstar, but to his surprise, it was Dex holding him back.

"Do not," he said forcefully.

"How can you let–" he began, astonished that someone like Dex would let this happen, but his words cut off as Gret began to speak.

"I swear," the shivering man said, "I don't–"

His words turned into an agonizing scream as Brask rammed a dagger through the middle of his hand, pinning it to the counter. Blood quickly seeped from the puncture, seeping into the wood.

"Stop!" Druzeel said, trying to tear Dex's hand from his shoulder. He almost got free but Vistalas stepped in front of him, daggers out.

"One more step," he said, eyes flashing in both anger and malice. Druzeel swore the thief wanted him to try to get by him, but he remained where he was, hopeless to stop what was happening.

"Still need your memory jogged?" Brask said, no longer acknowledging Druzeel's pleas. He only nodded to Ristil, who grabbed Gret's left wrist and forced his hand on the counter, like he had done to the other one. When his hand was in place, Brask raised the dagger, not bothering to ask Gret if he was willing to talk.

"Pelartis!" Gret practically screamed, his words coming out with a high pitch, sounding almost like a little girl. "He's heading...to Pelartis. That's what I overheard him say after I sold him the map."

"Say to whom?" Brask asked. Gret started to say something but paused. Brask raised the dagger again, which was all the motivation the sculptor needed.

"I don't...I don't know. His back was turned. He looked to be talking into his hand. He must have had some type of communication device. He thought I was out of earshot, but my hearing was always good."

"Lucky you," Ristil said with a mocking smile.

"Please," Gret begged. "That's all I know. I swear. He didn't say anything else. He just wanted the map. I never knew what he intended to use it for. Please. That's all I know." The last sentence came out with a weep. Druzeel swore that if he could have dropped to his knees he would have. Instead, he just cried like a newborn babe, pleading for his life.

Brask stared at him with those cold eyes for many moments, listening to the man's cries. Finally, he reached for his dagger and tore it from the counter, none to gently. Gret screamed once more as the blade was ripped from his hand. Then he fell to the floor, holding his destroyed hand. He knew then that he might never be as good as a sculptor.

Without a word, Brask turned and walked away, heading for the street. The others followed his lead, with the exception of two. Ristil, still standing behind the counter, leaned down, patted the man on the head, and jumped to the other side. Druzeel stood in silent shock and anger as Ristil walked right by him without so much as a shove or push, as Druzeel had expected. He would have preferred some type of physical taunt for that would have showed him that Ristil actually wanted to take the time to ridicule him. The lack of acknowledgment, the lack of a simple look, was much more disheartening. It told Druzeel that Ristil did not even think him worthy of his thoughts.

He stood, rooted in place, for many moments, listening to the cries of the sculptor. The sound ripped through him and ate as his heart. He should have pushed by Vistalas. He should have been more forceful. He should have done...something. This should not happen in Atlurul. This should not happen in any city. Gret's only crime was collecting maps. How could he know what would happen? He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. One thing was for sure: this was not going to happen again. He would confront Brask, damn the consequences, and remind him who he was working for. Graeak never would have approved of how Gret had been tortured, regardless of what the thief had stolen. Druzeel would tell his mentor what happened here. But first, Brask would know what he had just done was completely unacceptable.

After listening to a few pain-filled sobs, Druzeel turned and walked out of the shop. He opened the door, expecting to see Brask and the others waiting for him. What he was not expecting was the strong hand that wrapped wound his throat and lifted from the floor as he walked outside.

"You ignorant piece of useless garbage!"

Before Druzeel saw who grabbed him, he found himself flying through the air, his staff falling from his hands. He hit the ground and rolled a few feet before coming to a stop. Pain raced down his shoulder and into his chest. Luckily, his pack and thick robes had cushioned his landing, but it still hurt. He quickly turned his body to see who had tossed him and found Brask charging toward him with murder in his eyes.

"I'm going to beat you until–"

"Stop," came Dex's warning. Druzeel suddenly found the man standing between him and Brask. To his surprise, Jannda was also there, but be it to defend Druzeel from Brask or help Dex, he did not know. The others just stood back, content to watch how the confrontation would play out.

"Move aside!" Brask said, coming to a stop, meeting Dex and Jannda's eyes. "This boy needs to be taught a lesson."

"Indeed," Dex said to Druzeel's chagrin, "but I think it is one he has already learned. The mason's confession has seen to that. I think he knows that though our methods may seem...coarse, they are effective."

"They are not–" Druzeel started to say, but one look from Jannda told him he had better be quiet.

"Agreed," the halfling said, looking back to Brask. "Besides, I think his outbursts actually helped the situation."

"Do tell," Ristil said with an amused smile.

"Clearly, Gret knew he was part of the group," she explained. "Gret's fear was only heightened when Druzeel asked Brask to stop. I mean, if one of the group is pleading for mercy, what does that say about Brask when he refuses to stop?"

"That he's a mean bastard," Vistalas said with a smirk, actually seeing Jannda's point. "And he won't be swayed, no matter what."

"Exactly," she said. "Look, we know where the thief is headed and Gret will never even think about selling out anyone again. I think it worked out rather well. So let's just all calm down and get on the road."

Druzeel looked from Jannda to Dex to Brask, who was staring at all three of them. He didn't think the large man would buy Jannda's explanation, however sound it was, but when the tension melted form his shoulders, everyone knew his rage had subsided. Still, he stood staring at Druzeel with hatred for a few moments longer. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, he spoke.

"Gather our belongings," he said. "We ride for Pelartis within the hour. And you," he said with hardened eyes, pointing at Druzeel. "If you ever do something like that again, I'll pummel you until you can no longer walk."

With that, he turned and walked away, going to gather his things like the others. Jannda exhaled a sigh of relief, looked at Druzeel, and left, head shaking as she went. Druzeel looked from her to the helping hand being offered. He took it and Dex pulled him to his feet.

"Thanks," he said.

"You got a lot to learn," Dex said with a deep breath, "if you hope to get along with the others."

"I couldn't just let–" Druzeel began, but Dex held up a hand to silence him. It seemed the fighter was a bit annoyed as well.

"Just gather your things and meet us at the Lady within the hour."

He turned and walked away. Druzeel watched him go, a little irritation creeping into his body. How could Dex be angry with him? How could he let the mason be tortured like that? I guess he is not the man I thought he was, the young wizard thought to himself. I truly am alone with this bunch. It was not a pleasing thought.

* * * * *

Gret sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the bloody bandages wrapped around his throbbing hand. The wound had stopped bleeding a few hours ago but the pain would last for a few days. He didn't think he would be able to sleep tonight with the pain racing up his arm. He also did not know if he would be able to sculpt any more. Just moving the broom around, trying to clean up the mess those mercenaries made downstairs was painful. One thing was for certain though; he would never be as good as he once was.

Damn the thief! he yelled into his mind. Why couldn't he have gone and bothered someone else? Why did he have to go and steal from someone with the means to hire mercenaries? Staring at his hand, he now felt a pang of regret for selling the map and taking the man's coin. He should have known the man was up to something. That amount of gold would have been suspicious for even a wealthy noble to buy a map.

His anger and frustration would have to wait until morning. Though Solaris had just barely set, Gret had a rough day and the weariness was heavy on his bones, so he pulled back the covers of his bed and lay down.

Just seconds before sleep claimed him, Gret's eyes fluttered open, just for a moment, but it was enough for him to see the figure standing over his bed.

"Eep!" he shrieked and jumped up, staring at the silhouette in front of him. Though the room was dark, almost black–it couldn't be that late, could it?–he could still see the outline of the man standing over him.

"What–" he began, but his words caught in his throat as a candle burst into light on the table near his bedside. The flame illuminated the man's face.

The pale flesh, black, lifeless eyes, and vileness of the man sent a surge of cold racing up Gret's spine. He immediately started to sweat, as if he had been thrown into a forge, and found that his body started to shake. He could hardly move, let alone breathe. The only thing he could do was slowly pull the covers tight to his chest, hoping that they would protect him from the creature that had so easily invaded his room.

"I..." he stammered, his words falling away like his courage. "I didn't say anything," he babbled, staring into the expressionless face of the thief. The man didn't move. It seemed he hardly breathed. He just stared at Gret, as if peering into his soul. Was he even alive?

"All right!" Gret said, feeling tears coming to his eyes again. "They know where you're going. I couldn't help it. Look what they did to my hand." He held up his bandaged hand for the thief to see, but received no response. Those black eyes, the depths of oblivion, continued to stare without remorse.

"They know you're going to Pelartis."

And those were the last words Gret ever spoke. When the name of the city left his lips, a dagger slid across his throat. He never even saw the movement. He hardly felt the blade. One second he was speaking and the next he was gasping for air. As the blood tumbled down his nightshirt and his vision darkened, the thief just watched him die, as if he were simply a leaf, falling from a dying tree.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 7

It had been just under an hour after his confrontation with Brask and the other Knights, but to Druzeel it felt like four. He had been left alone, to go where he needed to gather more gear for the long journey to the city of Pelartis. Though he had already packed for an adventure, he knew that the almost two-week long trip was much longer than he had prepared for, so he returned to The Fount to stock up on provisions. Graeak was not at home during his short visit, which was disheartening because he planned on telling him about what happened. He almost took out the ring Graeak had given him but ultimately decided on letting the situation rest. His mentor had enough worrying him as of late. The other apprentices were too busy with their studies to notice him as he walked to his rooms, so Druzeel had been left alone with only his thoughts–troubled thoughts–to keep him company.

Can I really do this? he kept asking himself as he stuffed more dried meat and cheese into his sack. How can I travel with these people when they treat me with such disrespect? When they berate and assault me at every turn? How can I hope to spread goodwill and decency when I am surrounded by the immoral and indecent?

It was clear to him by now that no one in the Knights of the Chipped Blade, including Dex, shared his view of the world and his sense of morals. They saw only cynicism, corruption, and vileness. To them, everyone had something to hide, something to gain, or some reason to lie. People were not people, but things, items to be used as a means to an end. He thought Dex was different, perhaps a small part of him was, but Druzeel had trouble seeing that spark of goodness, that ray of hope and honor. Maybe he was too much a part of the group. Perhaps Brask's influence had too much of a stronghold on the man. Druzeel hoped that during this journey, he could spread his own influence over the men, could try to make them see the world through his eyes, that not everyone is a liar, a cheat, or a thief.

To Druzeel, who had lived most of his life in a tower of magic, people were mostly good-natured and honest, trying their best to live a good life and be decent to one another. Yes, there was evil in the world, but it lived in only the darkest of places and the hearts of most men, women, and child beat with kindness and mercy. Not even the horrific death of his parents could sway him from this view and the teachings of Graeak helped solidify those beliefs. The world was a good place and it was Druzeel's job to keep it that way, to spread morality and benevolence everywhere he went. Of course, most of the Knights would probably not like what he hoped to teach, so he decided he would concentrate on Dex first. To do that he had to get to know the man and find out what made the mercenary what he was today.

After he had finished packing, Druzeel left the tower and made his way to the Crying Lady, with more than enough time to do more thinking. His mind kept drifting to his own abilities and if he really was ready for such an adventure, a quest that had him tracking a dangerous assassin.

"Trust in yourself," his mentor had told him. "You have the knowledge and talent necessary to combat any situation."

Druzeel repeated the words a dozen times and each time he felt his confidence growing. By the time he reached the Lady, he felt as though he could take on an army of assassins. He had trained for years, mastered difficult spells, many at an unbelievably young age, and though he did not like them, was traveling with a group of hardened mercenaries. The fact that his mentor's advice was just a few turns of a ring away also helped to bolster his resolve. He would do just fine on this quest.

"We will find the thief," he said to himself, "capture him and bring his to justice. This I swear."

When he reached the tavern, he went inside but found no traces of the others, so he went back outside, to sit and wait for them to arrive. Brask never said exactly where to meet at the Lady and he wasn't about to give the man an excuse, any excuse, to leave him behind. About ten minutes later, he spotted Dex coming toward him, atop a brown horse. Another horse, a bit smaller but no less muscled, followed behind with an empty saddle.

"Are you ready?" Dex asked as he came closer. His voice was calm, carrying no sense of annoyance as it had an hour earlier. Druzeel found the change odd but comforting. Perhaps time had helped to ease the man's irritation with Druzeel, as it usual does with any elevated emotion. "Make sure you have everything because there will be no turning back as soon as we are on the road."

"I'm ready," Druzeel said, his voice filled with certainty. His determined look seemed to satisfy his new traveling companion.

"Then up you go," he said, bringing the horse behind him forward. It walked up to Druzeel and stopped, waiting for its new rider.

It was an average sized mare, with chestnut hair and a handful of large white spots scattered over its body. The beast kicked its back hoof as if telling Druzeel to hurry up and get on. Luckily, Graeak had made it a point to train all his students the basics of riding so Druzeel knew exactly what to do. He strapped his staff on the saddlebags and hoisted himself up into the saddle. The horse accepted him without so much as a snort and slowly turned to face Dex.

"Good," Dex said. "We never asked but I assumed Graeak would have taught you something of riding."

"Where are the others?" Druzeel asked as they directed the horses towards the front of the city. Their two mounts soon feel in step next to each other as they made their way down the street.

"They will meet us on the outskirts of the city," Dex replied. "Ristil and Vistalas are most likely already there. They like to run their horses in the open for a little while before a long journey. Some elven thing that Ristil says readies them for the road, makes them more comfortable in the open or something." Druzeel vaguely remembered reading about some elven custom about elves and their horses, something about getting the beasts more in harmony with the world and outside environment.

"Jannda will meet us at the gates," Dex continued, "and Thorstar and Brask will meet us just outside the city."

Druzeel nodded his head but remained quiet. He wanted to talk to Dex, to start learning more about the man but wanted to wait until they were out on the open road. There were too many distractions in the city and when they met up with the others, he doubted he would be able to get a word in before Brask or Ristil had something demeaning to say.

So they rode in silence, meeting Jannda at the front of the city. To Druzeel's surprise, she was not riding a horse as he expected, but a small pony, with light gray hair and auburn spots. Even though her mount was small, she still looked rather diminutive on the beast. Can such a small animal keep up with full-grown horse? Druzeel asked himself, not believing that her small mount would be able to keep up with the others. He also could not believe that Brask would let her fall behind, but then again, it was Brask he was thinking of. Dex didn't look worried so he dismissed the question from his mind.

As she starting riding beside them, Druzeel noticed a handful of musical instruments strapped to her saddlebags, too large to be completely packed away. There was a flute, a lyre, and a mandolin. The end of yet another instrument was showing from under one bag's flap but Druzeel could not identify what it was. He knew that Jannda could have even more tucked away but he only saw those few. She must be talented indeed, he thought, seeing the types of instruments she was bringing. Perhaps he would hear a song tonight.

They rode in silence, making their way to the front of the city. Jannda glanced at Druzeel a few times, expecting him to say something, but he remained quiet and subdued, surprising her. As their newest traveling companion, she had figured he would have questions for the only two members of the Knights that actually put up with him. She actually appreciated his closemouthed behavior for it allowed all three of them to enjoy the sights and smells of Atlurul, something they would not experience again for quite some time. Less than twenty minutes later, they were outside of the city and just as Dex said, Brask and Thorstar were waiting for them, sitting on horses of their own.

Thorstar's mount was a massive brown beast with strong legs and a broad back. Compared to Druzeel's own, Thorstar's horse was a giant, with hooves as large as a man's chest and eyes as large as a fist. Its size made sense for not just any mount would be able to hold the large fighter. He needed a harden animal with sturdy posture and a solid skeletal frame. Still, under the giant man's bulk, the mighty horse appeared strained but it seemed used to its rider's physique.

Next to the mute warrior sat Brask, who rode a black horse, with a mane that looked to be made of pure darkness. There was no shine to it, just utter blackness, as if it was drinking the light that fell from the sky. Knowing the party's leader as he did, Druzeel thought the fearsome looking horse a perfect fit. It seemed to share its owner's malcontent with everything around it. Druzeel got the feeling that if he got too close, the beast would try to bite him, or his own mount, so he decided to stay as far away from that thing as possible, not that he had any desire to get closer to Brask.

As they came upon the two men, Druzeel made eye contact with Brask. The man's eyes just narrowed in disgust as he saw that Druzeel had indeed showed up for the journey. The young wizard expected a shrewd comment or some other lewd remark as he settled to a stop before the Knights' leader, but Brask said nothing. He just turned his mount and started moving further away from the city. Thorstar, Dex, and Jannda followed. With a deep sigh, Druzeel urged his mount into a trot.

A short time later, the quintet met up with the last members of the group, about half a mile away from Atlurul's walls. Both Ristil and Vistalas's horses already looked ridden but seemed ready and willing for the long trip.

"So he showed," Ristil commented as Brask rode up. Though his voice was flat, Druzeel managed to make out the disappointment in his voice.

"Let's get moving," Brask said, urging his mount on.

"Pelartis, here we come," Jannda replied.

For the next ten minutes, Brask led the group in a light trot, which eventually led to a faster canter. Whether this was to get the blood flowing in the horses or just getting to pace at which the Knights usually traveled, Druzeel did not know. His only thought was that it was going to take much longer to reach Pelartis than he had originally thought at this pace. But then he caught Brask looking at him out of the corner of his eye and a smirk suddenly painted the man's face.

Uh-oh, Druzeel thought to himself.

Brask suddenly let out a yell and his horse jolted forward. Ristil and Vistalas followed, letting out shouts of their own. Jannda kicked her heels in and her pony, to Druzeel's astonishment, took off like an arrow from a bow. Whether by magic or special breeding, the small animal ran just as fast, if not faster than the horses around it. Thorstar, as usual, was silent and spurred his giant mount onward, after his companions. All their faces seemed to light up with the thrill of the ride.

"Come on," Dex said, shooting Druzeel a smile. "Don't want to be left behind." Then he was off, riding hard after the others.

Druzeel was unsure whether or not this was the way the group always traveled or if this was yet another test of Brask's. He could be testing me, Druzeel thought, to see if I can keep up the pace. Or he could be trying to be a horse's hind end once more, hoping a hard ride will bring me pain or send me turning for home. Well, the young wizard thought, smiling to himself, the man is going to be disappointed once again.

As Dex sped away, Druzeel quickly cast a series of spells. The deowmers would help him endure the hard ride and enable him to have better control of his horse. They would also, probably most importantly, keep him in the saddle. As hard as they were riding, it would not be easy for a novice to stay seated. Luckily, Druzeel had his magic to aid him.

He spurred his horse onward. Unfortunately, though the magic kept him in place and allowed him to ride like the others, the ride quickly sent aches and pains down his legs and into his waist. It seemed that no amount of magic could help ease the discomfort of a hard saddle, especially on a man that had hardly ridden. He also found himself falling further and further behind. Apparently, the horse he was given was not as athletic as the others, but with a quick spell, he was soon closing in on the group. Within a few moments, he had actually caught up to Dex and Jannda. The man only offered an exciting smile. The halfling wore a look of surprise but was soon laughing, a slight shake to her head.

For just a moment, Druzeel thought about pushing his horse harder, moving by the others and reaching Brask, but he soon thought better of it. Best not to antagonize him, he thought to himself. This journey is going to be hard enough and if he could achieve just a minuscule amount of relief, then it would be worth the extra effort.

They galloped nonstop for a few miles and only started to slow down when the edge of the Fairgrove Forest came into view. Druzeel also happened to notice that Brask had ordered them to slow when he looked back and saw Druzeel had indeed been keeping pace with relative ease. His look of annoyance quickly disappeared though when they all realized that no matter how well any horse was trained, running them at full speed for too long can be unhealthy, so they slowed to a trot. They would have had to slow anyway for the path they followed led through the forest and galloping through the thick woods was not a smart idea.

The trail through Fairgrove was small but easily followed. Though it was scarcely used, somehow the path managed to stay clear of excess growth. Tall, thriving tress grew just along the edge, along with colorful bushes, aromatic flowers, and other forms of life that provided the woods with a comfortable atmosphere. Birds chipped, squirrels frolicked, and an occasional deer scampered through the brush, just out of sight. Other animals made their way through the thicker parts of the wood but they stayed well away from the odd creatures following along the trail.

Since the forest was so close to Atlurul, once every season, contingents of Lances, as well as mercenaries looking for a few pieces of gold for a pelt or horn, were sent into the forest to make sure the surrounding area was safe from dangerous creatures. Fairgrove was usually free of such beasts but an occasional goblin or orc had been known to wander into the area. Druzeel felt certain they would be safe moving through the woods and even if they did encounter anything, they were skilled warriors and could deal with any threat.

His mind was clear and his nerves were calm, regardless of the company he was in. He breathed in the fresh air and enjoyed the openness around him. He had only been in the forest a handful of times, when he accompanied his mentor on trips to escort caravans home or when Graeak decided to have his lessons outside, in a more leafy environment, as he like to put it. Being cooped up in the tower for so long, he often forgot how beautiful nature could be.

Druzeel traveled near the back of the group, wanting to be as far away from Brask as possible. He figured that the more time he spent away from the mercenary, the better. Perhaps time away from the man would give Brask the reprieve he needed to calm himself and accept that Druzeel was indeed part of the group and would be with them until their mission was complete. He wasn't sure about Brask, but almost an hour into the journey his strategy seemed to be working on the others for they were soon laughing and acting as if they were sitting in a tavern sharing drinks. Not a single eye turned in his direction. He was not sure if he should be thankful or disturbed by that observation. Either they were ignoring him or had forgotten about him completely. Luckily, Jannda and Dex remembered he was with them. She would look back and him every now and then. Now, whether she was just checking to make sure he was still there or if she was actually looking to Dex behind him, he wasn't sure, but either way it felt good to be seen.

In most areas, the trail was narrow, allowing only for a single rider at a time, but there were wider patches where they were able to walk two abreast. During those stretches, Druzeel kept thinking of slowing, to allow Dex to catch up so he could speak with the man, but he kept on pace. If he wanted to get along, if he wanted Dex to actually be talkative and open, he knew he had to let the man act on his own. Turns out, he did not have to wait long.

"You have been here before?" Dex said, riding up next to Druzeel. He motioned to the forest around them. Druzeel knew it was good that Dex had actually asked a question about him. It showed the Knight wanted to know more.

"A few times," Druzeel said. "Sometimes Graeak would take us into the forest to study local plant life, the animals, or just to get us away from the confines of the tower. He said that too much time indoors, especially surrounded by thick stone walls, could drive a man crazy."

"Wise man," Dex commented with a smile.

"Taught me everything he knows," Druzeel replied with a genuine look of contentment on his face. The mention of his teacher sent a feeling of sadness through him. He was just now realizing how much he missed the old man. He had been away from him in the past, sometimes for days, but this felt different. Knowing that he was leaving the area and may not be back for many months only amplified the way he felt about the aged archmage. Luckily, he had the ring and could speak with Graeak anytime he wanted, but it would not be the same as if he was standing in front of him.

"So how did you come to be under Graeak's tutelage?" Dex asked.

At first, Druzeel thought the man was joking. Why would any of these men want to know more about him? They surely had not expressed any interest of learning anything more than what Brask had told them, but he had heard the sincerity on Dex's voice. He reminded himself that Dex was, perhaps for the time being, his only true ally within the group. Isn't this what he wanted anyway? To gain a better relationship with Dex? Here was the opportunity.

For the next few moments, Druzeel explained to Dex how he came to be under Graeak's care. He spoke of the death of his parents, two people he really didn't remember, and about how Graeak felt an obligation to his friend to take Druzeel under his wing.

"I remember hearing something about that," Dex said when Druzeel mentioned Hellric Sazzor, the wizard that had gone mad and started attacking the city almost two decades ago. "I was not in the city at that time. Hells, I was barely just a young man when that happened but I've heard people speak of Hellric the Mad and how Graeak had to cast him down to save Atlurul."

"Yes," Druzeel nodded. "Though my mentor was widely known before that unfortunately event, he became even more famous after Hellric's sad demise. He hardly speaks of what happened. I don't even know how my parents died but based on some of the stories I have heard, I don't think I really want to know."

"Probably for the best," Dex replied.

"So after all the chaos cleared," Druzeel continued, "Graeak took me in and started to train me as a wizard. Apparently, both my parents were aspiring wizards and I showed talent at a very young age. I have lived in the tower ever since."

"I can see why he speaks so highly of you," Dex said. "He probably sees you as his son."

"More like his grandson," Druzeel said jokingly. He had made the same joke with the other apprentices for he had sometimes been referred to as Graeak's son during his earlier years in the tower.

"True, but the man practically raised you and certain unbreakable bonds and relationships come with that type of commitment. Unfortunately, I can also see why the junior Battlebeard was not such a fan of yours. He probably resented you for being handed, if you will, such a position under such a profound and respected wizard."

"I didn't ask to be taught by Graeak," Druzeel pointed out calmly. He knew Dex wasn't trying to degrade his teachings or reasons why Graeak was so fond of him. He was just pointing out facts.

"I know," Dex said, seeing that Druzeel took his comment the way he intended. "You were fortunate to survive what happened to Hellric and that fortune opened up a wonderful opportunity, even though it was born from tragedy. To Browen, your position was nothing but luck and he probably had no idea why you were training with Graeak, nor would he care. He only saw someone that had been handed something without having to work for it, even though, just between you and me, that boy hardly had to work for anything in his life."

Druzeel could not help but smile at that comment. Browen had been a bully and a snob, someone who thought that he should be given whatever he wanted instead of having to work for it. Dex spoke as if he had firsthand experience with the younger brother of Brask.

"You speak as if you knew Browen," Druzeel said, wanting to know if he had actually met him.

"I met the lad a few times," Dex said with a nasty look on his face. "Like you, I didn't like him and found it best to avoid him all together."

"Yet here you are with Brask," Druzeel stated. If Dex didn't think too fondly of Browen, how could he put up with Brask? The two were brothers after all.

"The two share similar qualities, true," Dex said. "Shrewd, outspoken, rude, and sometimes brutal, yes, but Brask is a worker. That man worked for everything he has and is never afraid to get his hands dirty. That I can respect. Browen, on the other hand, just sat by and waited for the spoils. He never wanted to get dirty. I have a hard time admiring any man that lets others do their work for them."

Druzeel looked from Dex to Brask. The man certainly didn't seem to be afraid of anything and he certainly could be brutal. His treatment of Druzeel and of the stonemason was a testament to that. But if he was such a hard worker, if he was so willing to do anything for what he wanted, then why would he treat me as he had? Druzeel thought. Why would he continue to defend his brother as he does? The answer to the latter question was easy. Browen was family and you defended family with everything you had, regardless of their faults. Perhaps since Browen felt Druzeel was responsible for his expulsion, Brask did as well. Perhaps the older brother felt an obligation to treat his sibling's foe as he had. After all, regardless of being Graeak's favorite student, Druzeel worked for everything he had. He did not just wait for it to be handed to him. Druzeel thought he even worked harder than many of the others, given that he had been somewhat handed the placement with Graeak. In some odd way, he and Brask were similar, but Druzeel didn't think that would mater to the crude man. His opinions of the young wizard had been formed a long time ago.

"Take heart," Dex said, drawing Druzeel's eyes back to him. "If, when the time comes, you show Brask and the others what you can do, which I know you will, they'll come around."

"Why do you defend me?" Druzeel asked before he realized he what he was saying. "Why, when the others do not?" Dex looked at him with a kind smile.

"You are young and have many things to learn, but berating and bulling you at every turn is not the way to do it. I truly believe if you want someone to learn, you offer encouragement and give guidance when it is needed. Yelling, screaming, and threatening to beat someone to a bloody pulp only makes them more nervous and anxious. They are more likely to screw up trying to do something they don't know how to do instead of asking how to do it because they are afraid to be yelled at again."

"You speak as one who has experience," Druzeel said, hoping not to bring up painful memories. The man spoke as if he knew what it was like to be treated as something less than human.

"My father," Dex began in a clam voice, "was a bully, as were my brothers. They yelled and screamed, beating and criticizing all those around them, including me. They hoped to mold me into something just as cruel as they were with physical and emotional torment rather than using encouraging words and gentle instruction. Granted, I think a few knocks on the head and harsh words can be helpful for anyone, but there is a line that must never be crossed, and they stepped over it constantly."

"I didn't mean to bring up harsh memories," Druzeel said, truly sorry for making the man live through a painful past again. Though he himself spoke about the death of his parents, it still pained him to know that he never got to know them, that he never had the chance to know where he came from.

"It's all right," Dex said, his voice strong. "For me, it is important to remember the past, to remember what I went through so I can help others avoid the pain that I was lucky enough to escape."

"And how did you escape?"

"Like most children I suppose," he said. "I ran away, was taken in by a loving family, and raised in a caring environment. My adoptive father was a mercenary and I soon found myself following in his footsteps."

Druzeel found himself listening intently to Dex's story. The man had been through some painful experiences in his life, much like Druzeel had, and come out ahead. He was the stronger for it and appeared to be a more caring man because of it. The only thing he found perplexing was that even though Dex was obviously against bulling and had stepped in to defend Druzeel against Brask, he still allowed it to happen. Druzeel knew the man couldn't stop it completely for he was in Brask's employ, but one would think he would fight a little harder to put it to an end. Perhaps Brask had not stepped over the line. Maybe those few knocks on the head and harsh words Dex mentioned earlier was what he thought Druzeel needed to learn what not to do. If that was the case, what did Brask have to do to go over the line?

"So how did you end up with the Knights?" Druzeel asked, pushing the concern from his mind. He would just have to continue to stay on Brask's good side. He did not want to anger the man or make Dex do something that would jeopardize his position in the group.

"Jannda introduced me to Brask and the others," Dex said. A smile came to his face as he thought about what had brought him to the Knights. "I, and a handful of other mercenaries, was hired on to guard a caravan of bards, who were traveling through the countryside. Jannda had been among the group. She was using her free time from the Knights, time we all take every now and then, to have some fun doing what she enjoyed. Just a few days into the journey, we were attacked by a large group of goblinkin, just outside of Atlurul actually. She was so impressed with my tactics and fighting skills that she asked me to join. I had some reservations at first, but the coin was good and I was in desperate need. If you can believe, I also enjoyed the company. I've been with them ever since."

"And you have no more reservations?" Druzeel asked, coming to a major concern of his. Though he had witnessed only one brutal action by the Knights, the way they treated Gret, he was sure there had been many others over their career. He didn't know if he could stand by idle if something similar were to happen in the future and he didn't wish to cause any more anger or resentment in the group.

"I know where you are going with this," Dex said, without judgment, "and I will admit that we have done some things in the past that I am not especially proud of, but in the end, we were right. In the end, we saved lives."

"So do the ends justify the means?" Druzeel asked skeptically. Did they all believe that results were the only things that mattered? That any people hurt during the process were inconsequential?

"Not always," Dex answered truthfully, "and in those cases, I speak my mind. Believe me when I say that Brask and I have had our confrontations when I think he has gone too far, but with Gret, I know he was right. You saw that the man was hiding something."

"But we destroyed his shop," Druzeel said. "We crippled him, maybe for life. I can never say that what Brask did was right."

"What if I told you that the assassin we are tracking was not the first malicious character that Gret dealt with?" Dex asked. "What if I said that a few of the maps he sold led directly to the death of a dozen children? What would you say then?"

"When..." Druzeel stammered, caught off guard by the questions. "When did he do this?"

"Answer the question," Dex said calmly. "What should happen to Gret if what he did led directly to the deaths of these children?"

"When he was found guilty," Druzeel said, "then he should be jailed or put to death, as determined by the magistrate." He truly believed that a man, a human being, should be punished only if there is absolutely no doubt that they committed a crime. To do anything else would be an injustice.

"And what if I told you he escaped his punishments because of the people he knew and the gold he was able to pass around?" Dex said without pausing.

"Are you suggesting that the magistrate is–"

"I'm not suggesting anything," Dex said, interrupting him. "I'm merely presenting you with a scenario."

"So this never happened?" Druzeel asked with concern. If Gret really was responsible for the deaths that Dex was speaking of, he should have been imprisoned or executed if found guilty of those crimes. Druzeel could not believe that a few coins and influential connections could get anyone off from killing innocent children. That was not the way the city that he grew up in operated.

Dex just sighed and shook his head. He looked at Druzeel with sympathetic eyes. His face showed compassion and understanding, but it also held a deep concern that Druzeel did not truly know of the world he lived in. He had been shut away in the tower for too long, been protected from the horrors of life and had not been exposed to the real world enough to know any better. Dex hated to think that he could be destroying that innocence, but if the young wizard was going to be traveling with them, if he was going to be fighting and chasing after a dangerous assassin, he had to prepare the man for what lay ahead. Perhaps he could ease Druzeel into it, so as to not completely shatter the young man's beliefs.

"You are a good man," Dex said, "and Graeak is a good teacher, but I feel he has done you a slight disservice by hiding the real world from you, though I know why he did it. Your life was, as was his, filled with tragedy the day you met and I think he didn't want to add any more drama to an already dramatic situation, but he should have prepared you a little better."

Druzeel just looked at Dex in confusion. What was the man talking about? Graeak had prepared him for the world and taught him exactly what he needed to know. He knew evil and malice rested in the hearts of men, but the majority of people were good and wanted only the best for their family, their friends, and those around them. He wanted to express these thoughts to Dex but could tell the man had more to say, so he remained silent and listened.

"Look," Dex said softly, seeing the frustration and confusion on Druzeel's face, "I'm not trying to insult you, Graeak, or your beliefs, but the world is not as simple as good and evil, right and wrong. There are areas in the middle, situations that you will be confronted with that will test you like never before. Sometimes you will make the right decision, but sometimes you may choose wrong and people may get hurt. It is what you learn and how you use what you have learned that determines what type of person you shall be. Brask, Ristil, myself, and the others have been doing this for quite some time and make choices based on what we have learned. Sometimes we are wrong, sometimes right, but we always try to learn from our mistakes to make a better decision in the future."

Druzeel looked down at his saddle. What Dex was saying made sense, but he couldn't think of a situation that was neither right nor wrong. Graeak had always taught him that it was either one or the other. Perhaps he had not yet come to a situation such as one that Dex described. Could Graeak really have sheltered him too much? Why couldn't these life decisions be as magic was? A spell either worked or it didn't. Magic either came to you or it didn't. Life, it appeared, was much more complicated. It appeared that this trip just became more complicated.

"I didn't mean to confuse you," Dex said, taking Druzeel by the shoulder. "I just want you to think about what lay ahead of us. You may be faced with some tough decisions and I'm just trying to give you some advice."

"I know," Druzeel said, though he was not sure he did. Was Dex giving him real advice or trying to make him come to the decision that he would?

"Hey," the man said, leaning back in his saddle, a smile forming on his face, "if all goes as planned, we'll find the thief, capture him, and be back in Atlurul with no problems as all, with no tough choices to make and with no more stonemasons whose hands we have to stab."

"Yes," Druzeel said, getting the joke, "but how often do things go according to plan?"

"See," Dex said, drawing Druzeel's eyes. "You're talking like one of us already. A good Knight knows that nothing ever goes to plan."

"A pleasant thought," Druzeel said, feeling a smirk on his face. Dex only offered another smile as the two followed the trail in front of them. Druzeel still had many questions in his mind, and a dozen more since their conversation, but he managed to push those away for the time being. If things were going to get rough, he planned to enjoy the calm while it lasted.

They rode for another hour or so, making their way through the winding woods. Fairgrove was a large forest that extended hundreds of miles to the east. They still had at least half a week's journey to the other side, and then it would be nothing but open plains until Pelartis.

It was only midday, with Solaris high in the sky, though only a few rays of sunlight managed to sneak through the thick canopy above. To Druzeel, it felt like they had been on the road for an entire day though in reality it had been less than three hours. Regardless of his magic, his legs ached and his back groaned. He really wasn't built for the road. He could not imagine at least a dozen more days of this but he knew as time went by, he would become more accustomed to riding and sleeping on the hard ground. I really need to master teleportation, he thought to himself. Why didn't Graeak just use his magic to send them to–

Druzeel suddenly sat up straight and his eyes widened. He never told his mentor that he was leaving. With everything going on, the confrontation with Brask and the questions swirling around in his mind, he had forgotten to say goodbye. He needed to contact Graeak and let him know that they were on their way, but he didn't want to do it while the others were nearby and he definitely did not want Brask to think he was sending back progress reports. Luckily, as they rounded the next bend, Brask stopped their procession.

"Rest for the horses," the man said while dismounting. "Water and a quick bite for everyone, then we're back on the road. Ten minutes."

"Better take any rest he offers," Dex said to Druzeel as he walked by. He led his horse near Jannda and dismounted. Then he went about stretching and getting something to eat, as did the others.

Druzeel, after making sure the others were occupied, maneuvered his mount backwards, which was not an easy feet for someone without experience, and squeezed through a bundle of trees. He led his horse a few dozen yards away, just out of earshot, and dismounted. He stretched for about a minute, working out the soreness in his limbs and back. The horse appeared to do the same. It seemed that they both were unaccustomed to a hard ride first thing in the morning.

After making sure the horse would stay put, Druzeel withdrew the ring that Graeak had given him and placed it on his finger. He gave it three quick turns and peered into the blue gem.

At first, Druzeel feared that he had done something wrong. For many moments, nothing happened, but eventually Graeak's kind face came into view. Though small and having a blue tint, Druzeel could see him clearly. The old man held a smile as he looked upon his student.

"Yes, my young apprentice?" Graeak said in a tired voice. "We're not having trouble already, are we?"

For just a moment, Druzeel considered telling his teacher about what happened at the stonemason's shop, but at the last second, he decided against it. The situation was over and bringing it up would only add worry to an already worried man. Even through the ring, Druzeel could see his mentor was tired and worried, no doubt concerned over his prized student and distressed over the events of the last few days. He had enough to worry about so there was no need to trouble him over something that could not be changed.

"No," Druzeel finally said, after a moment's pause. "I just never told you that we left or even where we are heading. I just wanted to let you know that–"

"You are heading to Pelartis," Graeak finished for him. It came as no surprise to Druzeel that Graeak already knew that they had left and where they were headed. He found himself smiling before his teacher finished his sentence.

"Yes," Druzeel said. "As usual, it is hard to keep anything from you."

"Fear not," the wise wizard replied, "I'm sure before this trip is over, you'll surprise me. Are you learning the ways of the world yet? Have the Knights been showing you what it means to be an adventurer?"

"Y...Yes," Druzeel managed to spit out, trying his best to hide the truth from his face. "Sort of. On both accounts."

"Excellent," Graeak said and took a deep breath.

Druzeel caught a look on his face just then, one of grave concern. He had only seen that look a few times and it sent a surge of fear through him. Could his teacher be hiding something from him?

"Is everything all right?" he asked, his mouth ahead of his mind once again.

"Yes," Graeak answered quickly, perhaps a bit too fast. "Just an old man's foolish worries. My mind is still locked on your quest, and you, but know that I am also still searching for our illusive thief, so you are not alone on this quest."

"Any luck?"

"Unfortunately, no," Graeak answered. Druzeel surmised that the worried look was from his exhaustive searching and the frustration of coming up empty. "Trust me, my young apprentice," Graeak continued, "the moment I find anything, you shall be the first to know."

"Thank you for trusting me," Druzeel said, feeling pride at his teacher's words. "I won't fail you."

"I know," Graeak answered, "I know. If you need to speak, for any reason," he said, with emphasis on the word reason, letting Druzeel know that he knew that something was bothering his student, "just use the ring."

"I will," Druzeel said without pause, perhaps a little too swiftly.

With that, the gem slowly faded and Graeak disappeared, leaving Druzeel alone in the forest, with only his thoughts and horse for company.

* * * * *

Ristil leaped from his horse, landing lightly on his toes. He bounced up and down a few times, stretching his legs, then hoped to his feet. There was nothing better than a long ride in the morning. He loved the feeling of the blood rushing through his veins, the wind through his hair, and the cool air in his lungs. He even enjoyed the feeling of his mount, its muscles flexing, the deep breathes and the sound of the ground as it raced by beneath them. He knew he could attribute his love of nature to his elven heritage, but he liked to think that if he had been completely human he would have the same esteems. He had been cooped up in that city for far too long. I need to get out more, he told himself.

He stood and stretched his arms in the air, watching the others do the same. When the tingling sensation faded, he turned to his saddlebags to grab a few bites of dried meat and perhaps a nibble of cheese, but as he eyes swept the ground, he noticed something odd.

Just a few feet in front of him, to the side of the trail, he saw strange tracks, as if someone or something had jumped into the road and then quickly hopped away. They looked like shallow brush strokes, as one would make with a paintbrush, albeit a heavy paintbrush. It was very faint and if he were not an expert tracker, he would have missed it.

Ristil's eyes immediately scanned the area and his hand went to his scimitar. He saw the strange tracks all around him, leading further and further down the road. It was as if whoever made them kept jumping away, trying to get ahead of whoever it was they were tracking, which was most likely his party.

"What is it?" Brask said. He had finally noticed his tracker's defensive stance and he saw the urgency on Ristil's face. Years of working together had taught Brask that when the half-elf was on edge, they had all better follow his lead.

Ristil quickly looked over the area, searching the trees, bushes. and any other place that could conceal an assassin. That was when his eyes fell to the back of the group and saw that one of their party was missing.

"Where's that damn kid?!"

* * * * *

Druzeel tucked the ring into his pocket and took a deep breath. He sincerely hoped that his teacher would be okay. Age was finally creeping up on him and the stress of the past few days was not helping. He would just have to accomplish his quest quickly and get back to his side. When this was all passed them, he hoped to see Graeak return to his normal self, but only time–may he have many more years of it–would tell.

"Let's get back," he said, taking the reins of his horse. The beast just snorted in response, but as Druzeel went to sit in his saddle, the animal shrieked and kicked at the ground violently.

"Relax," Druzeel urged. "I'm not going to–"

Whether it was the faint rustle of leaves or a subtle shift in the air, something made him turn and face the trees, just in time to see a large black form falling toward him, with a sword aimed right at his face.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 8

There was no glint to the dark blade, no reflection from the few rays of sunlight that managed to peek through the canopy and hit the sword's surface. There was only a malevolent darkness, a blackness so complete that all the surrounding light seemed to dim at its presence. And it was heading straight towards Druzeel.

Without thinking, without caring whether he broke his arm, cracked a rib, or split his head open, Druzeel threw himself to the side, to the hard ground beneath his feet. The air was blasted from his lungs when he hit, but he hardly cared. All he did was roll when he landed, away from the dark from, ignoring any pain that his mind had yet to register. His quick action saved his life for his attacker missed him. Unfortunately, Druzeel's mount had been directly behind him and that dark blade cut into its side, splitting the tough horse flesh as if it were merely decade's old parchment. Blood splattered the green grass and the mare screeched in terror and pain. Then it bolted, running as fast as it could to get away from the cause of its agony, taking all of Druzeel's belongings with it, including his staff. It just a few seconds, the animal had disappeared through the brush.

When Druzeel came to a stop, he looked up at his attacker. It appeared to be a being composed entirely of shadow. There were no discernible features, no patches of flesh, and no slivers of armor showing through. The man, if it was a man, was just a form of complete darkness. Along of the edges of the creature Druzeel could make out what looked like armor, straps, and even a scabbard, but the inside was blank, as if the features of this thing before him had been erased with black ink. Was this thing some type of ghost? The blade in the thing's hand had seemed real enough, especially to his horse, but when the attack had first come, Druzeel hadn't heard a sound. The shadowy thing before him was silent when it landed and swung at him. The blades of grass around its feet hardly moved at all and Druzeel felt as though any breeze that may flow through the small clearing would pass right through the creature.

At first, he thought he was looking at a shade, an undead creature composed of a vengeful spirit. It could have even been mistaken for a wraith, an even more dangerous type of undead that could suck the life from a person with just a touch, but he discounted those possibilities right away. He did not feel any of the fear or terror that those types of creatures emitted. Just being in the presence of a wraith or shade would cause a man to run in terror. The type of fear that Druzeel was experiencing was a different kind altogether.

Druzeel scrambled to his feet as the shadow man started to stalk towards him, that eerie blade leading the way. As the creature moved forward, as it readied itself for another attack and as Druzeel watched its movements, recognition hit him like a fist. He could practically see the purple veins of evil metal underneath the shadowy blade.

This thing in front of him had the same height, build, stance, outline, and movement as the assassin that had broken into Graeak's tower! Those motions, the malicious way the thief had moved was forever embedded into Druzeel's mind. He would never forget that man nor would he forget the feeling running through him as he sat in the corner of his mentor's chambers, waiting for death to take him. Hells, the thing in front of him could even be the assassin, cloaked in some type of shadow magic, but Druzeel discounted that initial thought. Whatever this thing was, it was not the actual assassin. Though it was silent as death and moved like a practiced thief, something about it told Druzeel that it was just a copy, a shadowy duplicate coming to kill him.

The thing continued to walk forward. Druzeel backed away and looked at his body, searching for some type of weapon. He had a few daggers but he didn't think those would be adequate enough to harm the creature before him. True, a few of those blades were magically enchanted, but he was no swordsman. He had a few sparring lessons but nothing that had prepared him to fight such a creature. And his staff had run off into the woods. It appeared that he was weaponless and–

Wait a second, he screamed in his mind. You are a weapon! You are a wizard, a wizard trained by the mighty Graeak Loyalar. You're entire body, your entire mind is a weapon!

If not for the seriousness of the current situation, Druzeel would have slapped himself on the forehead. Apparently, the excitement and terror coursing through his body had addled his wits, but the moment had passed and he was starting to find his sanity again. He reached into his mind and started shifting through his spells, but his search was interrupted when another form emerged from near the creature in front of him.

Initially, Druzeel thought the others had heard the commotion and had finally come to his aid, but it turned out his luck continued to be nothing but bad for the other form that entered the clearing was another creature of shadow. This one looked exactly like the first, with the same dark blade pointed his direction and the same intent of death emanating from its body.

"Where the hells are you coming from?" Druzeel cursed. These things just couldn't have appeared out of nowhere. They had either been following them, waiting for them, or sent by magical means. Had the assassin been watching them? Was he still in the city when they left or did he have spies watching the gates? Perhaps they were being watched even now, with spells. Druzeel made a mental note to check if they were being watched, if he managed to survive the next few moments. However the things had gotten here, it was clear to him that his odds were only getting worse.

Druzeel shuffled through his spells again, now looking for something he could cast that would hit both the creatures at once. He had a good number of spells that would do the job but he didn't want to destroy the surrounding area or set the woods on fire. He must have something that could–

His thoughts were interrupted as four more of the shadow thieves entered the clearing. Two came from the bushes, just behind their companions while the other two fell from the trees, landing on the ground as silently as a floating leaf. Every single one had the same appearance and same vicious blade aimed in his direction.

"Knights!" Druzeel shouted, wondering where in the hells the others could be. They surely had heard his horse's scream of pain. He looked around for just a moment, trying to get his bearings, trying to figure out which direction he had come from, but without his horse to guide him, he knew he was lost. He hadn't spent much time in the woods and he forgot how easy it was to get turned around. Now, it appeared he was hopelessly lost and about to die.

But he would fight. He would not just cower and wait to die, so he thought hard about everything he had learned, everything he was taught during his time under Graeak's tutelage.

While being a student at The Fount, only half of Druzeel's lessons had been actually using and researching magic. The other half was spent in the libraries of the tower, pouring over endless tomes, countless books, and scroll after scroll of ancient history, odd sciences, lost civilizations, and a dozen other subjects. Graeak made sure that his students were well rounded and were knowledgeable in more than just spells and the arcane. One of those subjects happened to be monster lore and the ways to combat creatures of undeath. Druzeel knew that shades, wraiths, and other creatures of shadow were vulnerable to light. Though the monsters in front of him were shambling through the forest in the day, much of the sun was blocked by the leaves above so they were hardly exposed. Druzeel planned to fix that.

He brought to mind one of the most common spells a wizard knows, a simple light spell. Druzeel started the intricate gestures that would bring the magic forth and recited the words that would allow him the energies necessary to send the spell at the shadow thieves. The magic, coming from the very air around him and the earth at his feat, filled him and sent shivers of delight through his body. He felt the spell course through his limbs and travel to his fingers. He raised his hands in the air and pointed at the shadow creatures, but before the spell went off, something very hard and very solid slammed into the back of his shoulder.

Whatever it was slid through his robes and the flesh beneath, to jab at his shoulder blade. Druzeel felt his flesh part and could feel the blood already start to flow down his back. His wanted to scream, wanted to shout out in pain, but years of practice had taught him otherwise.

"If a wizard's concentration wavers while in the midst of casting a spell, even for a moment," Graeak had told him many times during his years in the tower, "then his spell is lost. What he loses next is most likely his life." Those hard lessons usually involved Druzeel trying to cast a spell while his mentor, and many others, would shout, scream, throw things and, in some cases, slap him, trying to distract him and lose his spell. Those were some of the most annoying and frustrating times during Druzeel's tenure, but as the blade cut into his flesh and the pain attacked his mind, he silently thanked Graeak for being so persistent.

He stepped forward, sliding off the blade, which sent another surge of anguish through his body, but he kept the spell. He twisted around and let it loose, not even seeing what was standing behind him, but he had a good idea of what it would be.

The clearing exploded in bright blinding light. Druzeel's vision was suddenly filled with white and he shut his eyes against the excruciating glare. Though he could not see, his ears worked perfectly and he heard a scream from in front of him–was that two screams he heard?–that froze his blood cold. He had never heard something so horrific and it stung his ears and hurt his brain. Even behind him, the creatures shouted in discomfort, but their screams were not nearly as loud or disturbing as what he heard from the creature or creatures standing before him. Being blinded as he was, he was fearful that the shadow thieves behind him would charge while he was vulnerable, but no attack came, and his vision eventually cleared.

In front of him, he saw two more shadow men, both bleeding wisps of shadow. One of them was on its knees, moaning like a hungry zombie as it shambles towards it prey. Its body was filled with holes and part of one of its arms was gone. All that remained were tendrils of shadow, wriggling like dying snakes. The other one was still on its feet, clutching its head, trying to shake the affects of the spell. Though no holes or injures were visible, it was clearly shaken.

Wanting to take full of advantage of their paralysis, Druzeel cast another quick spell, sending a burst of magical energy into the two creatures. The one standing staggered backwards but managed to stay on its feet, looking no worse off than it did previously, but the one its knees screamed in pain as the magic blasted through it. The holes widened and the wisps of shadow were blasted into nothingness. The creature shuddered once then faded away. In a few seconds there was nothing left of the thing but a puddle of black sludge, which slowly started to soak into the ground.

The injured creature leaned up and started to move forward. Druzeel backed away but quickly remembered the six others behind him. He turned and saw that even though they had obviously been hurt by the light, they continued to come at him. He knew he would never be able to get another spell off before they reached him, but he would try anyway. What choice did he have? It appeared the others had abandoned him. He really was alone in this battle.

The ground below him rumbled and a sound like thunder filled the air, coming from behind. Druzeel turned and looked past the injured shadow man walking towards him, to the thick growth of the forest.

A large bush a few yards away suddenly exploded, sending leaves and sticks flying over the area. Thorstar emerged from the cloud of green, astride his giant horse. The man held a look of anger and clutched his giant sword, which Druzeel had learned he called Blood Edge, in both hands. Druzeel silently thanks the gods as the huge warrior spurred his mount onward.

The shadow thieves let loose what Druzeel could only call a growl and stalked forward. Even the one Druzeel had injured turned and moved toward Thorstar, apparently without an ounce of fear for it raised its sword menacingly. Thorstar never slowed. He just leapt off his horse as he neared the injured creature and before he even hit the ground, swung in a mighty overhead chop that cleaved the monster in two. The attack was so strong that Blood Edge sunk into the ground almost two feet. The shadow thief let loose a single groan before its two halves dissolved, leaving behind matching piles of black ooze. Thorstar then rose, ripped his sword from the ground, and eyed his remaining opponents.

"They are shadow copies of the assassin," Druzeel explained, moving closer to his savior, all the while searching for another useful spell in his mind. Thorstar didn't respond or hold the slightest indication that he had heard the words. He just glared at the beasts as they let loose a deep hiss and fanned out to surround their newest opponent.

The shadow things moved forward, slightly slower than when they had been approaching Druzeel, a little more caution in their movements. Their faces, where they would have been on a normal person, stared straight at Thorstar, realizing that he was the larger threat of the two men standing before them. But the danger they thought they faced did not come from Thorstar, or even Druzeel, but from behind them, as the other Knights entered the clearing, with swords, axes, and arrows leading the way.

The first into the clearing was Ristil, who came firing a pair of arrows at the closest shadow creature. The missiles hummed from his longbow and struck true, lodging into its shadow flesh right where the thing's heart should be. The creature grunted but twisted around as if unfazed, bringing the dark sword to bear.

"Well," Ristil said. "That wasn't what I expected. Guess I'll have to do this the hard way then." He kept coming, dropping his bow and unsheathing his scimitar.

Vistalas came next, also entering the fray letting loose an arrow from his longbow. Having seen the useless result of Ristil's attack, he aimed a little higher and his arrow slammed into the back of one of the creature's head, going all way through. Only the fletching of the arrow remained visible, but when the creature rounded on him, the entire shaft could be seen sticking out of its face. It hissed like a snake and started to move towards him.

"Are you blind?" Ristil yelled as he swung his sword at the shadow thief. "What did you think would happen?" His opponent easily blocked his strike, raising its own sword and pushing it away. Ristil hoped backward with a smirk on his face. "They have some skill. Hard way indeed."

Next to enter the fight was Jannda and Dex, each one brandishing blades instead of arrows or, in Jannda's case, sling-bullets. Both had seen their companions' ineffective attacks and decided that a sword and dagger would be the best approach.

Dex swung sideways, hoping to loop off his target's head for anything less than a mortal wound would be wasted. He saw the arrows sticking out of the others and knew that he would have to finish these things with a single, mighty chop, but the shadow thieves were not just some mindless beasts. They carried some type of intelligence and his attack was easily avoided. The creature jumped back and slid to the side. It came back in with an attack of its own, nearly splitting open Dex's side, but the man managed to parry the blade with his own and stepped away. This time when he came in, he approached with a little more caution.

"They have skills," he said to Jannda, who was facing down her own shadow beast. She moved in quick, jumping all around her opponent, using her small size as an advantage. The thing seemed unaccustomed to fighting such a small creature and was having trouble keeping her in sight.

"So you say," Jannda joked while sliding her daggers, one in each hand, across the inside of the creature's thighs. Where the blade hit, the dark substance parted and wisps of shadows started to leak from the wounds. The shadow thief hissed and twisted around, coming straight down with its dagger, trying to skewer Jannda, but by the time its sword fell, she was already out of range, coming around to flank her opponent.

"Come on guys," Jannda said, rearing back to stab the creature in the back, "you going to let a girl–"

Her sentence was cut short as the tip of an axe blade burst out of the back of her target. If these things had blood inside their veins instead of darkness, Jannda would have been sprayed across the face. Instead, the shadow thief only released a shout of pain then suddenly started to dissolve away. It had been so intent on the small halfling running through its legs that it never saw the threat coming up right to its chest.

"Hey!" Jannda exclaimed as Brask pulled his axe back from the cloud of fading shadow. "That was mine!"

"Just shut it and help the others," the large man said in an annoyed voice. Jannda gave Brask an ugly look but moved to help Dex, coming around to get behind the one he was fighting.

While she moved to the right, Brask moved to the left, bringing his large axe to the aid of Ristil, not that the half-elf needed it. The one he was fighting was bleeding shadow from a handful of wounds while he had yet to be touched. Though the shadow creature did have some fighting abilities and decent sword skills, it appeared to be no match for Ristil's speed or agility. It also looked like as each creature was destroyed, the others grew weaker, as if they were linked somehow. Indeed, the one Dex faced had noticeably slowed, as had all the others. With the new hindrance, Jannda and Dex easily made short work of the creature. In seconds, it was a pile of black sludge upon the forest floor. The creature's destruction seemed to be too much for the others to handle.

Ristil sliced his opponent across the throat. Usually that attack would have been useless, but the creature twisted with the blow, right into Brask's axe, which took it in the gut, almost slicing it in two. Vistalas finished his soon after with a sword thrust to the face and a dagger to the chest.

The remaining two, which stood before Thorstar and Druzeel, were staggering around, looking as if they had had one too many drinks at the Crying Lady. Thorstar rushed forward and swung wide, chopping the one to his left in two. The creature howled in agony then disintegrated. Meanwhile, Druzeel cast a simple spell and sent three balls of energy slamming into the last shadow creature, blasting three large holes in its chest. The holes quickly expanded, like a flame spreading over a piece of parchment, and in moments the creature was no more.

Silence settled over the area. Druzeel looked around the clearing, his eyes falling on each one of the eight piles of black muck. He knew he had been lucky. If the others had not eventually come to his aid, he could have been killed. They hadn't left him alone after all.

"What were those things?" Jannda asked, leaning over the murky substance, jabbing it with the end of his dagger. It hardly moved. The only response from the stuff was its continued melt into the ground.

"Shadow stalkers," Druzeel answered as the silence stretched out. A few of the party looked in his direction. He actually paused, waiting for Brask or someone else to make a comment, but the leader of the Knights just kept his eyes on the pile of shadow at his feet, a look of disgust and annoyance on his face. Druzeel knew the source of at least one of those emotions.

"I wasn't sure at first," he continued when no one else spoke, "but as they started to weaken as each one was destroyed, I knew what we were facing."

"A monster?" Dex asked.

"A spell," Druzeel corrected. "And a powerful one at that. And evil, one used by assassins and thieves."

"Powerful?" Vistalas said with skepticism. The others shared his disbelief. "They didn't last very long once we started pounding on them."

"They are not meant for straightforward combat," Druzeel explained. "They usually come upon their prey during the night, when most of us our asleep, and use their superior numbers to overwhelm their foes. Their entire purpose is assassination, quick and quiet. If they are caught in the open, their effectiveness is drastically reduced, and once you kill one, the others are quick to weaken."

"Like a spider web," Jannda remarked. "Strong as a whole but once you start to cut the strands, the entire thing eventually collapses."

The others nodded in agreement as the last of the sludge soaked into the ground. All that was left was a black stain and even that was slowly fading away. In a few minutes, there would be no proof that there had been anything fighting the group. The stalkers were indeed the perfect assassination weapon.

"So what you are saying," Brask said, his voice thick with irritation, "is that they stalk their prey and wait for some idiot to go off on their own before attacking them." His eyes found Druzeel. "Is that what you are saying?"

Druzeel wanted to come back with a strong reply, something to show that this had not been his fault, but couldn't. He knew he should not have gone off on his own. He knew this battle could have turned out very differently. One of them could have been hurt or killed. He had been stupid and Brask was calling him out on it. He hadn't thought about his actions. His inexperience had really shown through. Though he hated to admit it, Brask was right this time, so he just looked down with shame and nodded.

"Next time we might just let you die," Ristil said, driving the point home, further adding to Druzeel's humiliation.

"Actually, this was a good thing."

All eyes turned to Dex, thinking that he was once again coming to Druzeel's aid, but the man just shook his head and turned his eyes to Vistalas. The others followed his lead and stared at the rogue with shock. Though everyone knew that Brask would be surprised at the man's words, it was Druzeel who wore the biggest look of amazement.

"What?" Druzeel found himself saying.

"What you did was indeed foolish," Vistalas said, his voice letting Druzeel know that he was by no means defending his actions, "and I would strongly recommended you never do it again or as Ristil said, we may leave you to your fate, but this little ambush probably saved us a much harder battle."

"Explain," Brask said, not at all enjoying the current conversation. Nothing that made Druzeel's action seem positive was something he took pleasure in.

"As our foolish wizard just said," Vistalas explained, continuing to let Druzeel know how much of a fool he thought he had been, "these creatures usually come during the night, while their prey is asleep. Imagine if they had fallen on us while we slept. Imagine if we actually had to battle them during the darkness, in their element. Druzeel's mistake brought them all out in the open and allowed us to dispatch them easily. This time, his foolishness worked to our advantage."

Brask looked at Vistalas then his gaze fell upon Druzeel, who was quick to avert his eyes from the disapproving stare. Though Brask didn't like it, Vistalas's explanation made sense. If the stalkers had caught them at night, one of them could have been grievously injured or even killed. He didn't think much of Druzeel, but he valued each of his men. The realization that Druzeel's mistake had actually benefited them made him hold back the vicious scolding he had been planning.

"Do I even need to say anything?" he said in a hard voice, directing his words at Druzeel.

"No," Druzeel said, eyes still down.

"Good," Brask said sternly, like he was a father teaching his son a lesson. He turned toward the others. "Back to camp. Dex, Ristil–help him find his damn horse. He obviously can't be left alone without finding trouble."

Thorstar mounted his horse and led the beast back towards their camp, with Vistalas and Brask following close behind. Jannda walked by Dex and slapped him on the thigh.

"Have fun," she said with a smile and walked after the others.

"Thanks," Dex replied. He walked next to Druzeel, who stood watching the others disappear through the brush.

"Come on," Ristil said with annoyance and moved to where Druzeel had last seen his horse. How the man knew where to go, Druzeel couldn't say. With the fighting and commotion, Druzeel couldn't tell one track from the other, let alone what direction his horse had originally gone, but the half-elf seemed to know exactly where he was going, so he followed in silence with Dex right beside him.

Druzeel knew the half-elf was annoyed at having to help him, but neither he nor Dex were trackers and they needed his skills. To help calm the situation, Druzeel kept quiet, following without question. He said nothing. He just kept his eyes straight, watching as Ristil scanned the bushes, the trees, and the ground in front of him. As they continued to follow the horse's path, Druzeel was starting to make out the trail. The horse had run away in fear, not caring about what it ran into or through. Broken branches, crushed leaves, and snapped branches were prevalent all over. Unfortunately, Druzeel also saw spots of blood on the ground. He hoped his mount had not died at the end of its panic.

"You may be gifted in the ways of magic," Dex said while walking next to Druzeel, "but you have a lot to learn about being on the road. This lesson was painful, but one that was sorely needed."

"I know," Druzeel said. "I'm sorry."

"Useless," they heard Ristil remark up ahead of them.

"Give it a rest," Dex said in annoyance. "He's learned his lesson."

"He's been learning quite a few lessons in the past few days, hasn't he?" the half-elf responded to his fellow Knight. "Lucky he's not dead."

"You were young once to," Dex responded.

"Young, yes," Ristil said. "Stupid? No."

Dex raised an eyebrow. "I find that hard to believe."

"So does everyone else," the half-elf replied, turning his head. Both Dex and Druzeel caught the edge of a smile on his face. Then he turned back around, concentrating on the trail.

"Regardless of my age or inexperience," Druzeel said, aiming his words at Ristil's back, "I have learned and promise it will not happen again."

"Promises, promises," Ristil commented. The two men behind him did not respond. They just kept walking, trying their best to ignore him.

"I heard you say that those creatures back there were shadow copies of the assassin in the tower?" Dex asked.

"Yes," Druzeel said. "The spell makes a copy of your body and weapons and creates a shadow. The more powerful the caster, the more copies that you can make at one time. The stalker doesn't have your memories or emotions, but retains a certain amount of your skills, which is how I was able to recognize the assassin. The stalkers had his same stance and movements. Though the spell is powerful, if the stalkers are forced to fight multiple opponents, they can be easier to kill. Like I said, they are usually sent against one or two opponents during the night. The spell links each creature, but once they start to die the link starts to crumble, weakening the chain."

"They must have been stalking us for quite some time," Dex said.

"Yes," Ristil added, "waiting for some fool to get separated from the group."

"So, the assassin knows we are following," Dex surmised, ignoring Ristil's comment.

"Yes," Druzeel said, also ignoring Ristil's barb, "and he appears much more powerful than I originally thought. It takes quite a bit of skill to cast that spell, be it from a scroll or book."

"Well it's a good thing we have a powerful wizard with us, doesn't it?" Ristil said. "I'm confident your magic is much stronger than the assassin's. There's your horse."

Dex and Druzeel looked away from each other and saw Ristil pointing to another small clearing ahead of them. The horse stood in the center, nibbling at the grass. A foot long gash decorated its side and blood painted the ground below it, but thankfully, the animal still lived.

The three companions walked into the clearing and looked over the horse. Ristil stood off to the side, arms crossed in impatience. Dex examined the wound while Druzeel stood in front of his horse, trying his best to keep it calm. The horse just looked at him with indifference and it gnashed the blades of grass between its blunt teeth.

"Will she be all right?" Druzeel asked.

"Yes," Dex responded. "She'll live, but you may not be able to ride her for a few days. That wound is nasty and will need time to heal."

"He ain't riding with me," Ristil said, quick to respond.

"Come on," Dex said, taking the reins. "Let's get back to camp and treat the wound. Then we'll talk about our next course of action."

Druzeel followed Dex, Ristil, and his horse from the clearing, heading back to camp. He didn't like the thought of having to ride with someone else for he knew there would hardly be a volunteer in the group. Whoever it was he would have to ride with was sure to be put in a foul mood. He had already upset them enough and did not look forward to doing it again, even if he couldn't help the situation. With one horse lame and another weighted down, it would add time to their journey. It was just another inconvenience for the group and something else that they could blame him for.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 9

It took a total of five days to reach the other side of the forest. Because of the wound his horse had suffered, Druzeel had to ride with someone else. They had managed to bind the wound the shadow stalker had made and staunch the flow of blood, but his horse was still weak and required a few days without a rider. The young mage was paired with Dex at first, but any mount could only bear two riders for so long. Druzeel then accompanied Thorstar for the other half of the trip through Fairgrove. It felt odd to be on such a large beast and Druzeel knew that one fall could kill him, but it was a bit more comfortable than being in his own saddle, even if he had hundreds of pounds of fighter blocking his entire view. Surprisingly, the large man made no complaints, at least none that the group could hear, and Druzeel felt Thorstar held no ill will toward him. If the man was annoyed, he kept it to himself.

Luckily, their time through the thick woods was quiet and uneventful, allowing for an easy journey. There were no more shadow monsters or dangerous beasts. There were only curious forest animals that usually scampered away at the group's approach. Druzeel was thankful for the calm respite. It gave Brask and the others some time to calm down from the ambush and he hoped it would cool their irritation with him. Either the slow journey was helping or they had decided to ignore him for during the night when they camped, no one said a word to him, except for Dex. Even Jannda asked him a question or two, but the others just talked amongst themselves. Druzeel felt a little left out, but he was content to just be silent and listen, letting their tempers cool and using the time to learn more of his traveling companions.

Brask he knew, or at least, knew one side of the man. That side was uncaring, unkind, ruthless, and only cared about getting things done, damn the consequences. Every time Druzeel ran into him, he offered nothing but insults and taunts. He was a man hardened by pain, held up by brutality, and thrived on the displeasure of others. Those were harsh feelings, Druzeel knew, but Brask had never done anything or shown any other emotion besides hostility to prove to Druzeel that he was anything but a cruel human being. Until now.

As Druzeel sat and watched the large man gathered with the other Knights, he saw smiles, laughter, and a genuine love for his companions and the road on Brask's face. Brask would share stories with the others, stories of triumph, tragedy, and even hopelessness. Yes, he spoke of his cruelty, of men, women, and other beings he had beaten and brutalized, but those stories always involved the subject of his wrath being a creature of evil or similar cruelty. The tone in his voice and the body language of the others told Druzeel that they truly believed those that had been on the receiving end of the Knights' version of justice truly received the punishment and treatment they deserved. Perhaps they did. Druzeel couldn't know. He could only listen and hope that their actions, in those instances at least, had been true.

Brask continued to confuse Druzeel, speaking of women he had loved, friends he had lost, and lives he had saved from certain death. He even spoke of his brother, his voice full of irritation at the stupid things siblings usually do, but he also spoke with compassion and love, common feelings and emotions that any man would have when he had a brother. Did Brask still have a heart? Druzeel found himself wondering over their time in the woods. Could his animosity toward me be an isolated incident, brought on by his brother's unfortunate–or fortunate depending on one's point of view–expulsion from Graeak's tower? Druzeel didn't think so. Listening to their stories told the young wizard that Brask was mean to anyone at anytime and that his violence was not random, but carefully thought out. He disliked people who he saw as useless and weak and anyone that crossed him the wrong way. Unfortunately, he perceived Druzeel as being all these things from day one. Yet seeing the man relaxed and out from behind his shield of violence and hate, Druzeel held hope that Brask was not all bad. He had faith that the man had, somewhere deep down, a shred of humanity and decency. He had to hold on to that belief for to think otherwise was to think that there was nothing inside of Brask but a soul of darkness. Druzeel quickly turned from that disturbing thought and his eyes feel upon the largest member of the group, the warrior Thorstar.

The man, always silent, would sit next to Brask every night with a calm look on his face. He never spoke but somehow managed to add his thoughts and comments to the stories they told. Be it a look or hand gesture, the silent warrior always contributed to the tales of valor and battle.

Even now, Druzeel had yet to know why the large man never spoke. He had tried to catch a glimpse inside Thorstar's mouth to see if he still had a tongue but could never quite catch the right angle. Perhaps he was simply born without speech. Druzeel had heard of such conditions before. Maybe he only spoke when absolutely necessary. Whatever the reason for his silence, Druzeel found himself liking the man. He was strong and hardened by years of fighting, much like the others, and Druzeel could tell by the stories where he heard Thorstar mentioned that he was fiercely loyal to his friends. One such tale told of Thorstar fighting through a dozen ogres to get to Ristil when the half-elf was ambushed during a scouting mission. The man had almost died but had killed every last beast threatening his friend. That loyalty was something to be admired. It was also something, as Druzeel found out earlier, that Thorstar held for all members of their party, no matter when they became a part of the group. For that, Druzeel had been thankful.

Still, for all the man's qualities, Druzeel sensed that he followed blindly. It was evident that Thorstar saw himself as something of a bodyguard for the group, a protector over everyone, especially Brask though none of the others really needed protecting. It was not a bad thing, Druzeel thought, but he sensed that Thorstar would be easily manipulated by the others if the situation called for it. His actions in Gret's shop spoke to that possibility. Regardless of that possible flaw, Thorstar had been the first to arrive when the shadow stalkers attacked. Druzeel would not soon forget that and he made a mental note that the man could be looked to when trouble arose.

His thoughts next drifted to the half-elf sitting on the other side of Brask. Where Brask appeared to show a sliver of virtue and dignity during those times he sat around the fire, talking with his companions, Ristil showed only despite and animosity. There wasn't a glimmer of humanity or honor in the way the half-elf spoke or acted. He laughed only when hearing or speaking of violence. His eyes sparkled when someone talked about killing or shedding blood. True, he shared a few stories of rescuing a kidnapped child or saving a damsel in distress, but his voice only peaked when he spoke of the reward he received or the debauchery afterwards. For him, the reward was the only important thing when taking a job. He thought only of himself and of how the situation could benefit him in the end. Druzeel believed he cared about the others and would fight to protect them, but only because they offered him something in return. Selfish was the only word that came to Druzeel's mind when thinking of the tracker.

Something else also bothered Druzeel about Ristil and the way the half-elf acted. Early on, it was clear that the ranger would be just as antagonizing to Druzeel as Brask was, but Brask's hostility toward Druzeel came out of the situation with his brother. Ristil's hatred came only because of the way Brask acted.

It seemed that Ristil only hated Druzeel because the man he thought of as his leader and employer did. He only seemed to want to impress or emulate Brask and the way to do that was harassing Druzeel. There was no logical reason for his actions or his hatred. The two could have been friends, but Ristil's personality would just not allow it. He was immoral and rotten to the core and Druzeel knew he would have to watch the half-elf carefully if another confrontation were to arise. If another argument broke out, Druzeel knew that Ristil would only make sure that a bad situation got worse.

The next person that Druzeel mulled over was perhaps the one that confused him the most. Vistalas had both ridiculed and humiliated him, but had also defended his actions in the forest, though the defense was sort of backhanded. Just when Druzeel thought he had a read on the rogue, Vistalas did something that completely threw him off. He knew the man liked it that way, being someone who could never be understood or figured out. He was a thief after all and he seemed to enjoy the confusion on Druzeel's face. During those nights in camp, Vistalas had caught Druzeel watching him. His only response was a sly smile and a wink, letting Druzeel know he knew exactly what the young wizard was doing.

He was both frustrating and irritating and seemed to like it that way. The way he spoke–and speak he did, being the one doing most of the talking during those times around the fire–Druzeel got the feeling that the thief just loved life and all of its offerings. He was constantly laughing and telling jokes, and playing them as well, lifting coins and other items from his friend's pockets. They took it in stride and even accepted the man's jests with some of their own, though the way Thorstar got Vistalas back was a very painful punch to the shoulder. The thief would just rub the pain away with a laugh.

Though he mocked and taunted everyone, Druzeel could tell that when the time came, Vistalas could be deadly serious. That look he had given Druzeel screamed predator. He knew then that even though Vistalas had a jubilant exterior, when needed, the killer would come out. His entire persona was a mystery and the wizard in Druzeel was intrigued, for just like a new spell, he was a problem to be figured out, but Druzeel would not pry. It was not a good idea to annoy such a man with questions. Druzeel just thanked the gods that Vistalas was on his side, at least for the time being.

Jannda caught Druzeel's eye next. Though the halfling was the smallest member of the group, her personality made her over ten feet tall. Everyone knew she was there, even when no words came from her lips. Just by looking in her direction one was forced to meet those large, emerald eyes. When she did speak, they all listened for she told tales like a master storyteller, adding flare and excitement like Druzeel had never seen. When listening to those stories, spoken with a beautifully musical voice, Druzeel could almost see himself inside them, practically feel the environment around him. During one fable, about a lost sailor rescued at sea by a mermaid, he found himself breathing deeply, almost drowning as if he was the man, being sucked down beneath the waves. She had appeared to take notice of his attention for her words only became more intense and she directed her actions in his direction. When the story ended, Druzeel could hardly breathe, could hardly sit up. Seeing his look, the others shared a laugh at his expense. They had apparently experienced similar situations with Jannda and decided not to be too hard on him. Even Brask managed a laugh. Druzeel gladly took the ridicule for it was the one time he had actually felt like a part of the group.

Though she was a bard and carried over half a dozen instruments, Jannda did not sing or play while in the forest. She did not want to attract unwanted attention. The shadow stalkers may have been dealt with but there were other unseemly things in the darkness.

Still, even just talking, Druzeel enjoyed the tales that Jannda told and could see that she enjoyed telling them. Much like Vistalas, she seemed to enjoy life and entertaining others. She took pride in every word she spoke and took great care with every word uttered. But unlike the thief, Jannda held no great violence or danger inside her. She was kind, caring, and protective of her friends in an unselfish way. She wore her personality on her shoulder and was more than happy to display it to everyone. Druzeel liked her immediately and was thankful that she, along with Dex, had decided to stick up for him when trouble reared its ugly head. Though he still looked forward to hearing her sing, for now, her words more than fulfilled that longing he carried.

Druzeel already knew some of the final member of the group. Besides Jannda, Dex had been the only one to actually stand up for him and speak in his defense when he made a mistake. Unlike the others, the man remembered what it was like to be young and make mistakes. He also knew what it was like to be both physically and mentally beaten down and did his best to prevent that from happening to Druzeel. He knew the young wizard had to make mistakes to learn, but inexperience required teaching, not yelling, in order to prevent making those mistakes again. He did his best to offer advice and guide Druzeel in the right direction, without making all the decisions for him. For that, Druzeel was thankful, but Dex still had his flaws.

It was abundantly clear that even though Dex stood out as one of the only compassionate members of the Knights of the Chipped Blade, he was still part of the group. He participated in their conversations, both decent and crude, and offered stories of his own that were less than virtuous. Druzeel liked the man and he would look to him if he and Brask butted heads again, but he had to remember that in the end, Dex's loyalty was to the group. If push came to shove, Druzeel liked to think that Dex would be on his side, but he wouldn't count on it. The man was kindhearted, generous, and thoughtful, but he was loyal to his friends. He had known Jannda, Brask, and the others for many years. Druzeel he knew for only a few days. If Druzeel was in his situation, he knew which way he would lean in a conflict.

At a distance, the Knights of the Chipped Blade looked like a heroic band indeed, consisting of members with great skills and amazing talent. They had achieved many great things, deeds that would make many people stand up and cheer, but as one learned more, as one delved deeper into those accomplishments and got closer to the party, those cheers could turn into gasps of disbelief. Only when one opened the book could they truly learn what lay inside and in some of those men, only hatred and anger resided.

Regardless of his feelings and of those shady things the party has done, Druzeel trusted in Graeak's judgment and would do his best to see the Knights accomplish their task. He knew that danger lie ahead, the shadow stalkers were ample proof of that, but the band was strong. They would face any obstacle without fear and finish what they were hired to do. That fact, and that fact alone, is what made Druzeel proud to be part of this quest.

Solaris greeted them as they exited the Fairgrove Forest, shining bright and hanging solo in the sky. It was good to see the sun after many days under a blanket of leaves. The heat warmed Druzeel's soul and seemed to do the same to the others. Though it as good to be out in the open, the time they had spent navigating the woods allowed Druzeel's horse to heal to the point where he could ride her when they emerged, but he would still have to take it slow. Even though there was nothing but open land before them, they could not travel as fast as Brask wished. That knowledge had brought a stream of complaints and curses from the large warrior as they started moving across the plains. He made sure his voice was loud enough for all to hear, especially Druzeel. Druzeel suggested using one of the handful of healing potions they had for the horse, but Brask said no. They were only used in emergencies.

"We'll lose a few days," Brask growled, talking to no one in particular. His comment was not specifically meant for any one person, but Ristil happened to be riding close by and just had to share his opinion.

"Lucky it's not more," the half-elf said. "Surprised he's not wining about something hurting yet."

Druzeel just let out a sigh and did his best to ignore the barbs. He should be used to it by now but they kept coming up with new ways to denigrate him. Not only were they seasoned warriors, but veteran humorists as well. Dex noticed his frustration but said nothing. A small smile actually spread across his face.

"Are you starting to agree with Ristil's quips?" Jannda asked, seeing the expression on her friend's face. The two rode at the back of the group but at an angle to Druzeel so they could see every look of disgust or vexation.

"No," Dex said. "Just remembering the days when I first joined the Knights. Our young wizard's plight reminds me of it so."

Jannda let out a giggle, which brought a raised eyebrow from Dex. "Those were some fun times," she said.

"To you!" Dex responded curtly but his voice soon turned into a chuckle. "And you didn't make my first few months any easier. I seem to remember you being the one that played most of the pranks, including hiding my boots from me for almost an entire day. My feet still hurt from that trek through that field of thorn bushes."

"Ha!" Jannda replied. "I had almost for gotten about that."

"Well I didn't."

"Yes, but you took your licks and eventually became a respected member of the group."

"As must he," Dex said, turning to look at Druzeel's back. That was the real reason why he was not intervening in every altercation or hurtful word thrown at the budding magic user. All the barbs, all the taunts were something of an initiation among the Knights, to see if Druzeel could handle it, to see if he had the strength to take what they had to offer. Dex had gone through the same thing and eventually proven himself worthy enough to be a member of the band. Druzeel may not be looking to stay with the Knights forever, but he was with them, for an unknown period of time, and had to show them he had the mental and physical fortitude to endure anything hurled his way.

"And he will," Jannda said with a shaky voice. Dex heard her words but also heard doubt in her voice.

"You don't seem to have much confidence."

"Well, none of the others knew who you were," Jannda explained. "The only things they knew were what I had told them, which was flattering I assure you. Brask had already sullied Druzeel's name before we had even met him. He is fighting an uphill battle, staring twenty feet below the ground."

"Which is why I speak for him more often than I usually would," Dex replied, explaining himself. If Druzeel had been any other person, someone brought into the group they had never heard of before, Dex would have never said a word and let Brask and the others have at him, but by the time Dex had finally met the young wizard, he only knew what Brask had told them. And none of it had been good. Dex also knew of Brask's over exaggerations so he gave Druzeel the benefit of the doubt. The wizard made mistakes, true, but each of them, even Brask, had done stupid things in their youth as well. They learned, grew, and became less prone to acts of ignorance.

"Fair enough," Jannda said, pulling Dex's eyes back to hers. "Just try not to baby him too much or we'll have two Knights under the verbal guillotine. Brask will only take so much."

Dex nodded in agreement and turned his eyes back to the newest member of the group. Druzeel just rode in silence, looking to the horizon, toward their destination, which was still many days away. Dex actually felt a little sorry for Druzeel for the young man's quest was going to be hard. He was tracking a dangerous killer, trying to live up to his father figure's expectations, and attempting not to disappoint the people he traveled with. The added pressure of his own companions ridiculing and insulting him was just going to add unneeded stress. A man could only take so much before he lashed out. Dex hoped the others would calm down the rhetoric and that the young wizard could keep his anger in check. Otherwise, they could find battle, just not the type of battle they were expecting.

The next part of the journey was, thankfully, uneventful. The group traveled during the day and slept at night though Brask had pushed them a little further than normal, waiting to make camp until complete darkness had covered the land. The mercenary leader was trying to make up for lost time. Most of them didn't mind but those that did shot Druzeel, not Brask, an ugly look.

If they had traveled normally, they would have only lost a few hours. Druzeel's horse was able to gallop for only short periods but that helped in making up what they had lost. Still, Brask pushed on, not wanting to lose a second. Druzeel knew the extra few hours of travel was only to make some of the others resent him more, but he kept silent and accepted whatever hate they decided to send his way.

The nights were cool and comfortable, making it easier to sleep, and the days were warm and breezy. If it had been summer, none of them would have wanted to travel so long during the day. Druzeel knew that the nice weather helped keep the others calm and levelheaded. He could not imagine how they would be acting towards him if sweat and exhaustion were prevalent.

All around them, as far as they could see, were flat lands of green grass, bundles of tress, colorful flowers, and clouds shaped like bundles of cotton. There were a few rolling hills and steep trails, but the majority of their journey was level and calm. It was the perfect traveling conditions for horse and rider. Since they could see for miles in any direction, they were all at ease, with no one fearing an attack from orcs or goblins that sometimes roamed the countryside. The only threat they had to fear was a random rainstorm and the blue sky above them showed no signs of drenching them with water.

"So how are we going to find the thief?" Druzeel asked Dex about a day and a half away from Pelartis. The plains started to become a little more curvy and the bundles of trees began to grow more abundant. To his right, Druzeel could make out a large forest. To the left were large mountains, their peaks coated with snow. Both were a good distance away so he held no worry of the beasts that called both those regions home.

"We have a few contacts in the city," Dex answered, looking in front of him, anticipating the sight of the large city. "We will go to them first."

"And if they come up empty?" Druzeel asked, always planning one step ahead. Dex looked at him in amusement.

"One thing at a time," the fighter replied. "We'll wait and–"

"Hold," came Brask's strong voice, cutting off Dex's words.

Both men looked up, finding Brask, who had stopped in front of the group. Then their eyes were drawn skyward, to the thick column of smoke that was flowing towards the heavens. The others eased their horses forward, forming a line next to Brask. Dex and Druzeel did likewise. When they came to a stop, they searched the horizon, looking for the source of the dark pillar.

The smoke was thickest just over the horizon, a few miles in front of them, seemingly along the trail. The width of the column told them that it was a small blaze but one that had been burning for a few hours, if not the entire day. The trail was not heavily traveled which helped to explain why whatever was burning had not yet been extinguished, but that did not mean that whatever had caused the fire was not still there.

"Ristil," Brask said without taking his eyes from the smoke. The half-elf made no indication that he had heard his name. He just spurred his horse onward, galloping towards the disturbance. At first, it looked like he was going straight to the blaze, but he cut left after a few hundred yards, which would bring him to the side of whatever was happening. If there was danger up ahead, Ristil was going to make sure he saw it without being noticed. Then he would come back and tell the others what he had seen.

"Slow forward," Brask said as soon as they lost sight of Ristil among one of the copse of trees.

He urged his mount forward at a slow trot, making sure that their tracker would reach the smoke and be back long before they came close. The others followed, hands resting on hilts for the first time since the battle with the shadow stalkers. Druzeel mentally scanned his spells, trying to think of what would be best if they had to fight. He had memorized a handful of spells that would bolster his companion's fighting skills and help shield them from steel, but he also had a dozen or so combat spells. The hard part was figuring out what would benefit them the most. It all depended on what they were facing and until Ristil returned, if he returned, none of them knew.

Luckily, his concerns were for naught. Less than a mile from where they had first stopped, Vistalas spotted Ristil riding towards them. He looked calm and uninjured.

"A caravan," the half-elf said as he neared. "The flames come from two of the wagons, set ablaze less than six hours ago. I count about a dozen women and children, perhaps double that in men."

"Any survivors?" Brask asked. Ristil just shook his head. "Attackers?" he then asked, but again, the half-elf responded with a shake of his head.

A feeling of remorse and horror suddenly coursed through Druzeel. A dozen women and children? All dead? Who would do such a thing? And if there were two dozen men, surely some of them were guards. How could every one of them be dead? Had an army of monsters descended upon them?

Brask said no more. He just commanded his horse forward. Ristil fell in and the group was quickly moving towards the destruction. Druzeel found it odd that Brask had not asked any more questions. Did he not want to know what could have attacked them? Wouldn't he want to know what the caravan carried? Perhaps Ristil did not know. Perhaps since they now knew no threat lingered, they would gather more details once they all reached what was left behind. Whatever the reason, Druzeel followed. When they crested the hill that blocked their view of the smoke, they all saw what the mound of earth and grass had been hiding.

There were three large wagons, two of which were burned to a crisp and still smoldering, sending thick plumes of smoke into the air. The wood was charred and blackened, the embers slowly dying in the bright sunlight. The third sat untouched by both flame and sword blade. Though the Knights knew differently, it looked as though it had rolled into the area after the battle had ended.

Two large wagons finished out the caravan, both sporting a handful of deep gouges that appeared to be from sword blades. Each wagon held food and supplies, none of which had been touched. The sacks of grain, bags of clothing, and crates of other materials hadn't a scratch on them. Thieves, bandits, and monsters would usually loot whatever was left after a battle. Whatever had done this had left in a hurry. To Druzeel, it was an odd sight to say the least, seeing a sacked caravan still piled high with supplies, but when his eyes settled on the dozens of butchered bodies, disgust and loathing surged through him.

Pools of blood lay scattered over the area and painted the sides of the two wagons. Men lay in dark red puddles, their chests and necks split open by something sharp and deadly. Many of their eyes still sat open, staring at the sky, seeing not the bright blue of its beauty, but only the black of absolute darkness. Women were slumped over their husbands. Others lay on the outskirts of the battle, sporting deep puncture wounds, no doubt receiving those as they ran in terror. Some women, mothers trying to protect their children, lay on their sides, still clutching their sons or daughters. In one case, Druzeel saw a deep stab wound on one young woman that had gone completely through her and into the chest of her child, killing them both. The scene was something out of a nightmare and one in which Druzeel would see for many nights.

"By the gods," he whispered as the group made their way down to the massacre. He followed, unable to tear his eyes from the gruesome scene. He just could not fathom something, some creature, so horrible as to do this to innocent women and children.

"I need details," Brask said, standing in the center of the area. Directly in front of him sat a burned out campfire. It appeared that the attackers had fallen on the caravan at night, when most of the victims had been sleeping, but they had to investigate to know for sure. "I want to know what did this and if it is still in the area," Brask continued, looking at the surrounding bodies. His men only nodded and went to work.

Ristil and Vistalas spread out to the outer edge of the battle, looking for tracks while Jannda, Dex, and Thorstar starting studying the bodies and the wounds they held. Brask did the same, kneeling down next to a man dressed in simple clothing. Druzeel watched him look for a pulse then peer intently at the vicious gash in his chest.

Druzeel looked away and began doing as the others, looking over the bodies for any clue as to what could have done this. Unfortunately, the first corpse he came to was a young woman that reminded him Vallia. She had the same color hair, slim nose, and blue eyes, eyes that now saw nothing but black. Druzeel leaned in to feel her pulse. His saw the gash across her throat and the blood painting her chest and found himself suddenly very sick. Bile rushed into his throat but he quickly leaned back and took a couple of deep breaths. The last thing he wanted to do was vomit in front of the others.

"No weakness," he whispered to himself. Don't give them anything else to use against you, he thought. Be strong.

He successfully held down his lunch and leaned forward, looking at the gash. There was no point in feeling for a pulse for the woman was obviously dead, so he studied the wound, trying to figure out what made the mortal strike.

It was obviously a blade of some kind, mostly likely a sword and it had been razor sharp for there was no tearing. The flesh was perfectly parted, with the ends curling up slightly. If the blade had been older or uncared for, the cut may have been jagged, like a ripped sheet of parchment. Whoever had done this was skilled and knew exactly what they had been doing.

Unfortunately, telling what made the simple wound was as far as Druzeel's investigative skills went with regard to weapons. He was a wizard, not a fighter, and knew little in the ways of physical combat. Now, if it had been a spell that had taken the unfortunate woman's life, Druzeel knew of a dozen ways to discover the type of magic used in the deadly assault. Yet, the source wasn't important to Druzeel. An innocent woman had died and the murderer was nowhere to be found. That and that alone is what pushed him to the other bodies scattered throughout the area, searching for an answer. He breathed deeply when coming to each body, each one seeming worse than the previous.

He saw only simple people, with no weapons or armor of any kind. He did come across one man that looked to be a guard but he wore only leather and carried a single longsword. He looked over the area and saw another man dressed in a similar fashion. So, Druzeel thought, they had some type of protection, but clearly not enough. Perhaps they were relying on their large numbers to dissuade any attack. Whatever the reason, their strategy clearly had not worked.

"Here!" came a shout from Jannda over near one of the untouched wagons. Druzeel stood and made his way over to her, as did the others. When they came close, they all saw her pointing to a dark spot on the ground, laying in the shade of the wagon.

The spot on the ground was no larger than a dinner plate and it appeared to be getting smaller as they stared at it. The stuff was slowly being absorbed into the ground as time stretched on. As they looked closer, everyone immediately recognized the dark matter for they had seen the same stuff in the Fairgrove Forest, after the battle with the shadow stalkers.

"Shadow stalkers," Druzeel said, confirming everyone's thoughts. So, the Knights had not been the only targets of the magical creations. But why these people? Why had the assassin targeted simple travelers?

"Stalkers?" Dex said. "Out in the open?"

"They were taken in the night," Vistalas said, looking back at one of the bodies. "Poor bastards never had a chance."

"Night was some time ago," Ristil said. "Those we killed in the forest quickly faded away. Even their stains soaked into the ground in a matter of minutes. Why is this still here?" he asked, pointing to the sludge. No one seemed to have an answer.

"The shade," Druzeel said a few moments later when it was clear none of them knew the answer. Eyes fell upon him quickly. He only motioned to the shadows of the wagon. "The stalkers are creature of darkness and look to the dark for protection. The stain will fade away, but the shadow of the wagon preserves it, at least for a little while longer."

His companions turned their gaze back to the stain, which continued to shrink. Many nodded in agreement while some just remained silent. At least it was something positive toward me, Druzeel thought.

"Well one thing's certain," Ristil said with almost a cheerful voice, "the assassin passed this way. We're on the right trail."

"But why?"

All eyes turned to Brask, who had walked over near the body of a man whose chest and been hacked open. He was an older man, wearing only a plain nightshirt and thin pants. A dagger was clutched in his frozen hand and his face held a silent scream.

"Why these people?" the leader of the Knights asked. "The assassin could have easily evaded the caravan. Why take the time to slaughter ordinary travelers? Could they really have posed a threat? Why would a thief want to draw such attention?"

"To send us a message?" Jannda asked, unsure of the answer.

"No," Dex replied. "The message had already been sent, when we were attacked in the forest. We already knew we were being watched by the time the stalkers fell upon these people. There is something else to this tragedy, some ulterior motive that remains unclear." Dex was the best among the group at figuring these things out but the assassin's actions had seemed too random, too wild for him to come to a reason for his actions, at least for the time being.

Druzeel just stood in silence, staring at the black stain as it soaked into the ground. Now he felt bad for delaying the group's journey for the assassin's path of destruction only seemed to be growing. First Vallia and then these poor people and there was no way to know how many more he had killed in his lifetime. They needed to get moving, without delay, to put an end to this madness. Too many lives depended on it. Druzeel held little doubt that more innocent people would die the longer they took chasing down the thief.

"How can such evil, such blatant disregard for life live within such a being?" Druzeel asked himself. "Why does it even exist?"

To Druzeel's shock, to his disbelief, Brask chuckled. He actually laughed!

"This is funny?" Druzeel said in rising anger, unable to stop himself. He knew Brask was brutal, cruel, and without feeling, but to actually express amusement at the sight before him was unconscionable and Druzeel would not tolerate such disrespect.

"This?" Brask then said, motioning to the dead around him. "No. This isn't funny. This is just plain sad. But you? You're hilarious. Your childlike view of the world is so utterly stupid that one can't help but laugh."

Druzeel looked at Brask in confusion. A small amount of anger left him when he realized that Brask was laughing at him and not the dead, but he was still angry. Was this really an appropriate time to berate him and poke fun at his naiveté? Could he not have waited until they paid the proper respects? Apparently not.

"You think what you see before you is bad?" Brask asked incredulously. "Boy, I have seen things that would make you wet your breeches, make you vomit so much that your stomach would burn away. I have seen massacres that would make the gods themselves turn away. You stand there and whine 'why, why, why?' Well, I'm here to tell you that the whys don't matter. This is life. Evil exists and it ain't going away any time soon so you might as well get used to it and stop sounding like such a crybaby. If you hadn't been tucked under Graeak's pillow perhaps you would know these things and not be such an idiot."

"I will never get used to such atrocity!" Druzeel said, almost yelling, anger fueling his words. He had enough from Brask and wasn't about to stand here and be lectured by a man without morals. The others just stood by quietly, watching the exchange. Some of them wore a smirk or shook their heads, thinking Druzeel a fool. Dex wore only a flat expression as he carefully started to position himself near Druzeel because Brask was looking at Druzeel in anger and had slowly started walking in his direction. Druzeel refused to give ground under the threatening glare.

"This is life," Druzeel said, waving his hands at the dead by his feet. "But life doesn't have to be filled with such death and destruction and those who believe in good and are honorable know that evil doesn't have to exist. It exists only because people like the assassin, people like you," he said with disdain, "will do anything to get what they want, regardless of the pain and sorrow your actions bring. Your type doesn't care about the people you hurt or the families you tear apart. You only care about yourselves. Everyone should be working to rid the world of evil, of such pointless violence, of such selfishness!"

Brask walked right up to Druzeel, stopping less than a foot in front of him. He looked large indeed, his armored frame standing right in front of Druzeel, who wore only robes and stood more than a foot shorter. Dex shifted nervously nearby, ready to jump in should Brask become violent, which he was apt to do. But Brask did not lash out. He just looked into Druzeel's eyes with a look of indifference.

"Graeak really screwed you up," Brask said without emotion.

Without thinking, without knowing what he was doing, his actions fueled only by rage, an anger he had never felt, Druzeel swung. Brask never moved. In fact, no one moved. It may have been because they didn't think the small man could hurt Brask or because they had not expected such a reaction. Whatever their thoughts, everyone just stood as still as a statue as Druzeel's fist connected with Brask's chin.

There was a loud crack as Brask's head twisted up and to the side. Though his body never moved, a bit of blood flew from his lip. Druzeel actually had a more painful reaction for it had felt like he had punched a stone block. He grimaced but let his anger burn away the pain.

"Graeak is ten times the man you are!" he screamed, keeping his bruised fist up defensively.

There was a different reaction from each of the Knights. Thorstar remained impassive. The only reaction on his face was a raised eyebrow. Ristil looked shocked, his mouth hanging open in amazement while Vistalas just jumped a little, his hand going to the hilt of one of his daggers. Truthfully, that movement had been made with little thought. Years of practice taught him to go for his weapons in any situation. Jannda actually smiled after her surprise wore off, not believing what had just happened and Dex, having leaned back after being startled, stepped back in, getting ready to leap at Druzeel, to knock him away from the axe that he swore would soon be falling.

But Brask made no movement for his axe. When he turned his head back, he looked down at Druzeel with little emotion. He ran his tongue over his teeth, making a sucking sound and then brought his fingers to his mouth. When he held them out, a small amount of blood could be seen on the tips. His eyes found Druzeel.

"There's a spark in you after all," he said with a smirk. "There's a little bit of violence in all of us."

Druzeel lowered his hands, both surprised and freighted by his actions. He had never lashed out at anyone like that before, not even Browen. He didn't think he even could act in such a manner. The thought that he was capable of such violence, regardless of the reason, disturbed him more than a little, but before he could think on it more, he found Brask rushing towards him.

The man's strong, heavy hands hit him in the chest, throwing him backward. Druzeel supposed he should be thankful those hands weren't fists because they surely would have broken his ribs. Regardless, he hit the ground hard, sending pain racing up his spine. He slid back a few inches, the ground grinding into his back. When he looked up, he saw Brask practically diving for him.

"You'll find I've got more violence in me than most!" Brask shouted with murder in his eyes, but before the confrontation went any further, Dex intervened.

"That's enough," Dex said, somehow without raising his voice. His hands fell on Brask's chest, amazingly bringing the big man to a stop in mid-leap. Brask looked down at Dex's hand and bared his teeth.

"You still going to defend him?" Brask asked in disgust. "Even now?"

"I'm not defending anyone," Dex corrected. "I just don't see any point to useless fighting. This does nothing for us. All this bickering is only delaying our journey, lightening our pockets, and putting everyone in a foul mood. I suggest we all just calm down and get on with our mission. The sooner we are finished the sooner we can move on to other campaigns."

Brask narrowed his eyes at Dex then pointed them at Druzeel. The tension in his body suddenly fled and he stood up straight. Druzeel carefully picked himself up and eyed the large man with contempt, but he couldn't hold on to that anger because he knew Dex was right. All this inter-party fighting was getting them nowhere. The assassin was the enemy right now, not each other.

"I'm sorry," Druzeel said, both hating himself for saying it and relieved that he had the strength to issue an apology. He looked at Brask, but the man still looked angry.

"You're weak," Brask said. "You lack the will to do what must be done and your ignorance endangers us all. If you had been in this caravan, you'd be among the dead at our feet."

Dex just let out a sigh and shook his head as Brask turned and walked to the others. He offered a sympathetic smile but Druzeel did not respond. He just stood speechless at the man's hurtful words. Could he really be endangering their lives? Could his lack of skill and knowledge be putting them in danger? No, he decided quickly. The man was just trying to make him doubt himself, which he had always done. Well, I won't let him, Druzeel told himself. I will not let Brask think I am something I'm not. I am better than that.

"Loot the bodies," Brask shouted at the others. "Take what we need."

"You're striping the dead?" Druzeel said in anger, his thoughts torn away from any doubt Brask tried to instill in him. To reap the spoils from battle was one thing, but to loot the bodies around them, innocent people who had been murdered, was wrong. They should be gathering the dead and preparing them for burial, not pillaging their belongings. Though they no longer had any use for them, they may have family or friends that would surely want what they left behind

"Loot the bodies!" Brask said again, this time louder.

"But–" Druzeel began, but Brask whirled on him with a look so profound, so full of anger that Druzeel knew if he spoke another word, if he dared open his mouth, not even Dex would be able to save him, so he let the matter drop. To his surprise, he found out that he wasn't the only one with an objection.

"Brask," Dex said, following the mercenary leader. "We've never taken from the dead like this."

"We need supplies," Brask said. His voice was still full of anger and rage but a little left him as he addressed his fellow Knight.

"We are in not so dire a need. We should give them a proper burial."

Brask looked ready to explode but he held his temper and motioned for Dex to follow him away from the others. Druzeel watched them walk away from the area, just out of hearing, and get into a heated argument. He thought about casting a spell to eavesdrop of the pair, but thought better of it as he caught Ristil and Vistalas watching him out of the corner of their eyes. He ended up standing by silently as the others looted the dead. He didn't watch any of it. He just kept his eyes on Dex and Brask, who ended up yelling at each other, arms flying through the air. On more than one occasion, Druzeel caught Brask's finger or eyes pointing in his direction. After a few moments, the conversation ended and Dex walked over to him.

"Come on," the man said, leading them to the horses. He was clearly upset but Druzeel kept his mouth shut. He had caused enough problems and didn't want to cause any more anger.

Why can't they just accept me? Druzeel asked himself. Why can't they just let me be a part of the group? He had done some stupid things, yes, but Brask seemed so intent on making him suffer for just being alive. The fight with the shadow stalkers had only lasted a few moments. What was going to happen when they faced something truly dangerous? Would they leave him on his own or lend their aid? A part of Druzeel wanted to think they wouldn't let him face peril alone, but the other part wasn't so sure. He found himself dreading the answer to those questions if real battle found them.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 10

After they had finished looting the bodies, taking for themselves what little the travelers actually had, the party mounted their horses and once more set off for Pelartis. While Brask and the others robbed the dead, Druzeel and Dex had done their best to gather the bodies and lay them out in a line, trying to ignore what their companions were doing. Druzeel felt it was important to give these people some type of respectful memorial. He could not just leave them slumped over the wagons or laying in pools of blood, so he dragged them out of the massacre and set them next to each other. He tried to match up husbands and wives, parents and children, but everyone had been scattered so it was difficult to know which families belonged together. In the end, it didn't matter. These people were dead and there was nothing he could do to help them, but unlike the others, he would not disrespect their memories by stripping their bodies.

There had hardly been anything on the corpses worth taking. These people had been simple travelers, with simple lives. Druzeel still had no idea where they were going or why they had been on the road, but he would treat them the same no matter their purpose. The most valuable item he saw was a golden necklace that Ristil had taken from a woman who had been killed by a sword thrust through the chest. He had tried not to notice it but the sunlight had reflected off the shiny star-shaped locket that hung from the chain and caught his eye. He just turned away when Ristil saw him watching and gave him a wicked smile. Druzeel wanted to shout at him, to scream that the woman may have loved ones, someone somewhere that would want that necklace back, to remember her and cherish her memory, but he knew the man would only mock him so he keep quiet and continued to do his best to give these people some type of commemorative interment. He would have liked to bury them and give them an actually ceremony but Brask would hear none of it. That type of work would have taken hours, if not days, and they had already lost enough time. Druzeel did his best with the time he had and when the others were finished, he and Dex happened to complete their task as well and they continued on their way.

As Druzeel rode near the back of the group, his thoughts were solely on the people in the caravan. Who were they? Where had they been going? Were there people that would be waiting for them to arrive or return? Well, Druzeel thought with remorse, they would be waiting forever now. He couldn't imagine being someone that would be waiting for his wife or children to return. It pained him to think of the pain that would be caused by the death of these people. He hadn't known them, had not seen them laugh or smile as they traveled over the land, but he felt the heartache of their loss all the same. That was what made him different from the others. He actually cared.

It was while thinking of the dead they had just left that Druzeel decided he would tell the authorities of the caravan when they reached Pelartis. They deserved to be remembered, to be brought home. Even if Pelartis was not where they had originated from, they deserved better than just wasting away on the open plains or being eaten by some wondering creature. Druzeel shuttered at that last thought and tried his best not to picture the situation. Brask and the others would be upset with him when he told those in Pelartis about the caravan, but Druzeel couldn't care less of what they thought. It was the right thing to do and if they did not like it, tough.

For an hour after leaving the destroyed caravan, Brask ran them hard across the plains. He was still trying to make up for lost time, even more so after they had stopped to investigate the caravan, and since Druzeel's horse had time to heal, he thought now would be the best time to catch up. Druzeel's mount was better but the ride was rough and when they finally slowed, the animal was breathing deeply. Both rider and mount managed to endure and they continued to follow the leader of their little adventure without complaint.

Though hardly a word was said to him by any in the group, Ristil still found a way to anger him. Druzeel caught the man playing with the golden necklace he had taken from the woman, smiling as he ran the length of chain through his fingers. A wicked grin painted his face as he played with it, his eyes meeting Druzeel's own.

"Keep it up," Dex said with an angry tone, riding up next to Druzeel, eyeing Ristil with annoyance, "and I'm going to strangle you with that thing." The half-elf's smile disappeared and he narrowed his eyes at his fellow Knight. He eventually let loose a chuckle, smiled once more, and turned around.

"Just ignore them," Dex said while slowing his horse, making his way back to the end of the group. Druzeel only nodded, knowing that there was no need for words.

It was abundantly clear that Dex had not approved of his companion's actions and that it still angered him, yet he had been silent. Why? Druzeel wondered. If the man disapproved of their behavior, why had he remained silent? The man was clearly not afraid of the others. Druzeel surmised that he probably kept quiet out of loyalty or some type of odd friendship. Even Druzeel had friends that did things he had not approved of and failed to speak up out of friendship. Maybe Dex saw this as an isolated incident. Whatever the reasons, Druzeel decided not to ask him. His actions were his own. He was just glad that Dex held no resentment towards him.

Later, as Solaris had almost completely disappeared below the horizon, Brask stopped the group to camp for the night. Since the coming night appeared to bring with it a warm breeze, the men decided to sleep in the open. Usually they would set up makeshift tents, but tonight they decided to sleep under the stars. Druzeel followed suit, setting his blankets a few feet from the large campfire.

As he lay there, staring up at the twinkling lights, he found his mind wondering once more to the caravan and the people that had been killed. As he thought of them and the lives they left behind, he found Vallia coming to his mind, the only other dead person he had seen.

He remembered well the tears and sadness on her mother's face when Graeak had told her of her daughter's death. He had felt the pain and suffering firsthand, remembered the emotions and feelings that coursed through him, the same ones he was feeling now. Sadness, remorse, regret, sympathy, and anger were flowing through him. That last emotion he felt towards the assassin, for so purposelessly setting his magical killers on such innocent people, but he was also feeling anger towards his companions for being so heartless. None of them, save Dex, had showed any sorrow at all. Jannda had at least showed some sense of sadness but she had still participated in the looting, though she only took what she actually needed. The halfling had not touched any personal belongings and Druzeel had seen her saying a prayer over the children. That had helped soothe his animosity towards her, but he still held a lot of resentment towards the others.

How can they be so cold? he asked himself. How can they just not care? Perhaps it comes from a hard life on the road or maybe from just living a life that was difficult. Their behaviors could have even been derived from a basic instinct for survival. These men spend much of their lives on the road, never knowing where they will be, what they will eat, or what monster will come out of the dark and try to kill them. They may look at any situation in terms of what they can take, what they can use to help them stay alive, even if the need was not dire. If that was the case, then Druzeel could forgive them for the desire for life, for survival, was strong in even the smallest creature. But something told him it was more than that. Something told him that the Knights acted for more than just survival. It all came back to the selfishness Druzeel felt they held in their hearts, some more than others. He felt they were looking for the best advantage. It was as if they were looking for the best way to gain the upper hand, to hold it above others to gain more power. He didn't know if his feelings were accurate or not. A large part of him hoped they weren't and that some other unknown motivation lay behind their actions.

Druzeel had no idea as to what the pasts of his companions were like but by the way they behaved, especially Brask, he believed that they could not have had it easy. No one raised in a kind and caring home, a place full of love and compassion, would behave the way they had. Maybe they had bad teachers. Maybe they had no role models. Whatever it was that they had been missing, it clearly showed wherever they went.

Druzeel silently thanked his mentor for being the man he was and teaching him as he had. Graeak had taught him well and even if he was a little unprepared for this journey, Druzeel had been showed that morality, ethics, respect, and honor were more important to have then even the most powerful spell. You may be unstoppable, you may be all powerful, but without a good moral standing, you were nothing.

"You may be able to destroy your enemies," Graeak had once told him, "but the enemy that is most dangerous is the one you never see. Selfishness, cruelty, malice, and hatred lie in the hearts of all men, but with a solid core of honor, morality, modesty, and general goodness, one can overcome anything. Those are the most powerful weapons you yield and weapons that can conquer anything that comes against you."

Brask and the others can berate me, humiliate me, do their best to tear me down, and commit heinous acts, Druzeel thought as he roll over and close his eyes, a smile on his lips, but they will never destroy what makes me who I am. Graeak taught me too well and raised me right.

Just then, Druzeel felt a small about of pity for the others. They would never see the world as he did, a place of beauty and joy. They would always have hatred and anger weighing them down and holding them back from the finer things in life, such as love and compassion. Yes, he pitied them, but also forgave them for their flaws. To do anything else would be to be like them, and that he would not allow. Ever. That night, he slept soundlessly, with nothing but pleasant dreams and warm memories.

The party rose with the sun, packed their belongings, and got back on the road. Again, Brask pushed them hard for a few hours but eventually relented when the horses, all of them it seemed, appeared ready to collapse. They took a quick rest to feed the animals then continued. About an hour and a half before the sun started to fall, Pelartis came into view.

Hundreds of towers and large cylindrical structures rose from the horizon, looking like giant pillars against the dimming sky. Many of them looked to be made from stone but there were others whose surfaces displayed the glimmering characteristics of some type of metal, apparently copper or bronze. Each building was not entirely made of this material but held dozens of giant plates anchored to its surface, much like plated armor hangs from a fighter. The majority of those giant spires were finished with a rounded top and not a flat surface that one would expect though some still carried such a surface. Others ended in a sharp point, much like a sword, with a flag or banner placed at the apex. Druzeel had read about Pelartis and it unique architecture, but the sight before him still filled his mind with amazement.

The city was huge, looking to be as large or larger than Atlurul and it was surrounded by a forty-foot wall of orangish stone. Metal plates hung from the wall's edge every ten or so feet, mimicking the look of the buildings. Figures walked along the battlements and stood in the windows of the towers that decorated the wall, scanning the horizon. Since there was nothing but plains surrounding the wondrous city, they could see for miles in any direction. Any danger would be sighted long before reaching the gates.

Smaller settlements, some made up of dozens of buildings, sat outside the city's walls. These bundles of buildings lay scattered in front of Pelartis in no particular pattern. It was as if a giant had come along and threw them down like dice in a game of diamond eyes. And the structures were not built from stone or metal but a dark wood, making them look less impressive than the towers that decorated Pelartis's skyline.

Near the back of the city lay a huge lake, with seemingly no end. It disappeared over the horizon, stopping somewhere many miles away, presumingly at the forest standing in the distance. The tops of tall trees could just be seen over the level horizon. The lake's surface shimmered in the setting sun, adding credence to its name, Lake Shimmerbright. Hundreds of large ships and smaller vessels sat on the sapphire surface, slowly sailing to a stop, preparing to end their assumed fish harvesting for the night. The businesses along the dozens of piers, whose ends the party could just barely make out because of where they stood, even appeared to be slowing as the day faded away.

With the sunlight dying and the sky turning a darker shade of blue by the second, the city looked majestic indeed. The huge metal plates sparked and the stone surfaces of the towers looked like they were coated in a thin layer of gold. The torches that were slowly coming to life only added to the regal appearance for the dark shadow cast by their light gave everything a beautiful contrast. For just a moment, Druzeel felt he was looking at a painting and not a real city.

"What is that?"

The question had come from Ristil and it broke the enchantment that the city had on Druzeel. He looked over at the half-elf and saw him peering at the city, near where the gates were. Druzeel turned his head to where Ristil was looking.

At first, he saw nothing, but that did not mean there was nothing there. Half-elves had much better eyesight then humans but far less superior to that of their full-blooded relatives. After a few moments, what Ristil had first spied came into view for everyone else.

It appeared to be a small cloud of dust gathering near the front gate. No, not gathering, Druzeel suddenly realized, but moving along the road. As he continued to watch the peculiar cloud, it appeared that it was moving in their direction. After a few more moments, the cause of the cloud became clear, and the source did not bode well for the weary travelers.

"Pillars," Vistalas said, referring to the city guard. Druzeel had never been to Pelartis, but he had made it a point, encouraged by his teacher, to study and read about the surrounding areas, and that included nearby cities.

The Pillars were the guards of the city, much as the Lances were in Atlurul. They wore an orange platemail edged with bright blue and took their jobs very seriously. The men and women lucky enough to become Pillars had to go through extensive training and preparation. Climbing the ranks was rumored to be even more difficult. They had eleven designations for rank, the first nine being simple numbers, starting at First Pillar and ending at Ninth Pillar. The next rank was captain, which was reserved for only the bravest and most courageous Pillars. The final position was high captain. That place was filled by a single individual and he or she had control and command over the entire guard. Currently, if Druzeel remembered correctly, that ranking was held by a dwarf of some renown.

"They're heading our way," Jannda observed.

"And they don't look happy," Ristil added, the Pillars being close enough for his half-elven eyes to make out their faces. He suddenly seemed anxious.

"How many?" Brask asked, still unable to make out individual guards in the mass heading toward them.
"I count perhaps twenty," Ristil said. "All on horseback."

"Do we flee?" Vistalas asked. Druzeel thought the question strange for they had no reason to run, even if the people heading towards them looked hostile. They had done no wrong and had nothing to hide. Why would they flee?

"No," Brask answered, watching the men. "They know we are here."

"There is nowhere to flee to anyway," Dex said. His comment held truth for they were in the open plains. Their horses were tired and any suitable protection lay many days behind them. If they did turn to run, the Pillars would ride them down in a matter of minutes.

"All right," Brask said, sitting up straight in his saddle. He held his chest out and wore a look of strength. Whatever business the Pillars had with the group, Brask was not going to approach the situation showing any weakness. "Line up and keep your hands on your reins. No hostile movements. Let's see what this is about. And don't do anything stupid." As he spoke the last sentence, he eyes fell only on Druzeel, who just looked away, watching the guards' approach.

The ground rumbled as twenty armored horses, no doubt trained war steeds, thundered towards them. The man in front, dressed just as Druzeel had read and wearing a helm with a cerulean plume, raised his hand high. A longspear was clutched tightly in his fist and he swept it around in front of him. The men following fanned out, effectively surrounding the party. Each of them held spears as well and as the guards brought their steeds to a halt, the ones behind the party leveled them at the Knights' backs. The lead man, apparently a captain–Druzeel could tell this by the insignia he wore on his chest, which was four golden pillars etched into his armor–came to a stop just a few feet from Brask. He wore a closely shaved beard, long brown hair, and held blue eyes that looked as hard as the metal plates decorating the buildings of the city he came from. Druzeel knew that there would be no intimidating this one.

"Identify yourselves!" the captain barked in a serious tone. Something had defiantly riled this man and the others that rode with him. They looked ready for a fight, a battle they did not intend to lose.

"Is this how Pelartis greets travelers now?" Brask asked, his own voice filled with annoyance. Druzeel thought it best to just cooperate but wasn't about to tell Brask his opinion. Perhaps he wanted to show strength instead of cowing to the captain right away. The captain just narrowed his eyes.

"I said identify yourselves," the captain repeated, his eyes flashing with rising anger. "Now." The guards behind him tightened their grips on their spears. Brask took an angry breath, but did as the captain ordered.

"We are the Knights of the Chipped Blade," he said, motioning to his men, even Druzeel. "I am Brask Battlebeard, leader of this mercenary band." He went on to name each of the others, once again, including Druzeel in his explanation. As he spoke, Druzeel noticed the guards take on an even more disgusted look. Apparently, they did not look kindly upon mercenaries. The others seemed to notice the disdain as well and a few fingers started to slip from their reins, yearning for hilts.

"What business have you in Pelartis?" the captain then asked. He seemed impatient and anxious, itching to use his spear. What could have happened to cause such behavior? Druzeel wondered. Had they done something wrong? Were certain travelers not welcomed?

"We're mercenaries," Brask replied simply. "Looking for work."

"And where is it you came from?"

"Many different places," Brask responded without pause. The captain looked angrier than ever.

"You would do well to cooperate," he said, his teeth clenched together.

"Cooperate with what?" Brask asked, holding his hands out to the side. "You ride toward us with spears, violence written across your faces. Then you surround us and start making demands of us without telling us why. If this is how you treat every stranger that happens to come within a few hundred yards of your city, it is a wonder you have any visitors at all. Now, if you want to get past this useless line of questioning and tell us what the hells is going on, perhaps we can help you solve whatever is biting you in your ass."

"You all," the captain said, eyes burning, pointing his spear at each one of them, "are under suspicion of the murder."

"Murder?!" Jannda blurted out. All the other Knights looked just as surprised by the captain's proclamation.

"What are you talking about?" Brask asked as the surprise wore off. A small part of him knew what was coming but he still didn't believe it when the captain spoke.

"We received an anonymous tip that a band of mercenaries matching your description attacked and destroyed a caravan of travelers that left Pelartis less than two days ago."

Druzeel let out a whispered gasp, not because of the accusation, but because he suddenly understood why the assassin had set the shadow stalkers loose on the caravan. He had set them up. He knew he was being followed and since his creatures had failed in the Fairgrove Forest, he decided the use other methods to hinder the group. He could not stop the band himself, so decided to let the authorities of Pelartis do the job for him. He, or one of his associates, had obviously tipped off the guards, and now here they were, ready to arrest them, or something worse. He looked to Dex to whisper what he had just realized but could see by his expression that he had already come to the same conclusion. By the angry look the others wore, they knew it as well. As small part of him thought they should have figured out the assassin's motives sooner, but it had been a long trip full of...other events that had made all their minds stray.

"So," Brask said, not surprised by what he had just heard, "you take this tip and ride out towards us with spears leading the way, ready to run us down without hearing our side of the story? Without even confirming if this tip is true? I must say, this is not the Pelartis I remember." That last part Brask added to let the captain know he was not new to the city. He had been to Pelartis many times in the past and had actually done work for many of its nobles and citizens.

"We have seen the destruction you are accused of," the captain quickly pointed out, anger making him speak before thinking clearly. The guards behind him shifted in their saddles. "Our divinations have shown us the massacre left behind so we know something happened. We just don't know who is responsible. You don't seem surprised to hear the accusations we have leveled at you and your men."

"Do you want to hear why?" Brask asked, silently thanking the man for being so stupid. He had just given away that they indeed knew of the caravan's demise, a very important detail that Brask may have tried to hide. He hadn't known they had magically located the area. The captain could have used that to try to trick them into admitting fault, even though they were not responsible. If he had been the killer, he now could have thought up a story to cover his tracks.

"Or," Brask continued, "perhaps you have already passed judgment on us without hearing the details. Is this how the new law works in your city? Strike first before asking questions? Are you really part of the Colonnade?"

The Colonnade was the magistrate in Pelartis and was composed of a collection of judges that determined guilt or innocence. They are called Justicars and are the keepers of law in the city of towers. The leader, or most senior judge, was called the Master Justicar and he or she was the voice of the court.

"I am Captain Gilderan Risner," the man said with pride and perhaps a little annoyance at the accusation he was rushing to judgment. "I was given an order to find and question you, and take you into custody if necessary."

"You have no authority over us!" Vistalas said in anger. He did not like being threatened, especially with imprisonment. "We are not in your city."

"You are on our lands!" the captain spat back. "Therefore you are under our authority. Furthermore, over two dozen citizens of Pelartis are dead and you are said to be the cause. Be they here or hundreds of miles away, our citizens are under our protection always and those responsible will answer for those crimes and they be submitted to the law of the Colonnade. You can continue to argue and further cast a cloud of suspicion over yourselves, or you can tell me your side of the story, as you put it, and try to clear up our confusion, if any such confusion exists! But speak quickly for my patience, and that of the spears at your back, grows thin."

Druzeel glanced behind him and saw the ten men just itching to drive their weapons into his spine. He could only imagine what the assassin had told the guards but he could not believe they would have jumped to such conclusions without hearing all sides, but he could understand the way they felt. If his friends or family had been brutally murdered, he would want to bring the criminal to justice as soon as possible. In fact, he was on this journey to do just that. Like the people in the caravan, Vallia had been brutally murdered and he was trying to bring her killer to justice.

He turned around and looked at the captain, whose gaze was locked on Brask. Brask stared right back at him, anger clearly displayed on his face. After a few moments of tense silence, the man finally spoke.

"We have been tracking a thief across the land who has stolen property from our employer. He sent a handful of creatures called shadow stalkers against us soon after leaving the city of Atlurul. We destroyed the stalkers and continued on our way, eventually coming across the caravan, but by the time we arrived, it was already destroyed. We found evidence that it was another set of shadow stalkers that destroyed the caravan. We checked for survivors but there were none. We gathered the bodies, lined them up, and left."

Brask had conveniently left out the part of them looting the bodies, but Druzeel knew if he had told the Pillars that little detail, things would have only gotten worse for them. This was one time Druzeel listened to Brask's advice and kept his mouth shut, even though he didn't like it.

"So you want us to believe that the shadow stalkers, the same creatures that the assassin set upon you, were ordered to attack the caravan as well?" The captain sounded skeptical. "Why would he do that? What could this supposed assassin gain by killing innocent people? And why would you leave the bodies so exposed, to be picked apart by scavengers?"

"The assassin had a head start on us and we could not take the time to give those people a proper burial," Brask said. "Besides, that's not our responsibility." The captain narrowed his eyes in disgust. Druzeel looked at Brask with a nasty look as well. He didn't have to rub it in their faces. If he did not control his temper, he could doom them all.

"As for why the thief sent the stalkers on the caravan," Brask continued, "he had them killed to set us up."

"Set you up?!" the captain said in disbelief. The other guards wore looks of skepticism as well. It was clear that the party had much more explaining to do if they were going to get out of this mess unscathed.

"He knows we are following him," Brask said, referring to the assassin. "His attack in the forest failed, so he decided to use you as a tool to slow us down. What better way than to have us framed for murder and get us thrown in a dungeon or chased all the way back to Atlurul. Think about it," Brask then said, getting angry at the captain's apparent stupidity. "If we had killed those in the caravan, why would we come here? Why would we risk being caught? We could have just as easily turned around and you would have never seen us."

The captain's anger seemed to diminish just a little, as did the others. It wasn't much but it did bring a sigh of relief to Druzeel and the others. The man seemed to seriously be considering Brask's words for it did make sense. A man did not kill another then take his wife for his own. Too much suspicion would be cast upon him, yet it would be the perfect way to profess his innocence for only an insane person would act in such a way after committing such a crime. The captain appeared to be having the same thought for his next words served to destroy that small amount of relief the party was feeling.

"Your story is far from solid," the captain said in a calmer voice than before, "and is full of uncertainty. And the whys do not concern me. What concerns me are the dead citizens left behind and the murderer or murderers that are running free. You will need to come with us for questioning while we retrieve the bodies and do our own investigation."

Brask knew that the eventual outcome of this confrontation would lead to this conclusion, but he didn't have to like it. He let out a growl and ground his teeth together, focusing his wrath on the captain.

"The assassin has already killed dozens of innocents trying to slow us down," Brask replied, doing his best to drill some sense into the captain. Nothing infuriated him more than blatant stupidity. Honestly, he wanted nothing more than to rip the axe from his back and drive it into the man's brain, but he held his anger in check. "How many more are going to die because of your stupidity? How many more will perish because you can't make a decision without some politician telling you what to do?"

The captain sat up a little straighter in his saddle and his gauntleted hand tightened even more on the shaft of his spear. If the wood hadn't been as sturdy as it was, it would have snapped in half. The guards around him shared the same reactions. Even the horses seemed incensed by Brask's words for they stomped the ground in irritation.

"You will come with us now," the captain said slowly and with promised violence, "or we will kill you where you stand."

Druzeel suddenly felt a stab of fear surge through him. Would the captain really order their execution? Was that even legal? They hadn't been convicted of a crime nor had they been given any sort of trail. How could the captain, a man that was supposed to uphold the law, defend the innocent, and prevent injustice, stand there and threaten them so? Could he be letting his anger be getting the best of him? Druzeel knew Brask had a talent for inciting rage, but this went far beyond a simple disagreement. If he made the wrong choice in the next few seconds, his actions could be the death of them all.

Luckily, Brask made what Druzeel saw was the only choice they had. He raised his hands in compliance, submitting himself and the others to the authorities of Pelartis.

The captain relaxed, but still kept a firm grip on his spear, as did his men. The Pillars at the Knights' backs raised their weapons but kept them at the ready, just in case. Years of training told them that no one was ever truly nonthreatening until they were dead, sometimes not even then.

"You will surrender your weapons and submit to a search, to make sure you are hiding nothing that can be used against us," the captain stated.

"This just keeps getting better and better," Ristil commented.

The captain motioned for them to dismount. They obeyed and soon found themselves standing on the soft grass. Half the Pillars including the captain dismounted as well and walked up to them, keeping their eyes peeled for any signs of violence, but the party followed the captain's instructions without complaint. A handful of guards approached Thorstar with more than a little caution for the large warrior did not look happy about their current situation and he was bigger than any Pillar surrounding them.

"Drop your weapons to the ground," the captain ordered.

With anger and hatred, the Knights followed the order. Brask actually threw his weapons down, his distaste of the whole situation on display for all to see. One of his daggers actually sunk into the ground blade first, inches away from the foot of one of the Pillars standing in front of him. The man took a step back and narrowed his eyes in irritation.

"Arms out," the captain then said. Once more, they did as instructed.

Druzeel stood at the end of the line, arms held parallel to the ground. He watched as the guard whose foot Brask had almost impaled slowly move forward and search the large man for hidden weapons. The other Pillars followed suit, one to each member of the party.

"You are a wizard?"

Druzeel looked forward, into the face of a younger Pillar with gray eyes, blond hair, and a smooth face. His expression held no animosity, only uncertainty. He looked like one who was just following orders and who had yet to come to a conclusion about the party.

"Yes," Druzeel replied as the man peeked into the folds of his robes. He had dropped all his daggers to the ground.

"Cast no magic or spell," the guard said as he ran his hands along Druzeel's arms and along his sides. "We will also need your spellbook and any magical trinket that could be used as a weapon."

"My staff lay on my horse, as well as my book," Druzeel said calmly. "And you have nothing to fear from me. I will follow your captain's orders."

"You seem awfully calm for a man being accused of murder."

"Why get upset?" Druzeel said, making the guard's eyebrows rise. "I have done nothing wrong. Your investigation will clear us."

"Your companions don't seem to share your composure," the man replied with a bit of surprise, kneeling down and patting the sides of Druzeel's boots. "You been with them long? You look a little young to be a mercenary."

"Actually, no," Druzeel said. "I joined with them only recently. My mentor is their employer and he wanted me to–"

"Shut it!" came Brask's curt voice from down the line. Druzeel and the guard searching him looked over and saw the big man staring at both of them though his gaze quickly settled on Druzeel. "They want to question us, they can do it in the city. Shut your mouth until more intelligent people come before us."

"It makes no difference whether it us or them," the captain said, clearly amused at the exchange. "We'll learn all of it eventually." Brask only leaned back and glared at the captain.

The guards finished their search and stepped away from the Knights, confident they were not hiding anything. The captain ordered Brask and his men back on their horses, but before they could get to their saddles, a Pillar stepped forward, his eyes falling to Ristil and the piece of jewelry hanging around his neck.

"Hold it!" he said and rushed forward. He grabbed the half-elf by the shoulders and forced him to face him.

"Remove your hands before I do it for you," Ristil threatened.

"What is it?" the captain asked, quickly moving over to see what the commotion was about. He steadied his grip on his spear.

"Where did you get this?" the Pillar asked, his voice suddenly filled with anger. Between his fingers sat the star-shaped locket that sat on the end of the golden necklace Ristil had taken from the dead woman in the caravan. The guard was staring at it in recognition.

"What's it to you?" Ristil asked, but his voice said that he knew exactly what it was to the man.

Just as Druzeel had feared, as the others should have known, the woman from the caravan had friends or family that would recognize her belongings, especially something as valuable as the necklace hanging from Ristil's neck. The half-elf knew it right away and realized his mistake. The necklace should have been tucked away beneath his shirt, but it was too late now. Brask looked as though he knew what was coming as well. Figures, Druzeel thought to himself. We get the one contingent of warriors that happens to have riding with them a relative or friend of one of the caravan's victims. Perhaps that was why the man was here to begin with. He knew the woman was in the caravan and wanted to face her supposed murders. This did not bode well for the Knights.

"What's it to me?" the guard said, his face showing his anger clearly. He then reached up and opened the locket. Inside were two pictures. One was of the woman that had died in the caravan. The other was of the man standing before Ristil, holding the locket.

"She's my cousin," the man said, his blazing eyes slowly rising to meet Ristil's face. The half-elf just remained silent. The captain was not as quiet.

"You are all under arrest for murder!" he yelled, motioning for his men to aim their spears at the party. The others gladly complied and the Knights soon found themselves surrounded by spear tips. The man holding the locket glared at Ristil then ripped the necklace from his neck.

"Murderer!" he seethed. Tears started to form in his eyes.

"No!" Druzeel proclaimed.

"Silence!" the captain screamed while throwing his spear to the ground and searching for manacles. He came up with a heavy pair and walked toward Ristil, who backed away, eyes falling to his weapons than lay only a few feet in front of him. Brask also eyed his weapons, not willing to accept this new twist of fate. He would not be thrown into a dungeon for something he had not done.

"We were returning their belongings," Vistalas suddenly said, his voice rising to be heard over the commotion. The thief was thinking quickly, coming up with the only thing he saw that would allow them to avoid bloodshed. What he had come up with was weak at best, but the only thing he could think of.

"What?!" the captain asked, his head twisting to the side.

"We took your people's belongings," Vistalas explained, "but we were going to return them when we reached the city."

"You expect us to believe," the captain started, his voice thick with amazement and disbelief, "that out of the kindness of your heart, you took their belongings and intended to return them? You slaughtered them in the night and looted their bodies!"

"We took their things, yes," Vistalas said, "but only to bring them back to their loved ones." Druzeel would have rolled his eyes but he knew the motion would get him killed, by both the Pillars and his companions.

"And how had you planned on doing that?" the guard who had torn the necklace from Ristil's neck asked. "Had you opened the locket? Did they tell you who to look for? Did you ask them where their families were before cutting them to pieces?! How could you possible return these things to people who you have never met?"

"You murdered them," the captain said before Vistalas could respond.

"He was wearing the necklace so we could find their loved ones," Dex quickly replied. The captain and guard rounded on him.

"Lies!" the woman's cousin shouted.

"He was wearing it so someone would see it," Dex explained. "As you said, we could not know who these things belonged to. Vistalas wanted someone to recognize the locket so we could return it to its rightful owner."

"As well as the others things we brought with us," Druzeel added.

Everyone, both the Pillars and the Knights, turned and stared at Druzeel. He suddenly felt like a sheep, standing before a starving dragon, but he held their gaze. They had stolen from the dead, against his objections, been caught, and were now facing the consequences of their actions. If they had only listened to him, they would not be in this predicament. Druzeel thought that the best way to get out of this mess was to be honest and return what they had taken. Clearly, Brask and the others did not agree, but there was little they could do about it now.

The captain walked forward, coming within an inch of Ristil's face. "I want everything," he said in quiet rage. He then turned and looked at Brask. "Everything you took from them, on the ground. Now."

"Of course," Dex replied, trying to calm the men surrounding them. Though he had nothing to put on the ground, he motioned for the others to do as the captain asked. They did and in moments, everything they had taken from the caravan sat on the ground at the captain's feet.

"You have nothing?" the captain asked, looking at Dex. The man just shook his head. "What about you?" the captain then asked, his eyes finding Druzeel. Druzeel shook his head. As the captain turned from him, he caught Brask, Ristil, Vistalas, and Thorstar looking at him in anger. Even Jannda held a look of disappointment. Dex remained expressionless.

"This...admission does nothing to diminish our distrust of you," the captain said. "In fact, it only heightens our suspicion and makes me think you are indeed guilty of this crime. But as I said, I am not part of the Colonnade and judgment is reserved for them. You will be taken to the city and questioned. Then you will be judged, one way or the other."

The captain turned to his men and ordered five of them to travel to the caravan and return with what they could. The rest would accompany him and the suspects into the city. More men would be sent to help return the dead when they reached Pelartis.

The Pillars mounted their horses, followed by Brask and his men. They set off toward the city, spears still leveled at the Knights' backs. Though they were not shackled and technically not under arrest, Druzeel knew they were prisoners of the guards and would remain so until they were cleared. He had faith they would be for he believed in the law and justice, but even after they were cleared, he knew his troubles would continue. The looks Brask and the others had given him promised that they would not soon forget that he had exposed them to the Pillars. He suddenly found himself wanting the protection of a dungeon.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 11

The surrounding walls were made of solid stone the color of sand. There were no windows in the small room nor were there decorations of any kind. The only object breaking the stone's surface was a single wooden door, the door he can come in though, guarded by a Pillar standing as rigid as a plank of wood. The man kept his eyes forward, staring at nothing but the stone wall sitting across the room, only fifteen feet away. He didn't seem to notice the simple wooden table sitting in the center of the room or the two chairs next to it, one of which was filled with a murder suspect. He didn't look at the flames that danced at the top of the half dozen torches lining the walls either. He only kept his eyes straight, displaying the iron hard discipline that had been drilled into him.

Druzeel sat in silence, watching the guard with a mixture of respect and admiration. The man must have had amazing self-control for in the hour that Druzeel had been sitting in the room, the man had not moved. He just stood as still as a statue, guarding the prison's guest. Though he was not technically a prisoner, Druzeel knew that if he did anything threatening or tried to leave the small, uncomfortable room, the guard would spring to life and stop him any way he could. Captain Risner, who had brought him to the prison and ushered him in to the square room, told him to sit and wait. Someone would be by shortly to question him about the caravan and his apparent involvement in the death of almost two dozen Pelartians. That had been an hour ago and still no one had come to see him. He just sat in silence, wondering if the others were receiving similar treatment. His mind also wondered to the events that had led them to this predicament.

As soon as they had reached the city and gone through the gates, the party was rushed through the streets. While he was able, Druzeel studied his surroundings, seeing dozens of towers, many hundreds of feet high and others only a few stories tall. Smaller buildings that looked similar to the ones in Atlurul lay in the shadows of those spires of steel and stone and were no less marvelous than their giant neighbors. Though they were alike in general shape to the small businesses and houses back home, the buildings lining the streets of Pelartis were much more elegant. Many held beautifully designed columns, elegantly carved reliefs, complex stained glass, and spectacular sculptures that surely took days to create. The entire city was a work of art and every citizen seemed bent on displaying its architectural beauty for all to see. The names of the guards and the magistrate suddenly made sense to Druzeel for the Pillars protected its citizens from falling into ruin and the Colonnade was a group of people that help ensure the safety and security of the city. Even the name of the judges, Justicars, gave a sense of lawfulness and fairness to the city. It was both fascinating and ingenuous in the way they had named these organizations. Druzeel found himself wanting to find out more but the men moving him along would not allow for such inquiries.

Most of the people he saw were dressed in a similar fashion as those in the caravan. Their cloths were simple and often plain, holding no interesting designs or patterns. It looked as though the people of the city reserved their artistic expression for the buildings, but he did see some wearing bright colors and elegant clothing. These citizens must have been part of the upper class of the city for their extravagant shirts, shiny gowns, and glowing dresses looked to cost a decent amount of gold. He caught many eyes turning in his party's direction as they moved through the streets, coming to an obvious shadier part of the city.

In this area, the buildings were simple structures, with some being made from wood or other drab material. Many towers still decorated the landscape, but they had a worn look, as if they had been some of the first structures built in the city. Why they were left in their degraded state, Druzeel did not know. He would have liked to ask the guards or wandering citizens but knew any attempt to speak would be met with a harsh reaction. He just kept quiet and observed, taking in everything he saw.

Shortly after entering the less-than-elegant part of the city, they had followed the Pillars around to a large tower built from millions of odd tiles, made from what looked to be bronze or a similarly colored stone. They had been carefully and meticulously set in a swirling pattern, making the building look like it had risen from the ground, turning as it went until it reached hundreds of feet into the sky. It truly was masterpiece of architectural design and looked somewhat out of place in this area, but Druzeel quickly realized what this place was and knew why it was kept in such good condition. It was meant to keep criminals off the streets and it wouldn't do to have one escape through a cracked wall or broken window. The building looked impervious and Druzeel wanted to see more, but before any of them had a chance to study it more closely, they were marched inside. When they entered, the captain ordered them to be separated into individual rooms. Druzeel was taken away from the others and led into a small stone room with only one door.

So now, he sat in that simple stone room, waiting for someone to come and question him about the caravan massacre. He was in a situation that was new to him, one in which he would have never pictured himself getting in to. He knew he should be nervous, anxious, or scared, but none of those emotions touched him. Though he was irritated by having to wait so long, the only thing he felt was serenity, which was a surprise. Whether this came from the knowledge that he had indeed done nothing wrong or from the training that Graeak had given him, training that helped him calm his mind and focus, he did not know. What he knew was that he was innocent and had nothing to hide from his captors.

A small part of him wondered how Dex and the others were feeling. Brask and Ristil would most likely be annoyed and letting their anger build. Vistalas and Thorstar he saw as being calm though Thorstar may be mightily annoyed at having been separated from Brask. Jannda had her soothing voice to keep her company and Dex was probably experiencing a mixture of feelings. Whatever their emotions, he hoped they handled their questioning with a calm and collected head.

Finally, after an hour and a half, the door opened and a serious looking dwarf walked into the room. He was average height for one of his race, standing a little over four feet and was dressed in a similar matter as his fellow Pillars, with orange platemail edged with bright blue trim, only his armor consisted of many more layers of plating and had golden stripping down his breastplate and gauntlets. With all the metal covering him, he appeared as wide as he was tall. A bright blue sash was wrapped around his wide waist and his helmet, tucked underneath his arm, carried a golden plume instead of a blue one. A large black beard, well groomed and carefully trimmed, covered half his face and most of his chest. His hair, equally well cared for, was long, reaching well past his shoulders. His skin looked rough and was the color of tanned leather and his eyes, a piercing gray-blue, held decades if not at least a century of wisdom and experience. Druzeel knew that the lifespan of dwarves covered over two and a half centuries, sometimes as many as three. The dwarf before him looked to be at least in his second century of life, perhaps nearing his third. One thing Druzeel did know was that this was not someone to fool around with. He would stick to the truth, no matter the consequences.

After closing the door behind him, the dwarf walked up to the table. When he reached it, he set his helmet on top. Then he pulled the chair back and took a seat. The wood groaned in protest under his tremendous weight, but stayed together. He raised his eyes and set a stare at Druzeel that went right through him. It was meant as intimidation, as was the room itself and making him wait for so long, but Druzeel felt none of those feelings. He remained calm and just kept reminding himself that he was innocent.

"My name is Xavdak Warstout and I am High Captain of Pelartis."

At first, Druzeel was a little surprised. The dwarf's voice was gravelly and rough, as he expected, but he spoke without an accent. Usually when dwarves speak of themselves they say me or I be and they have a dialect that drops the last letter of joining words like and or or. They also have a habit of switching out letters in words, dropping an o for an e or a for a u. This dwarf, to put it simply, spoke like a human or elf, but Druzeel wasn't about to tell him that. Comparing a dwarf to a human or an elf, especially an elf, was considered a grave insult in dwarven culture. Had Xavdak been raised by humans? Maybe he had been around them for so long his accent faded away. It's not important right now, Druzeel told himself. Concentrate on answering his questions then worry about his background.

"My name is Druzeel Sesstar," Druzeel said after the dwarf paused. He assumed the high captain wanted him to speak for he had gone silent after he said his name.

"I know who you are," Xavdak responded flatly. "You are part of the mercenary band known as the Knights of the Chipped Blade and are a wizard. And you have been accused of the murder and massacre of over two dozen Pelartians as they traveled to the city of Atlurul, a common trading party with us. You and your companions claim to have nothing to do with the murder of these people and that you happened upon the caravan after the battle."

"That's correct," Druzeel said when the dwarf looked him in the eye. He held that gaze, remaining confident, refusing to look away.

"Explain," Xavdak said plainly.

"A few weeks ago in my home of Atlurul," Druzeel began, "a thief broke into my mentor's tower and stole a–"

"Your mentor?" Xavdak interrupted. He had only just started before the High Captain cut him off. This was going to take a long time if he kept butting in before Druzeel even got started.

"Yes," Druzeel said, remaining calm. "Graeak Loyalar is my teacher and has been since I was five years old."

"Hold on," the dwarf said, taking on a surprised look. "You're a student of the archmage Loyalar? You actually live at The Fount?"

"Yes," Druzeel said, now thoroughly confused himself. "You know of Lord Loyalar?" He probably should not have been surprised that Xavdak knew about his mentor for Graeak was widely known throughout the surrounding lands. This sudden knowledge that the person questioning them knew of his mentor, someone synonymous with honor and goodness, made Druzeel think that this issue would be cleared up far sooner than he expected. Perhaps now the others would see how useful he actually was.

"We know of Graeak," Xavdak said, looking as if he was searching his mind for something.

"Then you should also know he is the one that hired the Knights. In fact," Druzeel said, thinking he can help their situation even more, "he asked for Brask personally."

The High Captain leaned back and started rubbing a few strands of his beard between his thick fingers. Druzeel could tell he was thinking hard and wasn't about to interrupt him. After a few moments, the dwarf placed his hands back on the table and placed that hard gaze back on Druzeel. "Continue," he said.

"If you contact my mentor he can vouch for me and the others," Druzeel said, seeing an even quicker way to resolve this. They would surely take Graeak's word. "In fact, I can even–"

"Right now I am only interested in what you have to say," Xavdak said, cutting Druzeel off. "If we deem it necessary, we will contact Lord Loyalar, but for the moment, continue your explanation."

Druzeel looked at the dwarf in confusion. If Xavdak would only speak with Graeak, he would see that he and his companions were not capable of such terrible crimes. Well, Druzeel thought, thinking about the people he was traveling with, not all of his companions were capable of such acts. At least, that was his hope. Knowing what he knew of Brask, he just nodded and started telling the High Captain about his journey. He started where he left off, with the assassin, and told the dwarf everything that had happened up to the point the guards confronted them outside of the city. He left nothing out and told the truth for he knew that was the only way to clear their names. He knew Brask would never approve, but he would not lie. That was not who he was.

Xavdak sat and stared at him for a few moments after he finished his story. Druzeel could see the wheels turning in his mind. The dwarf was pouring over everything he had just said, scanning every detail, searching for signs of deception. After sitting there in silence for a few seconds, Druzeel started thinking about his words as well. He kept coming back to the part where his companions had looted the bodies. He had told the whole truth, leaving nothing out. Thinking about it more, Druzeel thought that maybe he should have embellished just a little for his words made the others look pretty bad. But that's what happened, he told himself. He would just have to hope that their poor judgment wouldn't land them in the dungeons. They had given the items back after all.

"So you're telling me," Xavdak finally said after many moments of silence, "that against Dex and your objections, the others looted the bodies of the dead and took their things as their own? That is what you are saying?"

Druzeel cursed in his mind. Out of everything he had said, that was the one thing the dwarf wanted to draw attention to. Well, he would just have to try to make their actions seem positive, no matter how much they offended him. He couldn't let them be detained for Graeak was depending on them.

Damn, Druzeel thought, finding himself in the middle of a moral dilemma. He hated what the party had done and knew they should face the consequences but he couldn't let them be thrown in the dungeons. Too much was depending on their success. Is this what adventuring was like? He hadn't remembered these types of situations in the stories he had read.

"Yes," Druzeel finally answered. "They took from the dead, but even though I find it objectionable, I can hardly fault them in their actions."

"Oh?" Xavdak said in surprise. "Just a moment ago you seemed ready to condemn them."

"That was my heart speaking," Druzeel said. "Not my head. Mercenaries lead hard lives, sometimes not knowing where they will be or what type of situation they will find themselves in. They have to find advantages in any situation, be it tragedy or victory. They saw what was left behind from the massacre as things that may go to waste, so they took them, thinking to use them in the future, to help them survive. And though it was wrong, you got all the items back and those who lost their loved ones will be able to have some type of peace."

To Druzeel's confusion, Xavdak actually smiled. The look didn't seem right on his hard face and the young wizard wondered what exactly had amused him so. The dwarf leaned back and gave Druzeel a knowing look.

"You're new to the Knights, aren't you?"

"Y...Yes," Druzeel stammered, still in a state of bewilderment. Where was the dwarf going with this? Was his position in the group really that obvious? "Graeak bade me go with the Knights, to help recover his staff and bring the thief to justice."

"And I can understand why," Xavdak said, still with a grin on his face. "You're intelligent and cunning for one so young, but a bit naive. It is actually a little refreshing to know there is such innocence still in the world. However, I do think it a tragedy for one such as you to be involved with such a quest. I fear your nobility will not survive for very long."

"I don't–" Druzeel began, not understanding the dwarf's comments, but once again, Xavdak spoke over him.

"Believe it or not," he said, "I know of the Knights. There is hardly a band of adventurers that comes through this city that I am not aware of. I know of their deeds and the way they do their work. I assure you, though I'm quite certain you know it as well regardless of your attempt to paint him in a positive light, survival was the furthest thing from Brask's mind when they looted those bodies. They saw only gain from the dead, as most men do. Like you, I cannot blame them for acting they way they did. I was a mercenary once and know the value of taking everything you can."

"So," Druzeel said, still a bit confused, "you believe us?"

"I didn't say that," Xavdak said, flustering Druzeel further. "Whether they stole from the dead or not is not why we are here. We are here to determine if you or your companions were involved in the murder of our citizens."

"What I told you is true," Druzeel said, "and I believe the assassin is the one that gave you the false story and he is the one that sent the stalkers upon the caravan. Talk to the others. They will–"

"I intend to," Xavdak said, cutting in. "They will be put to question just as you are. Don't worry about them. Worry about yourself."

Druzeel's mouth snapped shut. He was so unused to being treated in such a way, but calmed himself and kept his eyes focused on the dwarf. Remember, he told himself, you have done nothing wrong. This is all just intimidation. Just stick to the truth and you will be fine.

"You say that these shadow stalkers leave behind a black residue upon death," Xavdak asked, continuing the questioning. "Will we find any when reaching the caravan?"

"I doubt it," Druzeel answered. "It fades quickly, leaving no trace of the attackers. That is the advantage to the spell. It covers the assassin's tracks."

"How convenient," Xavdak said. "No trace or proof of the crime."

"I know what you are implying," Druzeel said, "but that is how the spell works."

"And do you know this spell?"

"No," Druzeel answered truthfully. "It is beyond my power and even if it wasn't, it is a spell of evil and one I would never touch." Xavdak raised any eyebrow at that comment. He looked liked he wanted to say something but he kept his words to himself.

The dwarf asked a dozen more questions, about the attack, his companions, and even a few about Graeak. Druzeel answered them truthfully and honestly each time, his answers about the attack being exactly the same as before. He knew the High Captain was trying to see if the story would change or if Druzeel would alter any of the details, but he stayed true and recounted everything as it happened each time he was asked. It was hard to say if the dwarf was satisfied with his answers for his face stayed hard and unreadable. Truthfully, Druzeel cared little if his interrogator was pleased with what he heard. It was the truth.

"Do you trust your companions?" Xavdak then asked. That question Druzeel had not expected and he fumbled for a response. He found his resolve suddenly having cracks in it.

"Wh...What do you mean?" he stammered. He knew what he should have said, knew he should have answered yes immediately, but he was caught by surprise and his thoughts had not yet caught up to his mouth.

"It is a straight question," the dwarf replied without emotion.

"Yes...Yes," Druzeel finally answered, forcing the word out of his mouth. It had been the only answer he considered a lie. He didn't even believe what he had just said and by the look on Xavdak's face, the dwarf didn't believe it either. Damn it, Druzeel cursed in his mind. He expected Xavdak to say more, to accuse him of lies, but he just pushed himself from the table and stood up.

"Am I...So what now?" Druzeel asked with uncertainty. He was in a complete state of confusion now. Though he still held confidence that they would be set free–they had done nothing wrong after all–the dwarf had him thoroughly confused. Xavdak had given no indication on what he planned to do with him and left Druzeel's last response without one of his own. Surely, he would not just leave him sitting here in the cold stone room.

"You wait," the dwarf said, showing Druzeel that leaving him here is exactly what he planned. "If your story matches the others, then you will be released. If not, then you may be here for an extended period of time." Xavdak turned and walked to the door. He opened it and stepped out into the hallway, but before disappearing from sight, he faced Druzeel one more time.

"You are no criminal, Druzeel Sesstar." The comment made Druzeel raise his head and look the dwarf in the eyes. He saw only calm resolve. If possible, the dwarf's words and expression baffled him even more. "I'm just afraid you may have thrown yourself into a band of them."

Xavdak disappeared down the stone hallway, the door swinging shut behind him. Druzeel was once again left alone in the small room, with only his uncomfortable thoughts and a stone-faced guard to keep him company.

* * * * *

Xavdak walked down the hall, heading for another interrogation room, this one holding the leader of the mercenary band. After speaking with the young wizard, it was clear to him, no matter how much he wanted to disbelieve, that the group was indeed innocent of the charges leveled against them. They had murdered no one and only been the victim of devious information, information that had been given to the Pillars most likely by the same man who had been responsible for the caravan's destruction. It was a clever ploy, to delay your pursuers by accusing them of a crime, but one that was eventually unraveled by asking a few questions.

Though he had yet to question any of the others–Druzeel was the first–Xavdak found the young wizard's story too fantastic to be untrue. He had never faltered when speaking of the assassin or the shadow stalkers. He spoke clearly, held confidence in his voice, never once changed his story, and kept constant eye contact. People who were lying usually stuttered or stammered when being put in such an uncomfortable position, and they usually never made eye contact. The fact that he was a student of such a renowned archmage–though Xavdak had yet to confirm this but felt the young man was telling the truth–helped in convincing the old dwarf that the band was innocent. What also helped was that Druzeel seemed willing, more than willing in fact, to speak negatively of his companions. If he were trying to hide something, he never would have said anything about the others looting the bodies. Xavdak would still question rest of the Knights to be positive of the situation and make sure their stories matched, but he knew he would eventually have to let them go.

Regardless of their innocence, he planned to use their confinement to learn just exactly what type of danger they had brought into his city. If the assassin was in Pelartis, a man that on a whim had killed dozens of innocent people, then the citizens he was sworn to protect could be in danger. He also planned to learn more of the band itself. If someone like Brask was going to be roaming the streets, he wanted to know more about the man and what they intended, though he saw nothing but harsh words waiting for him. The mercenary leader did not appear as one that would be as agreeable as Druzeel had been.

As he walked down the stone halls, Xavdak found his thoughts drifting back to the young wizard. Despite his ignorance, Druzeel appeared to be a very intelligent and acute young man. Based on what Xavdak knew of Graeak, the archmage took only the best and brightest students, so to be actually accepted by the powerful wizard one would have to possess superior qualities. The High Captain could see those qualities as he spoke to Druzeel, in the way the man spoke and behaved in front of one of his peers. Xavdak could see respect, honor, and humility in the wizard. He just thought it a shame that he was striving to become part of this band of mercenaries, these Knights of the Chipped Blade. He seemed much better than that and could see Druzeel becoming just as wicked and immoral as they are if he stayed with them for too long.

Xavdak had never meet Brask, had never met any of the Knights, but he had heard enough about them, knew their kind, and had come to his own conclusions about the group. He usually tried to reserve judgment on anyone he had not yet met, but the stories of this mercenary band, though some noble, were often times heinous and told Xavdak all he needed to know. They were selfish degenerates who worked only for coin, no matter the job and no matter the pain wrought on the innocent. Xavdak despised people like that and would have every last one of them locked up if he had his way, but he was a dwarf of the law and followed it to the letter, no matter his personal feelings. That was why he was in the position of high captain. The leaders of this great city knew he would not let his emotions control him and that he would follow the law no matter what. He had done this for over ten years and rid the city of hundreds, if not thousands, of criminals and thugs. Unfortunately, the delinquent he was about to face now seemed to be innocent of everything but bad character. Xavdak could not lock him up for that.

Xavdak came to the door that led into Brask's room and walked in without pause. The room was similar to the one he had just left, holding two chairs, a table, half a dozen torches, and a single guard standing next to the door. Unlike the previous room though, no one was sitting at the table. Instead, Brask was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, with an angry look on his face. When he saw Xavdak enter, his stood up straight and walked forward with an angry stride. If this had been any other situation, Xavdak knew Brask would have lunged at him.

"About time!" the large man said and walked right up to the table, but did not sit. Xavdak said nothing. He just pushed out the other chair and took a seat, staring at his angry guest without expression. So far, his assumption had been right on. Brask was just as aggressive and apprehensive as he thought he would be. Clearly, the intended intimidation had only made the man angry.

"Have a seat," Xavdak said, motioning towards the other empty chair with a simple wave of his hand.

"I've been sitting in a saddle for almost two weeks," Brask said with irritation. "And I have been in that chair for almost two hours. I'm only on my feet because my ass hurts more than my legs. I'll stand."

"Suit yourself," Xavdak answered without care, "but you would do well to calm yourself and retard your anger."

"Tell me," Brask answered back with a voice thick with sarcasm, "if you were on a job and I kept you waiting for hours, how would you feel?"

"If I were you," Xavdak answered, his eyes locking onto Brask, "I would be more concerned with being executed for murder than I would be worrying about work. You seem mightily defensive for one that says he and his men have done no wrong."

"And you seem quick to condemn us for having nothing but an anonymous tip," Brask spat back. "You have no proof, no witnesses, and no justification for holding us as you have. How did you receive this supposed anonymous tip anyhow? Did it materialize out of thin air or did one of the hundreds of corrupt guards get paid to deliver it to you?"

Xavdak just kept his face impassive. If Brask had hoped to incite a reaction from the High Captain, he would be sorely disappointed. The seasoned dwarf had handled much worse than one stubborn mercenary.

"Where we received the tip is none of your business," Xavdak finally replied. "The only thing you should be worried about is clearing yourself of the murder you are accused of committing."

"I have already told your guards what happened," Brask said, waving his hands through the air. "If you cannot accept my word, which I'm sure you have already discounted, then why speak to you any longer? Have your wizards do divinations. Submit us to truth seeking spells. Do whatever it is you do to learn the truth. Just don't waste my time."

"I don't consider trying to find out what slaughtered innocent people a waste of time," Xavdak said, a hint of anger to his voice. He knew what type of man Brask was but his callous disregard for life still ate at him. "And you have told my men what happened, but not me, so I suggest you calm yourself and tell me what happened."

Brask growled but relented and sat down, rather forcefully. Xavdak was surprised the seat did not crumble under him. The leader of the Knights then looked at Xavdak and his angry demeanor instantly disappeared. In its place was a man that was calm and collected, looking to all the world like a man who owned the very room they sat in. Xavdak had to admit he was a little surprised. Brask had been playing him, trying to see what type of man, or dwarf, he was. Some people would lose their temper when presented with an equally irate suspect. That only helped the person accused of the crime weasel their way free. Others would keep their cool, as he had done, which made it hard for the anger to be absolved. It seemed that Brask quickly understood that his anger would get him nowhere with Xavdak, so he gave up the charade and spoke in a level voice, but the words that came out were not his side of the story.

"So who have you spoken to?" he asked. "I know your methods of interrogation, keeping me in here to sweat it out, keeping me waiting to make me uncomfortable. I know you're trying to match our stories together, trying to piece together who may be lying. It may not surprise you to know that I have been in these situations before and know how to handle the likes of you."

"You're right," Xavdak said. "That doesn't surprise me."

"And as you can see," Brask said with a smile, "I am still a free man."

"Regardless of whether you were guilty or not," Xavdak threw back. Brask only smiled wider, telling the dwarf that the man had not been innocent every time he had been accused of something unseemly.

"So who was it?" Brask said, continuing to press the issue. "Dex? Vistalas? Ristil?" After each name, he studied Xavdak closely, looking for any sign of confirmation. So far, the dwarf was like a rock. "Thorstar? Jannda?" Brask continued. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and a sneer came to his face.

"Druzeel."

Xavdak thought he had remained expressionless, but Brask must have caught something for he just growled and leaned back. A tick, a twitch, something that Xavdak could not help had confirmed Brask's suspicion. The man just let out a quick breath and shook his head. "Stupid kid."

"On the contrary," Xavdak said, seeing no point in hiding the obvious. "Druzeel is quite intelligent. You would do well to follow his lead."

"You're just as stupid," Brask commented. "That boy wouldn't know his head from a piece of cabbage. He has been nothing but trouble. You'd be doing me a favor by throwing him in the dungeons. In fact, he was the one that killed those people. Yeah, throw him in chains and put him out of my misery. Do us all a favor."

"Nice," Xavdak replied. To say that Brask disliked Druzeel was an understatement. This man loathed the young wizard. "If this is how you treat your friends, I'd hate to see–"

"He's not my friend," Brask barked with a harsh tone. "He's not my friend, my companion, or my colleague. He's a thorn stuck in my side that just keeps digging deeper and deeper and getting more painful by the day. I'd hope to be rid of him by the end of the month but thanks to you and your guards' incompetence, I'll have bled to death by the time I rip him from my skin."

"Our incompetence?" Xavdak asked.

"Yeah," Brask replied. "Through your actions, you and your guards have proven themselves incompetent. You fell for a simple ruse and allowed for our quarry, the one responsible for the caravan, to get further away. If you had taken a second to think, to realize how stupid the entire situation sounded, you may have even caught the assassin yourself. No, instead you jumped to conclusions, as all you brain-dead Pillars do, and arrested the wrong people. Now it will take even longer to find him, assuring that the whelp will be with us for much longer than necessary."

"You speak as if you have experienced the hospitality of our city before," Xavdak said. "Find yourself in a dungeon or two?"

"Hospitality?" Brask scoffed. "Hardly, but I've seen the corruption firsthand and if you weren't so focused on accusing innocent citizens and travelers of crimes, you may have seen the ruthlessness and corruption rampant in your own guard. You self-righteous paladin wannabes make me sick. At least a full paladin knows what he is. Your kind just denies it, hiding behind a king's crest or politicians' law. It's pathetic."

For the first time since Brask entered the room, the man standing guard next to the door moved, turning his head to regard his commander. To the guard's amazement, Xavdak just sat in silence, staring at Brask without any expression. He would have throttled the arrogant mercenary had he been able, but he just stood and watched in silence, waiting and wanting the High Captain to explode in rage and beat Brask to a bloody pulp. Amazingly, Xavdak just took a deep breath.

He would not be a very good leader if he let his anger control him. Brask's words had stung to be sure, be he let them slide away, knowing that the lack of a reaction would incite the man even more than beating the life out of him. Reacting would also lend credence to Brask's words and Xavdak knew that everything the man said was untrue. His Pillars were noble, honorable, and strong and he would not let simple words destroy years of hard work. He should know for he had trained many of them himself.

"You are a very angry man," Xavdak replied, bringing a fierce stare from Brask. "Angry and sad."

"Just tell me what you want," Brask said loudly, barely controlling his anger. "I grow tired of this. You have nothing and you know it, but I'll tell you what you want to know if it gets you away from me."

"I simply want to know what happened."

For the next few minutes, Brask told his story, starting out rather quickly, skipping details and trying to get to the end as fast as he could. Xavdak would ask questions and tell him to repeat himself when he thought the man was going too fast, further inflaming Brask's anger, but the man complied, trying to appear calm. He finally finished after almost a half hour. It was basically the same accounting that Druzeel had given, minus a few dozen details, including the part of them looting the bodies, the only real area of the story that Xavdak wanted to know more of. He had known what the story would be but wanted to see what Brask would say about the looting, a part he had purposely left out. Xavdak was content to let those details go. Until now.

"What about the things you took from the bodies?" Xavdak asked after a few seconds of silence.

"What about them?" Brask replied without care. "It was as Dex said. We took those things to return them."

"Interesting," Xavdak said when Brask said nothing more. He leaned back on his chair. The wood groaned under his weight but he refused to yield. "Druzeel says you ordered the others to loot the bodies and that when he tried to stop you, you refused and did it anyway. He said only himself and Dex refused and walked away while you and the others took everything you could get your hands on."

"Course he did," Brask said without surprise. "Stupid kid."

"So is it your accounting or his that is correct?"

"Does it matter?" Brask asked.

"To me."

"Then yes," Brask answered, his anger transforming into amusement. "We looted them and took everything they had. They didn't need it. But looting the dead isn't a crime, is it?" He spoke as if he already knew the answer.

"No," Xavdak said, not surprised that Brask had finally admitted to what they had done. He knew the man took no pride in his actions, but he felt no remorse either and to Xavdak, that was what really irritated him about the band's leader. And the vitriol in his voice was not directed at the dead, but at Xavdak, so the dwarf just let the man rant, seeing no more point in conversing with him.

"You brought us here to see if we killed your people," Brask said, continuing to speak in a mocking voice, "not to hear about what you already knew. You either believe that we killed them or that the assassin fooled you. So which is it because I've got things to do?"

Xavdak rose to his feet. "I'll let you know." With that, he turned and made for the door, moving rather quickly, just wanting to be out of the man's disgusting presence.

"You do that," Brask said. As much as he tried to shake it, the man's irritating voice stayed with Xavdak as he left the room and walked down the hall.

* * * * *

The plain wooden door opened, startling Druzeel from his daze. It had been over two hours since his questioning with the dwarven captain and he feared that he would be left here forever. He had almost fallen asleep and the sound of the door opening woke him up.

"Please follow me," said the Pillar that had entered the room. He was dressed just like the other man standing near the door, who had not moved an inch the entire time Druzeel had been in the room. What discipline! Druzeel thought to himself. The man must have had intensive training and conditioning to be able to stand motionless for almost five hours. As Druzeel stood and followed the guard, he stopped and looked over the man just to make sure it really was a human being. Confident that the guard was, he followed the other guard out and down the hallway.

He was led into a large circular room, the same one he had entered before the Pillars had separated the group and taken them to their rooms. Inside was empty, save for the torches lining the wall. Half a dozen doors stood on his left, including the one he had entered through. The large double doors that he had original entered through when first coming into the building lay closed, but behind it, he could hear what sounded like men and women talking. He knew that the main foyer lay on the other side. When the group had first arrived, it had been filled with guards and other citizens. It sounded as it still was.

Though the room beyond was alive with activity, the chamber in which he stood was empty, save for himself and the guard, but it didn't stay that way for very long. After only a minute, another door opened and Dex and Jannda walked in, led by single guard. The Pillar led them into the center of the room.

"Please wait here," he said. Both guards turned and left, leaving the companions alone.

"What's going on?" Druzeel asked.

"Don't know," Dex replied, studying the room. He looked up and noticed a balcony wrapping around the room. Druzeel noticed him staring up at the ceiling and followed his eyes. Standing on the balcony above, a balcony that none of them had the time to notice when they first arrived, he saw a dozen or so Pillars, spears in hand. So, they had not been left alone after all.

A few seconds later, before the others had a chance to converse, two more of the doors opened. Inside walked Thorstar, Ristil, and Vistalas, all three led by two guards. They told them to wait, as with the others, and left.

"So are we free to go or not?" Ristil said, turning his face towards the Pillars above. When no one answered, he just cursed and lowered his gaze. None of the companions knew what was going to happen. Neither Xavdak nor the guards had said they were guilty. They hadn't said they were innocent either, so they stood in center of the room and waited, as instructed.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, another door opened. Brask came through, being led by no one. Instead, the guard that he had most likely been following just held the door open for the mercenary to walk through. The Pillar shut it as soon as he entered the room. The man looked irritated and angry. Dex went to say something but thought better of it as he saw the man's expression. To everyone's surprise, except for the man who was the obvious subject of Brask's ire, the leader of the Knights pushed by them all and walked right up to Druzeel. He looked down with a mixture of annoyance and hatred.

"You just couldn't keep your mouth shut could you?" Brask spat, leaning over and coming within inches of Druzeel's face. Druzeel looked back at him, a small sliver of distress filling his eyes. Did Xavdak tell him what I said?

"What the hells did you do now?" Ristil asked, his voice quickly carrying the air of expectation. Both Brask and Druzeel ignored him.

"I'm not going to lie for you," Druzeel said, trying his best to sound strong and confident. His voice shook just a little, betraying his true feelings. Brask just continued to stare him down. "Did you think he would believe you were going to give back what you took?" Druzeel continued. "Did you think he would–"

"It doesn't matter!" Brask yelled in Druzeel's face. The young wizard jumped back, surprised by the outburst. He had almost fallen over Brask's reaction was so strong. "I swear to the gods," he continued, spitting fire, "if we get thrown into chains because of you I'm going to beat you to death!"

"Brask," Dex said. "Calm down." Brask whirled on him, his eyes flashing.

"Shut your–"

Before he could finish, the double doors leading from the room opened and Xavdak walked in. All eyes, including Brask's, turned from the confrontation and settled on the High Captain. Dex made a sigh of relief for he didn't know if he could have stopped Brask from beating Druzeel. For the time being, their host had just helped calm the situation.

Xavdak studied the situation he had walked into but said nothing. He was content to wait and observe what would happen between the group. When the rage slowly faded from Brask's face and the man took a step back from the wizard, he knew he had just unwittingly diffused whatever had almost happened. He took a mental note of the conflict of the group and tucked it away in his mind. Perhaps he could use that later if the mercenaries got into any future trouble.

"Based on your statements," he said, "and the lack of any physical evidence linking you to the murders, you have been cleared, so far, of any wrong doing. Unfortunately, dishonor and disrespect are not against our laws," he added, referring to the looting of the dead.

"So far?" Vistalas was quick to ask.

"Yes," Xavdak said. "I have sent Pillars to the caravan to gather the bodies and bring them back for a more thorough investigation. Until we have completed our analysis, you are not to leave the city."

Brask cursed and shot Druzeel and hateful glare. He turned back to the dwarf. "How long?"

"As long as it takes," Xavdak said plainly. "Believe me, I have no desire for you to be in the city any longer than you must. Should be no longer than a few days. If cleared completely, you may depart Pelartis."

"Are we free to leave now?" Dex asked. In response, Xavdak just stepped to the side.

"Our belongings?" Ristil asked.

"Waiting for you outside," Xavdak replied. "As well as your mounts."

Brask wasted no time and walked from the chamber. The others quickly followed. They moved through the large foyer without even noticing the dozens of guards eyeing them in suspicion and dislike. Druzeel noticed them but avoided eye contact. He knew that the people staring at him thought him to be as the others, without honor or decency. He matched pace with his companions, wanting to be out of this place as quickly as possible.

Xavdak was true to his word. Outside stood their horses and a handful of Pillars holding their belongings. The guards gave them their weapons and gear and walked into the building, shutting the large doors behind them.

"This changes nothing," Dex said as he strapped on his daggers and longsword. "We still have a job to do. We should split up and see if we can find out about the thief. We can meet up at the Wilted Rose in a few hours."

"My contact is still in the city," Vistalas said. "If someone like the assassin is still here, he should know."

"There is a well-connected merchant I know that should be willing to help as well," Dex added in.

"Good," Brask said, anger still thick in his voice. "Thorstar, Ristil, and I will go with Vistalas. Dex and Jannda will go to the merchant. Meet at the Rose in four hours."

"What about young master incompetent there?" Ristil said with a smirk, motioning to Druzeel who had yet to speak. Druzeel's eyebrows lowered in anger but he said nothing. Brask looked at Dex and gave a satisfied smile.

"He goes with you, since you cherish him so much."

Dex only nodded, wiping the smile from Brask's face. It was clear the two still shared a little distaste for each other after what happened. Perhaps some time apart would do them good. Jannda just let out a troubled breath but didn't say anything. It was clear she did not like the current arrangement.

Druzeel walked to his horse, pretending to look over his belongings. Ristil and Brask's harsh treatment was expected and their actions hadn't bothered him in the slightest, but Jannda's hesitant breath had stung a little. He wondered if Dex felt the same. If the man had any hard feelings, he didn't show it. No matter how they felt, Druzeel knew he had done the right thing. He told the truth and would do so again if confronted with a similar situation. What was Brask so upset for anyway? For the moment, they were free. That man can turn any positive into a negative, Druzeel thought. What a horrible way to live.

As he watched Brask and the other three ride away, a small amount of relief coursed through him. At least I won't have to listen to their relentless barbs anymore, Druzeel thought to himself. Well, at least for four hours anyway. He hoped they could avoid any trouble. If they got into a fight or crossed the wrong people, Druzeel had little doubt that Xavdak would throw them in chains.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 12

Pelartis truly was an amazing city, with roads paved with reddish brick, elegantly sculpted street lamps made from bronze, and towers of stone and copper colored steel plates that shined in the rays of the setting sun. They had been in the care of Xavdak for so long that the day was almost over by the time they were released. As they traveled down the road, all around them the hustle and bustle of the nightlife was just beginning. As one set of merchants was closing down their carts, wagons, or shutting their doors for the night, another was just opening for business. In this city, Druzeel found it hard to believe that there was any time during an entire day that the streets would be quiet. In Pelartis, something always seemed to be happening.

He passed dozens of buildings that towered over the hundreds of citizens walking the streets. Even the smaller buildings, some being only a single story or as wide as a few horses standing in a line, seemed to loom over him. Every single one was elegant, with the architect sparing no expense when building the structure. It was art in a functional form. Even many of the people he passed were dressed with an exquisite sense of fashion, with bright colors, ornate accessories, and vivid designs. He wondered if the entire city was like this, as beautiful and as classical as the things he saw before him. True, they were in the wealthier part of the city and many in this area could afford to be radiant. Still, he wanted to believe that even those that may not have the means or coin to be so extravagant would find some way to express themselves as those before him. As he traveled further into the city, he saw that what he believed was probably not true for many of the Pelartians that were not dressed up in dazzling dresses or vests that sparkled wore simple shirts or trousers. Druzeel quickly came to realize that in this city, it was either one extreme or the other.

Druzeel traveled behind Dex and Jannda, content to let them led. He used the time away from Brask, away from the harsh words, away from all the bickering, to actually enjoy himself and take in his surroundings. It was the first time he had a little peace since they had started the quest. He also had no idea where he was going. He had read much about the city. Their culture, many of their laws, and their history was known to him, but he had never studied any maps. Since Dex was the one that mentioned the merchant, no doubt a wealthy man based on where they were, he was the one that led the way, with Jannda close by his side. The two seemed to be familiar with the streets, so Druzeel followed in silence, enjoying the sights and sounds of Pelartis.

"We're being followed," Jannda said sometime later. Her words snapped Druzeel from his thoughts and he looked at her in confusion. She had barely turned her head or looked at the hundreds of people they passed. Was she guessing? He looked to Dex, who only nodded in agreement. The man hadn't taken his eyes off the road in front of him either. Were they messing with him? Was this payback for his words while under Xavdak's scrutiny?

"Behind us," Dex said, turning his head to look at his young traveling companion. He must have seen Druzeel's confused expression. Druzeel went to look but thought better of it. He thought it would be better not to let whoever was following them know that they knew.

"You can look," Dex said. "They know we know."

"They would be stupid not to," Jannda commented.

Druzeel turned and peered into the crowd, looking for intolerant and unfriendly eyes. He saw nothing that stood out. There was just a mass of bodies. How could anyone single out anything in this mess?

"The Pillars," Jannda said. There was a tiny bit of frustration in her voice. The boy really is obtuse, she thought to herself.

Druzeel turned and looked again, this time searching for any guards that may be near them. He saw a handful to his right, just a few yards away, but their attention seemed to be on a group of unruly elves. He looked further away and his eyes settled on about half a dozen Pillars, looking right at him. Druzeel would have expected the Pillar he was staring at to look away or act like he was looking at something else, but the man never turned his eyes. He just looked a Druzeel with an expression of suspicion.

"They want us to know," Druzeel finally said, coming to the same conclusion that Jannda and Dex had some time ago.

"Xavdak wants us to know that he has eyes on us at all times," Jannda said, a little relieved that Druzeel was not as thick as he seemed. "Though we have been cleared of the caravan attack, it is clear that he thinks we are still up to no good and a threat to his citizens."

"Let him," Dex said. "We have more pressing matters to worry about than Xavdak."

"And we have done nothing wrong," Druzeel added, wanting his two companions to know that he stood with them despite what he had said under Xavdak's interrogation. He felt Jannda's frustration with him and tried to make her understand that he held no animosity towards her. Turned out, she did not care what he thought and had no desire for his forgiveness.

"Yes," she said in a harsh voice. "We have done nothing wrong. I can't say the same thing about you."

Druzeel looked at her in surprise. He had not expected her to react in such a manner. He knew she was annoyed and irritated with him but she must realize that the reason they were in their current predicament was because of the assassin. It was not anything he had done. The guards would have taken them in no matter what they said, but they may have been a little more gentle had the group taken his advice and left the bodies alone. Given her current reaction, he wasn't about to remind her of that.

"We would be under their watchful eye no matter what happened with the caravan," Druzeel said. "The assassin made sure that–"

"I'm not talking about what happened at the caravan," Jannda said, throwing up her hands. "My gods, are you that stupid?"

"Jannda," Dex said softly. He understood her anger, but now was not the time to start an argument, in the middle of a busy street, with a handful of guards watching their every move. He had left Brask and the others behind. He thought they would have a little break from this.

"No Dex," Jannda said, looking at her friend. "He needs to know what he did wrong. Aren't you the one that told him to learn from his mistakes? It seems he hasn't learned a single thing. The boy has no common sense!"

"I haven't done anything wrong," Druzeel pointed out, defending himself.

"You've done the worst possible thing!" the halfling almost shouted. "You betrayed us to Xavdak. I know you did not approve of what we did at the caravan, to bodies that had no use for what was left behind, but the least you could have done is shut up and keep your thoughts to yourself. Even Dex is smart enough to know that."

"I'm not going to lie," Druzeel said. Anger started to creep up his spine and leak into his mind. He wasn't going to betray what he was because she felt guilt for her actions.

"You should have defended us," she replied, anger in her eyes. "At least play dumb or avoid the question. Instead, you gave Xavdak information to use against the rest of us. We could have been thrown into the dungeons because of you."

"I did defend you!" Druzeel spat back. "Yes, I told Xavdak about what you did, looting the corpses, but I did defend you!" Druzeel went over a short version of what he had said during the questioning, that his companions were acting out of survival, that their life experiences are bred into them and to act differently would go against everything they know. Jannda appeared to listen to his every word, but she just rolled her eyes in the end.

"So we acted out of survival," she mocked. "So do brigands! So do thieves! They do what they do because they know no other way. Do you still not realize that you lumped us in with every single criminal and miscreant that Xavdak has ever put to the question? Do you not see that because of your words, that in the Pillars' eyes, we are no better than the assassin we are chasing?"

Druzeel was going to offer a retort, to challenge what Jannda had just said, but his words caught in his throat. Could that be how Xavdak and the rest of his guard see us? he thought to himself. Have I placed us in the same category as thieves and rogues? What Jannda said did make a certain amount of sense and if it was true, he really had done them more harm than good. But they chose to act that way, Druzeel quickly told himself. I tried to stop them from looting those bodies and dishonoring the dead, but they wouldn't listen. And they had only made it worse by lying about their true intentions. No, this is not my fault, he thought, defending himself in his mind. If they were seen as criminals, as people without honor, it was their own doing. He could have said that just then, but no matter how angry Jannda's words were making him, he decided to keep his true feelings to himself. To do otherwise would just make her angrier and he had no wish to upset the only other part of the group that may eventually be on his side. He started to respond but Jannda kept on going.

"I want to give you the benefit of the doubt," she said, her voice softening a little. "I want to believe that you will learn, that you will not continue to be so damn ignorant in the ways of the road, in the ways of the real world, but you are making it hard to do that. I have patience, but only so much."

Another surge of anger shot into Druzeel. She had just called him ignorant and slow to learn, but the anger he was feeling slowly gave way to understanding. He suddenly saw that he was indeed having trouble adjusting to life on the road. It was not what he expected it to be and it seemed that he was making everyone angry at every turn. He was not used to such behaviors and they were not used to having someone like him along on a journey. They were also having trouble getting passed Brask's preconceived notions of him, feelings that he had obviously shared with the rest of the group. Both himself and the others just needed more time to get used to one another.

But, Druzeel quickly said to himself, should I really have to change myself that much to please everyone else? Should I give up what I believe in and the principles I was taught just so the others will accept me? They are the ones lacking ethics and morals. They are the ones that decided to rob the dead and lie to cover their dishonor. No, he said, getting angrier with each passing moment. I will not change who I am and what I believe in to make them all happy. He was about to voice his feelings but Dex spoke up.

"He just doesn't know," Dex said, bringing a look of surprise on Druzeel's face. That was not the response he expected. "He has been tucked away in that tower for most of his life," Dex continued. "He has hardly left Atlurul. He doesn't even have a quarter the life experiences as we have. You need to give him time. We haven't even been on this journey for two weeks yet. He will learn but you and the others need to have more patience."

"But he supposed to be a wizard!" Jannda said, talking as if Druzeel should know much more than he does. "Aren't they supposed to be smart? Are they not supposed to be masters of knowledge and learning? They have the power to bring down kingdoms, but he hardly acted like a simple novice back there."

Outrage burned through Druzeel as Dex and Jannda continued to argue, to talk to one another as if he wasn't even sitting just a few inches from them. That enraged him more than anything else. If they held criticisms or had advice, they could at least speak to him and not act like he wasn't even there. He was not a child. He was not some newborn that needed constant supervision. He was Druzeel Sesstar, apprentice and trained wizard to the great Lord Graeak Loyalar. He deserved more respect than this.

A spell quickly came to his mind, one that would shut both of them up and make sure they knew exactly who he was, but he quickly calmed himself and resisted the temptation to cast the spell. It would do no one any good if he lashed out in anger. Graeak had taught him better than that. A wizard first tried to solve problems and his troubles with words and negotiation before restoring to more aggressive means. It was just so damn frustrating listening to these two.

"Enough!" he shouted, throwing his hands in the air. Jannda and Dex quickly went silent, surprised at the outburst from the young wizard. Gone were his thoughts of holding his true feelings at bay. He let everything pour out of him, intending to let them know exactly how he felt.

"I am not a child!" Druzeel said. "And I do not appreciate you speaking as if I wasn't here. I may not have the experiences that you two have, but I will not compromise what I believe in for you, Brask, or anyone else. And I will no longer sit here and listen to either of you." With that, Druzeel turned his horse away from Dex and Jannda. His spurred his mount onwards and quickly moved away.

"Druzeel, wait!" Dex said, urging his mount to follow, but Jannda reached up and grabbed his reins, stopping him.

"No," she said reluctantly. The only reason Dex listened to her was because he heard the regret in her voice. She knew she had gone too far but the damage was already done. "Let him go," she said. "I think we all need a little time to cool off."

"He doesn't know this city," Dex replied, watching Druzeel getting further and further away.

"He knows the name of where we are supposed to meet and when," Jannda said. "He'll find us when the time comes. Let him calm down. I think it will be better for all of us."

Dex nodded to his halfling friend. Then he looked up and watched as Druzeel disappeared into the crowd. When the wizard was out of sight, he turned around and the two companions continued down the street, heading for Dex's contact. He knew they had been hard on Druzeel and he wished he had watched his words a little more carefully.

"After all this," Jannda said after a few moments of awkward silence, "you still defend him. Why?"

"I guess I see a little of myself in him," Dex responded. "I remember when I was his age, still learning the ways of the road, doing stupid things. Like him, I found myself in certain situations where my inexperience was a disadvantage. Every time I look into the mirror I am amazed I am still alive."

"Let us hope Druzeel lives so long," Jannda said.

Dex looked at his longtime friend and saw genuine concern on her face. He quickly found himself nodding in agreement. Druzeel's ignorance was indeed a danger, to himself and others, but given time, he would learn and become a better man. Dex just hoped that his lack of experience would not get them all killed.

* * * * *

Druzeel steered his mount down the street, unsure of where he was or where he was going. Truth be told, he didn't really care about either one. His mind was so full of anger and resentment that he could have been walking into a raging inferno and he would not have realized it. His mind was clouded so much that his horse actually bumped into a few people, walking without any direction from its rider. Those citizens pushed out of the way raised their voices and shook their fists but that was about the extent of their anger. Druzeel heard none of it. The only noise in his mind was the voices of the two people he had just left.

How dare they! Druzeel thought to himself in anger. How could they be so bold as to tell him to change everything about himself to make him more agreeable to the group? What would they say if he asked them to do the same? How would they react if he yelled and screamed at them, calling them stupid, ignorant, and childish? Thinking about it now, Druzeel realized he should have asked them to change their ways for they were the ones that were immoral, crude, hostile, and cared for no one but themselves. They were the ones that ignored him and brought the guards ire down upon their heads. They should be the ones to change, to alter their behavior to mimic his own, not the other way around. He was the one following the path of good and righteousness. He was the one with honor and respect. That was how he had lived his life since the day he was born. He was not about to change who he was, everything he believed in to satisfy the egos of a few mercenaries.

Druzeel continued to brood as his horse moved through the city streets. When he finally looked up, he realized he had traveled a fair distance away from where he had his argument with Dex and Jannda. He had also left over a dozen angry people behind him, his horse having shoved them out of the way. He turned around to see if he could still spot Dex or Jannda, but he had either gone too far or they had left. The only thing that greeted him was a handful of angry stares.

Not wanting to become even more lost than he already was, Druzeel slowly and carefully directed his horse off to the side, to get out of everyone's way. He also wanted to take a moment to clear his mind and try to calm down.

"Anger solves nothing," his mentor had once told him. "The only thing it does it make one irrational and act without thought or feeling. You must first use your mind to find solutions to your problems and only use your fists if absolutely necessary."

Thinking about his mentor's words made the anger he was feeling start to fade away. He steadied himself on his horse and took about a dozen deep breathes, clearing his mind and forcing himself to calm down. He closed his eyes and thought of nothing else but the task set before him. The sounds of the street slowly faded and he heard nothing but his own breath.

This practice of deep breathing and concentration had served Druzeel well over the years. It had been one of the first lessons that Graeak had taught him. Becoming a wizard could be very frustrating. The constant studying, hours of research, and the practice of spells could take quite a toll on any man or woman wishing to become a powerful user of magic. Anger was definitely a part of any wizard's young life for learning spells, getting the gestures correct, and the words in the right order can make anyone go mad. Learning patience and learning how to control your anger was a large part of a magic user's life.

Druzeel was thankful for those lessons for Graeak was right, as usual. Getting angry had solved nothing. In fact, it had only caused more problems for now he was separated from the others and had no idea where to go or what to do next. He had read enough of Pelartis to know how to survive and what not to do, but he had no knowledge of the streets or the hundreds of smaller alleyways that ran through the city. He couldn't even be sure he was on the same street he had been on when he left his companions.

So what were the others doing? Druzeel asked himself, trying to gather his thoughts. He may be separated from the others, but he could still do his part. He wasn't going to sit and do nothing. In a few hours, he would met them back at the Wilted Rose, wherever that was, but until then, he would do what he could to find out information on the assassin.

Dex and Jannda were going to visit some merchant, Druzeel said to himself, and the others were on their way to some of Vistalas's contacts. Whoever Brask was going to meet Druzeel had little doubt they would be shady individuals, but since they probably dealt in dark deeds, they may have the information the group sought. The merchant could also be useful for rich nobles often had eyes and ears in every level of a city. If the assassin, someone that was hard to notice, tried to sell the artifacts he had stolen from The Fount, the merchant may know someone that would want such an item.

So, the Knights had two possible options the assassin may take covered. They would be investigating the markets and the more unseemly world of thieves and rouges. That left one area completely left open, and one area in which Druzeel just happened to be an expert.

After making sure no unwanted attention was directed his way, Druzeel took out the ring Graeak had given him and slipped it on his finger. He turned it three times and peered into the gem. After a small flash and a few seconds, his teacher's aging face appeared within.

"My young apprentice," Graeak said in a soft voice. "How are things going on your quest?"

He looked just as he had when Druzeel last spoke with him, just before the shadow stalkers had attacked him in the forest. The fact that he had not grown any more haggard looking filled Druzeel with relief. Honestly, he was not sure what to expect when he contacted his teacher. Worry and stress could age a man significantly, but it appeared that Graeak had staved off any more deterioration.

"They are..." His words fell away.

Druzeel had contacted Graeak without really thinking on what to tell him. He knew what question he was going to ask, but he had no idea what information to share with him about the journey so far. Do I tell him we were attacked? Druzeel thought to himself. Should I mention the caravan or that we were almost thrown into the dungeons for something we hadn't done? What about the fight with Dex and Jannda or the confrontation with Brask? Graeak had enough worry on his mind. Druzeel did not want to add anything else.

"They are progressing," Druzeel finally said. He knew his teacher would see through his delay, that he would know something was wrong. Luckily, he kept his suspicion to himself.

"That is good to hear," the archmage replied, his kind eyes looking into Druzeel's distressed ones. "How may I be of assistance?"

Druzeel soon found himself recounting their journey from Atlurul to the streets of Pelartis. He didn't know why he was telling his teacher this, the man had not actually asked, but he felt like Graeak should know these things. He kept all the negative aspects of his journey to himself though deep inside his mind he knew that his mentor probably already knew about everything that had happened, including the battle against the shadow stalkers and the encounter with the Pillars. Why Graeak kept it to himself, Druzeel did not know. A part of him was thankful for he wanted to look strong and sturdy in front of his teacher, a man he deeply admired. He wanted Graeak to think he was being accepted in the group, even if it wasn't true.

"It sounds like things are indeed going well," Graeak said after Druzeel finished his explanation. "But you didn't just contact me to tell me how the trip was going, did you?"

"No," Druzeel answered truthfully. "The others are pursuing information on the assassin through their various contacts. I took it upon myself to see if I could find something by using ulterior means."

"A wise move," Graeak said. "Use everything at your disposal."

"Yes," Druzeel said, a small amount of satisfaction surging through him. "The real reason I contacted you was to see if Piyus still lived in the city. I know you two have not spoken for some time, but do you know if he is here? If the assassin is here, he may be of some help."

Piyus Spellshielder, or Piyus the Magnificent as he was known throughout the lands, was a powerful archmage that lived in Pelartis. He was also a very good friend of Graeak's though the two had not spoken for many years. There wasn't any animosity between the two. They had just lost touch overtime. A wizard's life was busy and they usually had trouble developing lasting friendships, especially with other wizards. Since Piyus had not lived in Atlurul for many years, the two men had not made the time to make contact. Druzeel had never met Piyus but had heard much about him. Apparently, he was a bit eccentric and a little conceited, but he was supposed to be loyal. If Druzeel told him he was a friend of Graeak's, that should be good enough.

"Piyus?" Graeak said. He started to rub his beard, a sign that Druzeel knew meant his teacher was thinking hard. Please tell me he remembers, the young wizard thought. It would concern Druzeel greatly if his mentor couldn't remember a man such as Piyus. "Yes," Graeak finally responded after a few seconds, bringing a sigh of relief from Druzeel. "I think he still resides in the city."

"Could you...ah...point me in his direction?"

Graeak smiled, seeming to approve of Druzeel's line of thinking. If Piyus was still in the city, his magic could aid the party in locating the assassin. "If he is still around, all you have to do is ask someone. I guarantee you will quickly be pointed in the right direction."

"Thank you," Druzeel said, relieved that he may soon have something to show the others. If Piyus came through and his magic proved beneficial, they could have the assassin in no time. Then Brask and the others will see how useful I am, Druzeel thought with a smile. But first, he had to find the illusive archmage.

"Be safe," Graeak said, sensing that his young apprentice had everything he needed. "And tell Piyus to contact me after you speak with him. It would be good to see an old friend."

"I will," Druzeel said gladly, seeing a bit of sadness appear on Graeak's face. He knew his teacher was reliving old memories of himself and Piyus. Druzeel only guessed that the reason he looked sad was that he missed those times, when he was young and vibrant and maybe regretted not contacting his friend more often. Getting old and coming closer to death usually made people a little more nostalgic.

The gem slowly went dark and Druzeel tucked it into his pocket. He angled his horse back into the streets and made for the nearest cluster of Pillars, this time being careful on where he led his horse. Though he was a little weary to approach the guards after Dex and Jannda's revelation that they may be spying on him, he knew that not every guard in the city could possibly be watching his every action. He also didn't want to ask a random stranger for the information he was seeking for he had no knowledge of who was a citizen or who was an outsider. He thought it prudent to ask those who knew the city best.

True to Graeak's word, as soon as Druzeel mentioned the name Piyus, the young guard pointed him in the right direction. The archmage was located only a few streets away. Druzeel nodded his thanks and headed in the direction the guard gave him. For the first time since starting the journey, a jolt of excitement flooded through him. He was finally going to show his worth.

* * * * *

The young wizard pulled his horse back on the street and rode up to a group of Pillars. There was a quick conversation and one of the guards pointed west and said something. The wizard nodded his thanks and motioned his mount forward.

Ninth Pillar Willowsmin watched the young wizard make his way down the street, carefully navigating his horse through the crowd. His behavior seemed to have calmed since he left the halfling and her human companion. He must have used the short delay off to the side of the road to calm himself. Smart, the guard said to himself. Being angry would only get him lost and confused. He wondered if the other two were doing the same thing. Fortunately, the other mercenaries were not his concern. They were being followed by another group of Pillars. His job was to stay on the wizard and make sure he stayed out of trouble. First, he had to find out where he was going.

After making sure Druzeel was well on his way to his new destination, Willowsmin walked toward the group of his fellow Pillars and quickly inquired as to where the wizard was going.

"He has gone to see Piyus, sir," Fourth Pillar Hillsbard said.

"Good," Willowsmin replied. "You and your men stay on him. I will meet you there shortly."

"Yes sir," the man said. He and four others took off after the wizard, intent to follow their new orders. Willowsmin watched to make sure they were indeed following his instructions then turned and made his way back to his captain.

He and a dozen other Pillars had been ordered to follow the group after leaving the dungeons. Xavdak wanted eyes on them at all times until their investigation into the caravan massacre was completed. Though the Knights of the Chipped Blade had been cleared up to this point, Xavdak did not trust them to stay out of trouble, especially if they were searching for a dangerous assassin. He wanted hourly reports, to know what they were up to at all times. Each Pillar had been assigned to a member of the mercenary band, in case they split up, which Xavdak predicted they would. Willowsmin was the only one assigned to the young wizard for he was seen as the least likely to cause trouble. After the confrontation with the halfling and fighter, he had left them in a huff, so Willowsmin had followed. Now, he was on his way to see Piyus, the odd archmage that had lived in the city for almost a decade. Willowsmin definitely saw this as something worthy to report.

After a short trek to a nearby barracks, Willowsmin made his report to Captain Scarost Tilgramin. He told him everything that had happened up to this point.

"Thank you for your report," Captain Tilgramin said. "Continue as you were and report back if anything changes."

The captain waited until Willowsmin had left then he turned and walked through the barracks, headed for a specific room located deep within the building. He came to a long hallway lined with statues of armor and various paintings of long lost battles. At the end of the hall was a large, ornate wooden door. He walked up to the door, knocked, and waited.

"Enter," came the rough response from the other side. Scarost opened the door, entered, and shut it behind him.

The room was large but plainly decorated. A few paintings hung on the walls, as well as a handful of weapons. A suit of armor sat against the back corner and a large desk stood near the back wall. Piles of parchment, a handful of quills, and other various materials lay scattered across the desk. Though some of it was organized, the rest looked to have recently been thrown on the surface in no particular order. The room was lit by a handful of torches, making it gloomy and dim, but the current occupant liked it that way. Though he had long ago been absorbed into human culture, Xavdak's dwarven nature still enjoyed the comfort that came with a dark room and walls of cold stone.

"Captain Tilgramin," the placid dwarf said, his eyes shifting from the parchment to the man standing in front of him. "Report."

"High Captain," Scarost said, saluting his commanding officer. "The Knights split up, as you predicted. Jannda, Dex, and Druzeel headed one way while the others went another. Later, there was an argument between the halfling and the wizard. The wizard left, leaving the other two on their own. Ninth Pillar Willowsmin reported that Druzeel is going to see Piyus. I ordered him to continue to track the young man and report back if anything changes."

"Good," Xavdak said after the man finished, barely letting the silence build between the two. "As you were."

"High Captain," Scarost said, offering another salute. He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Xavdak put down the quill his was holding and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his beard with his gauntleted hand. The metal and stiff joints of the glove managed to snag some of the hairs of his face but he ignored the sting as they were torn from his skin. They would be back soon enough.

"Piyus," the dwarf said silently. He knew of the archmage but had very little contact with him. When problems that called for magical assistance arose, the Pillars had their own mages to turn to. To Xavdak, Piyus was just another citizen.

It was obvious that the young wizard was going to see the unusual archmage to ask for help in locating the assassin, but that was not what interested Xavdak. What was interesting was that Druzeel actually knew the man. Well, Xavdak quickly thought, Graeak Loyalar probably knew the man, not Druzeel. Either way, the young wizard had powerful associates, associates that, though powerful, were not a threat to the city or its citizens.

It soon became clear to Xavdak that the wizard was not the one to worry about. He had a good heart, honor, and cared for people, but he was a little too trusting and naive. That was made abundantly clear when he was being questioned. Still, Druzeel was not a threat and cared only for helping his mentor and bringing justice to the assassin. The others were the ones that would most likely cause problems. They were typical mercenaries, caring only for coin and the job. That was what really concerned Xavdak for they would not care who got hurt in their pursuit of the thief. If it had only been Druzeel in the city, the High Captain could have cared less, but the young wizard had brought a jumble of trouble with him, and that trouble had quickly turned into Xavdak's problem. The dwarven captain just hoped that Druzeel could keep from being caught up in the turmoil that was sure to come.

* * * * *

As Willowsmin was leaving to inform his superiors where Druzeel was going, another figure was creeping through the darkness near the wizard, listening to every word. After the young wizard left, the darkly clad character skulked through the shadows, making his way to a nearby alley. He had his own superior to report to and that man did not like to wait.

The man in black used the shadows as cover and since night had blanketed the city, there was an abundant supply. He ducked under awnings and sneaked by stacked boxes or barrels standing by the dozens of buildings that lined the street. Soon he was in the alley, racing to a large building located only a few hundred yards from the center of the city. No Pillars came from the shadows to stop him and no beggars or vagabonds moved to hinder his movements. To do so would invite death and murder was not on the agenda. Yet.

He quickly came to a large warehouse, looking to everyone that passed as a simple building that stored various types of cloth and textiles. The man in black knew it to be anything but and made his way around the side, where a hidden trap door lay. After ducking through the door, he moved down a dark hallway, filled with murder holes and traps meant to bring all sorts of unpleasantries to those who did not belong, but he was expected and the way was clear.

After moving through two more doors, all watched by unseen eyes, the man entered the large warehouse, where over two dozen figures, similarly dressed, resided, participating in various activities and involved in other businesses different from his own.

No eyes rose to meet him and no hands came forward to offer greetings. Everyone in the room minded their own business. They never watched as he climbed the two sets of stairs leading to the third level. No one even glanced in his direction as he knocked–two times then four–on the large steel door at the top of the stairs. As the door opened and he slipped inside, the men below still remained uninterested, concentrating on their tasks instead.

Inside the large room was dark, with the only light coming from two torches on each side, hardly enough for anyone to see. All the man in black could make out was a few pieces of furniture, two small chests off to his right, and a large desk in the center of the room. Much like Xavdak's, the desk's surface was covered with parchment, books, and scrolls. Even men dealing in dark deeds had records to keep.

The man in black glanced around the room, seeing nothing but emptiness, but the man had been part of this organization for too long to think his employer was not here. The shadows held more than just the dark.

"Silzezar," came a smooth, silky voice. The sound came from all around him, filling the entire room. Though a bit shaken, he had been expecting this, so he waited for his employer to show himself. He had probably been behind the desk the whole time. The darkness was just hiding him, embracing him like a long lost lover.

The shadows in front of Silzezar parted, revealing a figure dressed completely in black, matching his own style of clothing, but instead of plain leather, this man's armor was covered in studs, offering a little more protection than his own. Silzezar knew the protection extended beyond those simple studs for the man in front of him was layered in magics of all kinds. They kept him shielded from various forms of attack, including physical, magical, and even mental. Even without the armor, one would be hard pressed to harm him.

A black cloak, almost blending seamlessly into the darkness behind him, hung from his shoulders and a hood was pulled up over his head, slightly shading his features. A black mask, something he always wore and never seemed to take off, covered half his face, keeping his true features a mystery. Only the top half of his face was uncovered, revealing eyes composed of nothing but black. The only reason Silzezar could see them at all was because the skin around them was as white as skeleton bones and appeared just as lifeless. The color of those eyes was so dark that Silzezar felt he was looking into the end of everything. The sight of his employer always unnerved him but he kept his composure and addressed the man as he always had.

"Lord Mazik," he said, bowing his head slightly but never taking his eyes off the man. To do so was both dangerous and stupid. Though he was employed by this man, one never took their eyes off someone so menacing.

"You have news," Mazik said.

"The wizard has broken away from the others," Silzezar reported. "He goes to see the archmage Piyus the Magnificent. I feel he will ask the archmage's help in locating you."

For several moments, Mazik said nothing. He just stood as still as a statue and stared into Silzezar's eyes. Silzezar met his gaze but had to look away only after a couple of seconds. That dead gaze, so like a corpse staring into the sky, was not something he enjoyed. He was willing to give up a certain amount of pride and strength to avoid meeting those black orbs for too long.

"Keep watching," Mazik finally said. The only indication that he was actually talking was the smallest of movements from the mask he wore.

"The others?" Silzezar then asked, referring to the halfling and fighter. As far as he knew, he had been one of two sent to watch the party. When they broke up, he had followed the wizard and the other two, but after that, he had only gone after the wizard. For some reason, Mazik had said he was the most important member of the group and should be watched no matter what happened with the others. Silzezar didn't see why the kid was so important but obeyed. It was what he was being paid to do after all.

"They are watched," Mazik answered without emotion. When no further response came, Silzezar realized the meeting was over.

He turned and left, leaving Mazik alone with the darkness. When the steel door shut behind him, he shivered ever so slightly to get the creepiness off him. He was thankful that Mazik's answers had been short for he had no desire to spend any unnecessary time in his presence. The less time he spent with him, the better, but he knew he would eventually be back in front of the man, if he could be called a man. The wizard still needed to be watched and unfortunately, that job had been given to him.

With a deep breath, he walked down the stairs and headed to the streets, to once again find the young wizard that Mazik had so oddly taken an interest in.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 13

The buildings were marvelous, the architecture beautiful, and the people moving around them dressed with style and class. Even the dealers and traders that stood along the roadside, some working in a stand no larger than a closet, wore elegant robes and dresses. Many of them probably had only a few coins to their names, but they did not let their lack of funds damper their spirits or their attempt to bargain the most gold for the goods they sold. They just put on a smiling face and fancy clothes, doing their best to make a living and fit into the glamour that surrounded them. In that sense, Pelartis truly was an artistic and cultured city, its environment bringing out the artist in everyone, but to Brask, who rode down the avenue hardly noticing the beauty around him, none of it mattered.

The Knights of the Chipped Blade had been to Pelartis many times over the years and were used to the sights and smells around them. There had been a time when the charm and style of the city had amazed them, but that time was long gone. They had gotten accustomed to the flashy clothing, the shiny buildings, and the foolish pride that painted everyone's face. This place no longer held any allure. It was just another place to work.

Brask guided his mount down the street, pushing through the crowd of people. He cared not for their nasty looks or harsh words as he rudely shoved them out of his way. He never even turned toward them. The mercenary leader only kept his eyes on the road, focused on the task in front of him. Every few moments his gaze would drift upwards, to the market or a nearby building, but it wasn't to admire the structures or search for a good buy. Brask was scanning the crowd and the shadows, looking for anything that may appear threatening. After the battle with the shadow stalkers and detainment by the city guard, it was clear that the assassin knew they were here. He didn't think a trained killer would be so stupid as to send someone against them in the middle of the street, but it had been a strange journey and he would be prepared for anything the man threw at them.

"Are they still following?" Brask asked a few minutes later as they slowly made their way toward the back of the city, where Vistalas's contacts resided.

After they had left the dungeons, Ristil mentioned that a group of Pillars, also on horseback, had started to follow them and they were making no attempt to hide their intent. Xavdak wanted the group to know that they were being watched. Even after they had split up, the guards split, half following Dex and the other continuing on Brask's trail. Brask made no attempt to elude them right away but he knew he would have to get rid of them before they arrived at their destination. He did not care if the Pillars knew who they were going to meet. He just did not want them eavesdropping on what was none of their business.

"Yes," Ristil answered after quickly glancing over his shoulder. The handful of Pillars following them was not hard to spot for the half-elf. Even on the crowded streets, they stood out like blood on a newly polished blade. Two of the six men were even looking directly at him when he turned.

"We'll lose them once we reach the other side of the city," Vistalas said. "Even the Pillars are reluctant to journey into the slums."

Though he called them slums, the poorer areas of Pelartis were still in much better condition than the poorer sections of other cities. Some of the buildings were tall, mimicking the other buildings currently surrounding them, but most were small, being only large enough to accommodate a small family or group. Instead of thick stone and shiny plates of copper or bronze, many of the structures were built of simple brick or wood. Like other cities, those that were unfortunate to build wealth or own a place of business needed somewhere to live and the small hovels and shakes that stood near the back of Pelartis, strategically placed away from where travelers entered the city, were as good a place as any. Another characteristic shared by the slums of Pelartis was that those who were nefarious and wicked usually found the shanty neighborhoods perfect places to hide from authority or practice their unrefined dealings. So naturally, it was where Vistalas was taking them.

"Lead the way," Brask said to Vistalas. "Lose them quickly. We haven't much time." Four hours sounded like a long time, but the city was large and Vistalas had yet to even notify his contact that he was here. They also had to lose the guards and the Pillars were notorious for their perseverance. He didn't want to be late meeting the others for they had already lost enough time and he did not want to waste anymore. A growl escaped Brask's lips just then as he thought about the cause of that wasted time.

If it had been up to him, Brask would have kicked Druzeel off the quest shortly after the encounter with the shadow stalkers. His lack of knowledge and lackluster survival skills had become blindingly apparent during and after the battle. The stupid kid seemed to lack basic common sense and it was amazing that he hadn't gotten them all killed. Brask would have thought that someone like Graeak would have taught him better. Instead of focusing on magic, the old man should have shown him some gods damned survival skills. Now he knew why his brother had hated Druzeel so much. He was a sycophant and had probably risen through the ranks of the tower by sucking up to Graeak. Did he even have any true magical talent? Brask had not seen any yet and he was still waiting to be impressed.

Brask would not have even taken Druzeel along in the first place but Graeak had paid him well to take the kid with him and he wasn't about to turn down the extra coin. The archmage wanted his star pupil to see the world and experience the road. He had also promised Brask that Druzeel would be an asset on their quest. The mercenary was still waiting to see the benefits. If he had known the ignorant wizard would have been so much trouble he would have rejected the gold. No amount of coin was worth the hassle Druzeel had been, but Brask had given the bumbling old archmage his word and no matter the trouble, no matter the headache, Brask never went back on his word, especially after being paid. He just hoped he could hold himself back from beating Druzeel to a bloody pulp. The young wizard was so infuriating and had almost gotten them all thrown in the dungeons. If that had happened, Brask probably would have killed him. If he hadn't, the others would have.

Though he gave his word to take Druzeel with them, to watch over him and keep him safe, he couldn't guarantee that he could keep the boy safe from the others. Obviously, he did not have to worry about Dex. For some unearthly reason, the man had taken a liking to the young wizard and kept defending him, even against the indefensible. Brask knew it had something to do with Dex's past so he tolerated his companion's foolishness, at least for the time being. Jannda was also someone he did not have to worry about. He knew she would follow her friend's lead but Brask could see the growing irritation on her face. It was only a matter of time before she went off on the boy.

The others were a different matter. He could rely on Thorstar to stay out of any skirmish that did not directly threaten their lives and Vistalas appeared to want to stay neutral. He only pointed out the obvious and gave the facts, be they for or against Druzeel. Ristil was the real worry. He was growing more and more annoyed with the situation. If anyone struck against budding wizard, it would be him. Brask wasn't so sure he would stop him if the time came. Druzeel needed a hard knock to head if he were ever to grow up. Whatever happened in the future, at least the source of their frustration was gone for the time being.

"All right," Vistalas said, drawing Brask from his thoughts. He looked up to see the pristine towers were gone. The carefully laid stone, handcrafted masonry, and other angelic architecture had all but disappeared. There were still traces of that beauty on the smaller buildings around them but as they moved on, the artistry continued to fade. In another few steps, it was gone completely. Also gone were the elegantly dressed citizens. The crowd had thinned considerably and the only ones around them now were people wearing plain colored breeches and simple shirts and vests.

"They are still in the crowd," Ristil said, peering behind him. The guards were still on their trail but they had begun to pull away because the Pillars were still pushing their way through the fading crowd. "If we're going to act," the half-elf said, "now is the time."

"Let's go," Brask said without another thought. He wanted to lose the guards and he wanted to do it fast.

Vistalas was the first to act. He dug his heels in and his horse bolted into the gloom. Ristil followed next, urging his mount on with nothing but a few words of Elvish. The horse obliged him and was right on Vistalas's heels within a second. Thorstar and Brask followed next, kicking their horses forward.

"Stop!" came a loud shout from down the street behind them. The guards quickened their pace, struggling the break through the crowd. Those around them quickly backed away and cleared the road, not wanting to be trampled by the horses, but by the time they had broken free, Brask and the others were over a hundred yards away and showed no signs of slowing.

"After them!"

The Pillars quickly gave chase but it was apparent in the first few seconds that their horses were not as fast as the ones the mercenaries were riding. Their mounts were barely armored and their riders wore lighter armor. The Pillars and their horses were weighed down in layers of steel and their steeds were bred for war, not galloping down the streets. Still, the Pillars kept on, keeping their quarry in sight and determined not to lose them.

"Down the side streets," Vistalas said, turning his horse to a smaller street filled with carts and other debris.

"You know where you're going?" Brask asked.

"That's why I'm leading, isn't it?"

Truthfully, Vistalas only had vague knowledge of where he was going. It had been a few years since they had been to Pelartis and he didn't have a solid grasp of the streets or alleyways. When he had visited his contact, he usually met him in a more upscale part of the city. Vistalas had only actually been to his home–what he called a home–twice in all the years he had known him. He was confident he could find it again but with it being night and with guards chasing him, he knew he would have a little harder time finding Drisk than he did last time he was here. He just hoped the thief would remember the gold Vistalas had paid him last time. During every trip to Pelartis, he made sure to visit his variety of contacts to make sure he kept in touch and stayed in good standing. Every thief knew the value of good intelligence and the worth of well-paid associates. Now if only he could lose the men chasing him.

They turned down a side street and down another, moving as fast as they dared. There weren't many lights in this area of the city. All it took was a stray animal or large piece of trash and they would be sprawled on the ground. If that happened, the chase would be over and since Vistalas was only slightly aware of where he was, he had to be sure to avoid dead ends.

No matter where they went, what street or alley they turned down, the sounds of the guards always seemed to be right behind them. Though the sounds of hooves faded ever so slightly as time passed, they were always just a few heartbeats away. One slip or stumble, and the guards would have them. After ten minutes of rushing down streets, almost running over a few surprised citizens and smashing through a couple mounds of trash or some other type of debris that they could not identify, they still had not shaken their pursuers.

"Sure are persistent!" Ristil cursed. They knew it would not be easy to allude the Pillars but they thought they would be free of them by know. It seemed they would either have to fight or let the guards in on what they were doing. Vistalas wasn't about to do either one.

"I'd hoped to not have to use this," the thief said, reaching into his saddlebags. He shuffled through the bag for a few moments then pulled out a scroll. Behind him, Brask and the others started to slow.

"Keep going!" Vistalas said as he unrolled the scroll. He guided his mount with his knees as he read. A novice rider would have already fallen off the saddle by now, but Vistalas had been well trained to ride without the use of his hands. He finished the spell written on the wrinkled parchment without so much as a stumble.

When he finished, the scroll crumbled as the spell was released. Wisps of what looked to be smoke started to rise from Vistalas's body as well as the others. They were alarmed at first but quickly calmed themselves as they saw that their fellow Knight was not reacting to the strange vapor. The horses were not as calm and started to skid, but their riders were able to keep them under control as the smoke continued to build.

Suddenly, the strands of vapor gathered together and shot forward, forming what looked like ghost images of the entire party and their horses. They even let off the same sound and made the same tracks in the ground as the mercenaries they were imitating.

"Slow and move to an alley," Vistalas said, quickly slowing his mount and aiming it towards a dark alley. The others did as they were told and followed their companion as the phantom riders continued down the street, leaving a visible trail behind them. Just as it looked like they would crash into the buildings at the end of the street, the phantoms turned left and disappeared down another avenue. The sounds of the horses could still be heard as they moved throughout the slums.

"How long have you had that?" Ristil asked with a smirk.

"Quiet!" Brask snapped. Though they were hidden in the darkness of the alley, they could still be heard and the Pillars were still following them. Sure enough, less than fifteen seconds after they entered the alleyway, the Pillars thundered by, without so much as a glance at the darkness to their side. They saw only the trail in front of them and the sounds of the phantom mercenaries. When the commotion of their pursuers finally faded, Brask poked his head out to make sure the way was clear. When he was confident that they had finally lost them, he led his horse out into the street.

"Useful," he said, glancing in Vistalas's direction.

"And expensive," the thief answered. "I had hoped to save that for a more dire situation."

"What would you call that?" Ristil said with raised eyebrows.

"Necessary," Brask answered before an argument could arise. "Can you still lead us to your contact?"

"Yes."

"And do you trust him?"

"As much as I would trust any thief," Vistalas answered truthfully.

Brask only nodded in acknowledgment. He knew to be prepared for anything once they met Vistalas's contact, probably even beforehand for if they were going to this man's home, he would surely have sentries on watch. Thieves could only be trusted to do one thing and that was look out for themselves and their own pockets. He trusted no one, ever, which was why he was still alive. The others knew to prepare as he had and looked to be thinking along the same lines.

"How long will the spell last?" Ristil asked as the party started down the street. They kept their ears open for the sounds of the Pillars.

"Thirty or so minutes," Vistalas replied. "I made sure to send the phantoms away from us, to the other side of the city. We should be well away from here by the time the guards realize they've been tricked."

Confident in his spell, Vistalas led the group back to the main avenue. After gaining his bearings and taking a moment to remember where he was, he started toward where his contact resided. Eventually, they left the main road that split the slums in two and traveled down narrower avenues. The buildings just continued to get worse the further in they moved, though they were still a far cry from the structures that made up the slums of Atlurul. The beggars and downtrodden in their home city would kill for dwellings such as these. Many of these actually had solid roofs.

They turned down another road. This route was littered with trash and other discarded debris. The buildings were made from what looked like rotted wood and broken bits of stone, but they appeared solid enough. Many of them were small but there were a few larger structures off to the sides. A pack of stray dogs walked down the side of the street, looking for scraps of food. Their sickly bodies told the group that they had not found what they were searching for in many days. As the pack came closer, Thorstar reached into one of his saddlebags and took out couple of strips of dried meat. It wasn't much but it would be enough to sustain the gaunt animals for another few hours. He threw the meat to the ground. The dogs devoured it hungrily and looked to Thorstar for more but the big man only shook his head and turned back to the road. The dogs watched him go, sadness in their eyes.

"That was a waste," Ristil said, looking back at Thorstar. As usually, the big man said nothing. He just fixed his half-elf companion with a stern stare.

"It's his food to waste," Vistalas replied, a smirk on his face. "You know Thorstar has a soft spot for canines." Thorstar did indeed love dogs and always took the time to give a little extra food or provide some affection whenever he encountered a homeless stray.

"If he wants to waste it," Ristil said, "give it to me. Those mutts will most likely be dead in a few days anyway."

"So might you," Vistalas commented with a smile, catching his friend's eyes. The ranger only rolled his eyes in response, but he couldn't help but smile at Vistalas's jest a few moments after.

Brask said nothing. He just scanned the shadows and examined the large building at the end of the road that appeared to be their destination. It looked to be a warehouse of some kind, though Brask could not imagine anyone wanting to keep valuable merchandise inside. The structure looked likely to tip over with a strong gust of wind. Holes dotted the outside walls and the wood protecting the structure was gray and showed signs of extreme rot. With a good yank, Brask had little doubt he could rip the planks off himself. That is if they didn't completely crumble in his hands.

"Is that it?" he asked as they came within a hundred yards.

"Yes," Vistalas answered. "It doesn't look like much but remember, things aren't always what they seem."

Ristil was about to make a sarcastic comment, saying something about buildings like this being just large coffins, when he spotted movement off to the side. The motion made the words disappear from his throat and his hand slowly slid down to the hilt of his scimitar. Whatever or whoever it was kept to the shadows and was following their movement along the road. He looked to the other side of the street and spotted a second figure, carefully creeping through the darkness, watching them. The assassin they were here to capture immediately sprung to mind but when he spotted two more figures on the roofline above them, he knew they were just sentries for the man they were coming to see. They were just observing and were making no threatening movements.

"Movement in the dark," he said to the others. Vistalas had already seen them but Thorstar and Brask were just noticing, but their presence came as no surprise.

The Knights said nothing and continued down the street, keeping their hands on their reins. Eventually, they reached the warehouse, coming to a stop in front of a set of large wooden doors. They looked anything but rotten and they were braced with two thick bars of steel, set with black studs. It would take more than a simple pull to get through those, Brask thought to himself.

Just as they came to a stop, there was a low grinding noise and the doors slowly opened, pushed by two men that were dressed in dark gray cloaks and leather armor. Shortswords sat on their hips and a handful of daggers could be seen through the folds of their clothing. Their faces were hidden within the darkness of their hoods but the two men are not what interested the group. What interested them was the short, stocky man that was walking out to greet them, hands spread out in a signal of peace.

"Vistalas!" the man said in a jovial voice. "How wonderful to see you."

"Drisk," Vistalas replied with a nod.

Drisk Solidhilt stood just under five feet. If he had been any shorter, he could have been mistaken for a tall dwarf. Even then, the resemblance to the mountain folk would have ended there for Drisk's face was clean-shaven, as was his head. Both looked to be as hard as stone and as rough as rock, as did the man's arms for they were well muscled and thick. The man appeared to be better suited for fighting than thievery but his clothing matched his apparent profession. He wore a dark gray cloak, black studded leather, and had almost a dozen daggers strapped to his arms, legs, waist, and thighs. A shortsword sat on his hip but his weapon of choice seemed to be the dagger.

"Please come in," the short thief said, motioning toward the interior of the building. His dark eyes flashed with interest. "Whatever brought you here would best be discussed in the privacy of my home. Never know who may be listening."

Vistalas and the others urged their horses forward and they moved inside the building. Drisk followed behind them. Once they had passed the threshold, the two thieves pulled the heavy doors shut and locked them tight. Thorstar's head snapped towards the entrance as the locks clicked in place. He sneered in disapproval. Drisk took notice.

"Something wrong?" the thief asked.

"He does not like enclosed spaces," Ristil said, eyeing the short man dangerously. "Especially ones with a barred exit."

"This is for all our protection," Drisk said with a smile. "We saw the Pillars chasing after you. It wouldn't do to have them knocking down the doors. Trust me and please, make yourselves at home."

The Knights were less than convinced, but turned toward the interior of the building, and were surprised to see what lay in front of them. Though the outside looked haggard and flimsy, the inside was solid enough. The bottom half of the building was made of large stone bricks. In certain places, the walls were braced with thin columns of steel, which added strength and support to the foundation. The other half was built of a dark wood that looked strong and thick. Windows dotted the walls in certain places and thick pillars of wood stood throughout the building, holding up a ceiling that was sturdy enough to hold thousands of pounds of snow and rain. It was still a warehouse, with dozens of boxes and crates stacked almost to the second level, but it was also a home of sorts, with furniture, desks, closets, and other items common to any household. The second level, composed of a wooden balcony, held over a dozen small rooms, each filled with beds, chests, and low burning torches. The outside facade was the perfect disguise for no one would think the building a gathering place for a group of thieves.

"You've done well for yourself," Vistalas said as he dismounted. The others followed suit and their horses were led to a small makeshift stable near the back of the warehouse.

"True," Drisk answered, "but we have a long way to go if we are really going to compete with the other guilds. We are almost a hundred strong but every day our numbers grow and soon we will be a true power in the city."

"A hundred?" Ristil said in confusion, looking at his surroundings. He saw less than a dozen others and the building looked too small to accommodate so many. "Where are the others?" He truly didn't care where all the other thieves were. He just wanted to keep track of the potential enemies surrounding him.

"Oh," Drisk said with a smile, "here and there. It is night and we work best under the cover of darkness."

Drisk led them to the back of the warehouse, to a small area consisting of two couches and a handful of chairs surrounding a large round table. The other thieves went about other activities, seemingly ignoring the party but every one of the Knights knew that their eyes would be on them and their leader. They were also within earshot of the group, listening to every word. Drisk paid them no attention and motioned for his guests to take a seat. Brask, Ristil, and Vistalas obliged him but Thorstar remained standing, right behind Brask. He still looked uncomfortable and his eyes constantly searched the room. He also watched the other thieves very carefully.

"Does he ever relax?" Drisk asked, looking at Thorstar.

"No," Brask simply said, his voice free of emotion. Drisk waited a few moments to see if Brask was going to elaborate. When he remained silent, the stocky thief continued the conversation.

"So you must be Brask," Drisk said. "That would make you Ristil and the unsettled warrior there Thorstar. Vistalas has mentioned you in passing. I thought you had two more companions, a halfling and another warrior. Jannda and Dex if my mind serves me right. Are they in Pelartis with you?"

"Here and there," Brask replied, still without a hint of feeling. "You're memory is impressive," he added.

"It has served me well," Drisk answered, looking directly at Brask.

"It is not your memory that brought us here today," Vistalas said, "but the hundred of eyes you have around the city."

"So it is information you seek," the guide leader asked, a smirk slowly showing on his face. Though Vistalas was speaking, Drisk never took his eyes from Brask, who he knew to be the leader of the mercenary band. "Information can be pricey."

In response to his words, Vistalas took out a sack and threw it onto the table. It landed with a heavy thud and the coins inside jingled from the impact. The sack made Drisk tear his gaze from Brask and he looked at the sack.

"The usual price," Vistalas said, referring to the cost he usually paid Drisk when he came to see him.

"It has been some time since you last visited me," Drisk said, finally looking at the mercenary thief. "Prices have gone up and for what you want, it may be a little more than usual."

"And how is it you know what we want?" Ristil asked in suspicion. He did not like this man and wanted nothing more than to be out of his presence.

"I never said I did," Drisk answered, "but for all of you to come here, and risk the wrath of the guards, it must be important. You also appear to be in something of a rush. I don't blame you for I have been under the scrutinizing eye of the Pillars a time or two and do not enjoy their gaze. As every good thief knows, information such as what you want carries a much higher price."

The first showing of emotion finally broke across Brask's face. He narrowed his eyes in loathing but the look quickly disappeared. He had dealt with men like Drisk before and knew what to expect.

"Pay him," he said.

Without pause, as if expecting as much from his contact, Vistalas produced another bag of gold and tossed it onto the table. Drisk leaned forward and grabbed the first bag. He reached for the second but just before he grabbed it, Brask quickly leaned forward and pulled it out of his reach.

"You'll get this," Brask said, "after we hear what you have to say. If it is useful, only then will you earn your coin."

"Very well," Drisk answered with an uncaring tone. "What is it you seek?"

Brask narrowed his eyes at the man once more. For some reason, Drisk's behavior seemed odd to the mercenary leader. He seemed very relaxed for having four hired mercenaries sitting just a few feet away, and he was quick to accept Brask's previous proposal. He knew at least half a dozen other thieves that would have continued to bargain for the coin, at least half of it, but Drisk had accepted without a word. What also irked Brask's suspicion was the guild leader's excellent memory. It had been almost two years since he and the Knights had visited Pelartis but the man remembered all their names without fail. He could not believe that Vistalas had spent more than a few seconds speaking of the others. The fact that he remembered them was odd but not unheard of. What really bothered Brask was that he had asked about Dex and Jannda. Why did he care about where they were? His only concern should have been the men before him and the bags full of coin.

"We are looking for an assassin," Brask finally said, pushing his misgivings to the side. Though he still distrusted Drisk, he wanted to hear what he had to say before taking any action.

"Pelartis is full of them," Drisk answered. "You want me to find one from the hundreds inhabiting this city?"

"This one should be hard to miss."

Brask described the assassin to Drisk just as Druzeel had described the assassin to him. He missed not a single detail, making sure to be thorough as to give Drisk as much information as possible. If what the guild leader had to say proved fruitful, he could forgive the man for his odd behavior. He purposefully left out why they were looking for the assassin and who had hired them. The only thing he told the guild leader was the thief's description. The rest was inconsequential to this conversation.

As Brask spoke, both Ristil and Vistalas watched Drisk carefully, studying his face and body language to see if what Brask said was making him uncomfortable or if he found it appealing. Unfortunately, they saw nothing, but that was what bothered them. A normal thief, someone inquisitive and curious, would have at least tilted their head in interest or they would have at least acted as if they were, but Drisk sat as still as stone, like he was trying to not be interested. Both men asked themselves if Drisk was even acting. It was as if he had already heard or knew what the assassin looked like.

"Interesting," Drisk said after Brask had finished the assassin's description. He leaned back and calmly placed his hands in his lap. "So why are you so interested in finding this person?"

"Information can be pricey," Brask said, visibly annoyed at the question. "That is also none of your business. You are being paid to provide information leading us to this individual, not to ask questions you have no business asking. Now, can you give us something we can use or should I take my bag of gold elsewhere?"

"If I knew why you were searching for the man, I may be able to better help you find him," Drisk said, with a little too much awareness in his voice. "If he stole something, he may go to a specific merchant to sell it. If he killed someone, he may be looking for certain people to hide him. If he did something other than the two things I mentioned, he may do something else entirely."

"He's a thief and assassin," Brask said, growing a little angry. "They all kill and steal, but this one needs no one to hide him and no merchant to sell to. All you need to be concerned with is telling us if anyone matching the description I gave you has been seen and what he has been doing."

"There's no reason to get upset," Drisk said.

"Answer my questions and alleviate my anger," Brask said. "You are being paid to answer, not to ask."

As the two spoke, Thorstar heard the noise behind him come to a stop. He turned his head and noticed the thieves had stopped what they were doing and were now staring at him and the others. They obviously did not like Brask's tone. Hands were slowing starting to slide toward sword hilts. Thorstar just remained still but tensed his body in case they were foolish enough to act. Ristil and Vistalas quickly noticed his movements and the thieves beyond. They both placed their hands on their weapons. Brask kept his eyes locked on the guild's leader.

"A person you described was indeed in Pelartis," Drisk said, leaning forward. He spoke a bit quicker now, sounding as if he wanted to get the entire conversation over with. "He arrived a few days before you. Sadly, he has already left, earlier today."

Brask leaned forward ever so slightly, staring at Drisk in a gaze so cold that it could freeze fire. To his credit, the thief held steady, but then Brask stood and looked down upon the man, hardening his gaze and taking on a look that promised murder. Any patience that Brask held quickly fled his body and his hand slowly curled into fists. He continued to stare at Drisk, looking for signs of deceit. Under his angry glare, he didn't have to wait long. The slightest twitch on the corners of Drisk's mouth, a slight tick of the eye, and a small sneer was all Brask needed to confirm his suspicions.

"You're lying," he spat, his teeth clenching.

"Excuse me." Drisk suddenly wore a look of anger himself. All the hands in the room dropped a little closer to their weapons.

"Everything you have said has been meant for one thing," Brask explained angrily, "for you to stall us and learn about what we know of the assassin. You gave yourself away the moment you asked about the other members of our group. That question was obviously meant to gauge our numbers, an obvious display of your ulterior motives."

"I don't–" Drisk began, but Brask cut him off.

"I swear, I'll gut you right here," the man said, rage coursing through him. "How much has the assassin paid you to learn about us?"

Drisk stared at Brask, obviously trying to decide what to say. He held little doubts that the large man in front of him would not carry through with his threat, so he sat in silence for a few seconds. With a sigh, he looked down at the bag of gold in his lap. He tossed it onto the table then looked up at Brask, a wicked smile on his face.

"A good deal more than you." His eyes suddenly shifted to the thieves standing around the room. "Kill them!"

In an instant, the thieves had their swords out and ready, but since Brask and the others had been expecting treachery, they acted a few seconds faster. Their weapons were ready before Drisk had finished his last sentence.

Luckily, it was late in the night and most of the guild's thieves were out scouring the city for victims. Instead of facing hundreds of opponents, the four Knights found themselves facing only a dozen, including Drisk. It was still twelve to four and the battle would be hard, but if every member had been here, the group never would have stood a chance.

Brask let loose a growl as he threw himself toward Drisk, his axe raised high overhead to chop the treacherous thief in two. The small man was much faster than he looked. He jumped back, flipping over the couch behind him and landing lightly on his feet. That movement did not stop Brask from finishing his swing down on the piece of furniture. His anger fueled his attack and the mighty axe cut the couch in two. The blade slammed into the ground, sending sparks flying from the stone beneath. Drisk's smug look suddenly disappeared when he saw the power his opponent held. He hadn't expected such strength from one such as Brask.

"He told me not to harm you," Drisk said, wiping out a dagger and his sword. "He said to hold and delay you as long as I could, so I could learn what you know and the skills you possess, but I think at this point, your death is much more preferable."

Brask said nothing. He just turned his burning eyes from the ground to the object of his hatred. Drisk met his gaze and actually took a step back for those flaming orbs of hatred cut through him and made his heart hammer in his chest. This was no simple mercenary. This was a demon in human form.

Behind Brask, Thorstar tore Blood Edge from his back and wiped around, facing the four thieves that were creeping towards him, looking weary of their opponent's long reach and obvious superior strength. They approached slowly and with caution, none of them wanting to be the first to engage. The large warrior was not nearly as subtle. His raised his weapon and charged.

On the side of the small area, Vistalas and Ristil moved toward Drisk, determined to slice the man to ribbons, but the five remaining thieves quickly moved to intercept. Instead of moving forward, the two men turned around and slowly backed away from each other, splitting the group of thieves in two. Three of the gray clad men moved with Vistalas while the other two shadowed the half-elf. Each thief moved with great care, never taking their eyes of their opponent.

"Only two?" Ristil said with irritation. "I'm worth more than just two. Oh well. You'll die just the same."

The two thieves just stared at Ristil for a few moments, studying his weapons and looking over his armor. The ranger knew they were looking for weakness and developing a strategy, and he was doing the same thing, scanning their armor and closely watching the shortsword and dagger in each of their hands. Each man wore simple leathers and a dark gray cloak, and that seemed to be it. They looked too simple to be hiding some type of magical trinket or powerful artifact. Ristil had his share of magic and could have used a handful of items to end this fight quickly, but he wasn't about to waste something valuable on these simpletons. This would be a straight fight, blade to blade, skill to skill. He was actually looking forward to this.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, the two thieves acted, but just as they were coming forward, Ristil exploded into action. He had been watching them carefully, waiting for just the slightest indication they were about to act. When he saw the tension begin in their shoulders and arms, he took the upper hand. The sudden movement achieved his goal for the two thieves quickly halted, caught by surprise.

His scimitar flashed in the torch light, flying toward the throat of the man on the right while his dagger streamed for the other thief's stomach. To their credit, the two thieves managed to throw themselves to the side to avoid being killed outright, but Ristil still caught them.

The one on the right took a cut to the shoulder. The magical blade easily sliced through his armor, parting the flesh beneath and spraying blood. He let out a grunt of pain but quickly steadied himself. The one on the left was caught on the hip, the dagger almost slicing through his belt. It cut through his armor instead, just barely nicking his hip bone. He also seethed in pain and twisted away, bringing his weapons to bear. Ristil stepped back from the attack, a cruel smile on his face.

"Had enough?" he asked in a mocking tone. The two men just launched themselves at him. "Guess not."

The next couple of minutes were an exchange of vicious attacks and close parries. The sound of steel on steel filled the air and the grunting of two very frustrated thieves was soon very common. They were fighting hard and using everything they learned to get at Ristil, but the ranger was just too good, too well trained and managed to knock away every strike. Unfortunately for him, he spent all that time on the defensive, also fighting hard to block the four blades trying to kill him.

Ristil was surprised at the skills of the thieves. They were not so simple after all for their attacks were well timed and coordinated, preventing him from making attacks of his own. The two men worked well together, playing off each other's moves and fighting styles, but they were getting irritated and it was only a matter of time before one of them made a mistake.

The man on the right lunged forward, driving both weapons toward Ristil's face. The ranger twisted and knocked the weapons to the side. His companion saw his opening and came forward, but he moved a little too fast, coming just slightly ahead of his blade. By the time he reached his target, he was a little too close and had to adjust his attack downward, causing a delay. Ristil saw the mistake and immediately took advantage.

While still holding the other thief at bay, Ristil turned sideways and the man's blade squeaked by him, just barely scraping the front of his armor. As he stumbled past, Ristil brought his knee up right into the man's gut. There was a blast of air and the man gasped for breath, almost tipping over. The only thing holding him up was his opponent's knee, but that soon disappeared but he managed to stay on his feet. Ristil turned back to the other thief and twisted his hands, causing the man's weapons to slide down his own and toward the floor, causing him to be off balance. The ranger then twisted the other away and threw his leg into the man's back, throwing him forward, right at his companion. The two men collapsed in a heap, cursing as they hit the floor.

Ristil spun away, bringing his weapons in front of him. The unwinded thief quickly rolled away from his companion and got to his feet. The other one was still struggling to catch his breath. He was soon on his knees, trying to stand. Ristil wasted no time and charged.

The thief standing raised his sword and dagger to block the blades coming at his chest. Ristil had indeed started his attack by aiming his sword and dagger at the man's heart, but at the last moment, he dropped his scimitar low and ran it across the front of the man's leg. The thief shouted in surprise and pain and dropped his guard. Just as the blood was starting to run down his leg, his companion finally found his feet and started to raise his blades for an attack, but he never finished the action.

Using his forward momentum, Ristil spun and threw out his arms. As he turned, his blades flashed in hunger. He thrust his scimitar into the chest of the thief whom he had wounded in the leg and buried his dagger in the other who had just now found his feet. Both men let out gasps of surprise, unable to comprehend that they were dead. Then they collapsed, covering the floor in blood. Ristil spun back around and looked down at the men. He said not a word, raised his head, and went to join another battle.

* * * * *

Across from Ristil, Vistalas faced three of the thieves. The men, dressed alike, looked a little younger than the others, maybe close to their twentieth year of life, but they moved and brandished their weapons like trained professionals. All of them also started to move toward Vistalas as one, hoping to overwhelm him with their superior numbers. It was a good strategy as Vistalas soon found himself taking a few steps back. Sensing a quick kill, the thieves lunged.

But that was exactly what Vistalas wanted. Though they appeared as professionals, they had not yet had enough experience to recognize when someone was trying to draw them in. They also had not yet perfected the art of the rouse.

The one on his right made as if he was going to come forward first, driving Vistalas to the left, but Vistalas saw the feint for what it was, an attempt to push him towards the real attacker. Though he knew what they were trying to do, he took the bait anyway.

As he moved left, the thief on that side surged forward, a victorious smile on his lips. His sword came around, aiming for a kidney, but at the last second, Vistalas ducked low and avoided the strike. The blade passed inches above his head. The sudden miss pulled the thief off balance and as he stumbled forward, Vistalas twisted around, threw his leg back, and swept the man off his feet. The thief landed with a breathless cry. As he fell, one of the others, the one in the center, jumped forward, swinging his sword downward, hoping to cut Vistalas down the back, but his target continued to twist and turn. The blade went wide and that thief soon found himself also tipping over. Vistalas made another turn and took the man's legs out with another leg sweep. He crashed to the ground, right near the first thief.

The man still standing wasted no time and attempted to take advantage of Vistalas's current position, but before he came close, Vistalas was on his feet and threw out a vicious kick that caught him right in the chest. The hit wasn't painful but the impact drove him away and threw his chest and head back. The thief quickly recovered but as he brought his body back in line with his opponent, Vistalas's hand snapped forward and a dagger suddenly sprouted from the thief's neck. Blood quickly poured from the wound as the thief clutched at his throat, trying to stop the bleeding. As his life slowly faded, Vistalas ran toward him. He threw out a fist as he neared and punched the thief in his face. The man's head snapped backward. As he ran by, Vistalas grabbed the dagger and ripped it out, sending a spray of red mist into the air. The thief let out one last choked cry as his neck was ripped to pieces. Then he crumbled in a heap.

Vistalas turned, readying his weapons once more, and waited as the remaining two thieves struggled to their feet. When they got up, they looked at their dead companion in horror then looked to their opponent, who was silently waiting for them just a few yards away. Screaming in rage, they launched themselves at Vistalas with a fury, but the thief of the Chipped Blade was ready for them.

Sword and dagger blades danced in the air, filling the warehouse with a ballet of steel and reflected light. Vistalas ducked and dodged a dozen strikes in the first few seconds. Though their anger was making them clumsy, it lent them strength and a fair amount of speed and Vistalas was constantly avoiding or parrying dangerous swings and thrusts. He hardly had time to offer attacks of his own but managed a few. Every time his blades connected, they came away bloody, but the wounds were shallow and only seemed to be driving the men into more of a frenzy. He got nicked a couple of times but the cuts barely managed to break his skin or armor. Still, they were getting closer. Vistalas suddenly decided that would be a good thing.

One of the men growled in anger and thrust his shortsword at Vistalas's stomach, intending to eviscerate him. Vistalas actually leaned in toward the sword but just before it pierced him, he shifted to the side. The blade slid by and the two men bumped into each other. The other thief, fearing he would skewer his companion, held his attack and maneuvered to the side, trying to find an opening. Vistalas was intent to give him a target, just not himself.

The Knight locked the tangled thief's arm under his own, holding him in place. The man struggled to get free and screamed in Vistalas's face. In response, Vistalas rose onto the tips of his toes and drove his head into the man's nose. There was a loud crunch and a shower of red. The thief grunted in pain and some of the tension fled his limbs. His outside arm dropped. His fighting partner saw an opening–Vistalas's exposed shoulder–and swung, but as his sword cam down, Vistalas turned. Having his arm locked in place, the entrapped thief had no choice but to turn, right into his friend's falling blade.

Instead of hitting his opponent, the thief's sword sliced right into the back of his companion's shoulder, who let out a scream of anger and pain. Before the attacking thief could react, Vistalas let go of the trapped arm and shoved the thief back. The two men collided. The one in back stumbled away and struggled to stay on his feet. His friend managed to steady himself rather quickly, but he was clutching his nose and reeling in pain from the cut in his shoulder. Unfortunately, that arm now dangled uselessly by his side and since the other arm was on his face, nothing stopped Vistalas's sword from diving into his chest and slicing through his heart. He let out a single bloody gasp and fell to the floor, a surprised look still on his face.

Vistalas watched him fall then turned his angry eyes on the final thief, whose rage and fury had suddenly given way to shock. His mouth hung agape as he looked to his two companions, now dead. He looked at Vistalas, eyes full of fear, and spun around, intent on running away as far as possible.

Unfortunately, when he turned his body and stepped away, he had yet to turn his head and never saw Ristil standing in his way. The half-elf's scimitar slid underneath his ribs and sunk in his heart. The man never even knew what killed his as darkness claimed him.

"I guess I got three after all," Ristil said. He met Vistalas's eyes. The two nodded to one another then went looking for more thieves to kill.

* * * * *

Vistalas and Ristil were meticulous fighters, using strategy and cunning to achieve victory in every battle. They used every spare moment they had to study their opponents to spot weakness and take advantage of those failings. They were smooth, sleek, and fought with style. Thorstar was none of those things. He cared not for weaknesses, failings, or faults. His only concern was how fast he could pull his sword from the head of his most recent victim. He fought with only one thing: brute strength.

Thorstar charged across the warehouse, his huge legs slamming into the ground with enough force to crack the stone. His thick sword was raised just over his right shoulder, ready to destroy anything in its way. At the moment, that happened to be four thieves with raised weapons.

As he closed in, three of the thieves scattered, none wishing to be in the way when that giant sword descended. They moved to the sides, aiming to get around and behind the charging warrior. Yet one of them stood strong, an older man that looked to be a veteran of the thieving world. He knew how to fight, knew how to use someone's strength against them, and he knew how to stand strong against men who fought with nothing but strength and power. Or so he thought.

When Thorstar reached him and swung, the thief raised his sword but turned his blade downward in a way that should have disbursed the power of the attack and make it flow down the blade and into the ground. His defensive strategy should have helped him counter the attack and launch one of his own, but as Blood Edge hit his raised sword, the weapon shattered as if it was made of kindling. The razor sharp blade continued down and slammed into his body, slicing through his armor and flesh as if they weren't even there. The old thief was almost cut in two.

The other thieves watched as their companion erupted in a fountain of blood. The floor and wall behind the man–almost seven feet behind him–was suddenly painted in red. The two halves of the thief stood upright for a few seconds then fell over, hitting the floor in a sickening splat.

The sight before the three remaining thieves made them pause and stare in complete amazement and shock. None of them had ever seen such a display of strength. It both impressed and horrified them at the same time.

The ground suddenly shook beneath their feet. All three looked up to see Thorstar on the move again, heading straight for the closest thief. The man quickly backed away in fear, raising his blade before him. To his surprise, Thorstar stopped well away from him. His confusion on why only lasted a few seconds before that sword, that extremely long sword, caught him underneath the chin and lifted him off his feet.

Thorstar pulled Blood Edge down as the thief flew through the air. He never bothered watching the man slam into the ground with bone crunching force. He only turned to focus on the next threat. The man he had just launched across the warehouse was not mortally wounded, but he wouldn't be joining the battle any time soon. The other two thieves, however, were a different matter. Though they still wore looks of anxiety and distress, they moved toward him, weapons waving in anticipation of drawing his blood. They looked a little more ready as they approached. None of their precautions mattered to Thorstar. He just charged once more, preparing his sword to slice them in two.

He swung when he was just close enough to reach them, making his long sword do most of the work. The thieves, now knowing about his superior reach, ducked and spun towards him, weapons flashing. Moving with such speed that they were once again taken by surprise, Thorstar twisted away from them, just managing to miss being cut down the side. Though the thieves missed, they held steady and pressed the attack, moving in close to take away Thorstar's advantage. Their thinking was sound for Thorstar had a difficult time swinging Blood Edge at targets that stood just a few feet from his body, but the large warrior not only knew how to fight opponents with his sword, but he also knew exactly how to handle those that sought to take away his reach.

He brought his sword in close, perpendicular to the ground just as the thieves attacked. Two swords and a dagger bounced of the steel blade but the last dagger found his thigh and left a nasty gash. He hardly noticed.

The thieves pulled back again, readying another strike. Thorstar let go of his sword just as their blades came forward. He managed to avoid the two blades of the one on his right, but the thief on his left dragged his dagger across his side, just under his ribs, and made another nasty gash on his leg. Again, Thorstar acted as if he hardly felt those wounds. He just grabbed the thief by the arms and lifted him off his feet. The man shouted in surprise and pain as Thorstar squeezed. Then, with hardly any effort, as if he was lifting a simple feather, the large man lifted the thief up over his head and slammed him into his companion.

The other thief had expected anything but the attack that Thorstar made so he hadn't even tried to move away. He had been so intent on stabbing Thorstar when the warrior had turned that he never saw the shadow fall over him. Then his fellow thief hit him, slamming him into the ground. The impact sent surges of pain through both their bodies and broke more than a few bones. They struggled to roll away from each other, to get to their feet because they knew the large warrior would not leave them alone for long. Their instincts proved correct. Before they had moved a few feet, Thorstar put his fists together and brought his arms crashing down on the top of the thief's back. There was a loud snap and the thief screamed in pain. Then his arms and legs went limp, all feeling leaving his limbs.

"Get off!" The man on the bottom screamed, trying to shove his companion off him. The thief on top remained still, laying over him like heavy, wet blanket.

Thorstar turned and picked up his sword. He took it in both hands and turned to face the thieves.

"Move!" the thief against the ground screamed in terror.

"I...I can't," the other man whimpered, almost with tears in his eyes. Then he let out a strangled gasp as Thorstar rammed his sword through both men. He had struck with such force that the tip of the blade cracked the stone beneath both of them.

As soon as their struggles ceased, Thorstar ripped Blood Edge from the bodies. He paid little attention to the blood streaming down his leg and side as he turned to finish off the final thief. He had long ago learned to never leave a wounded enemy lie. Just when one least expected it, they may appear and stab you in the back.

* * * * *

Brask bared his teeth and yanked his axe from between the split section of the couch. He shouted in rage and leaped at Drisk, but the thief had been ready and sprung away. The axe hit nothing but empty air, but that hardly stopped the mercenary leader. He continued forward, moving over the couch as if it were a speck of dust.

Drisk continued to move away. At first, Brask thought he was afraid to face him, but when he backed away and two more thieves appeared from the shadows and moved near him, he knew the guild leader was just moving toward reinforcements.

"Incapacitate him," Drisk said to the two men, who were dressed in all black leathers and had their faces hidden behind black masks. "I want to kill him myself."

Brask knew these two men were more than just thieves, that these were Drisk's assassins, men in the guild that were meant for only one thing: murder. They even looked more dangerous than the others, brandishing dark blades and dressed in leather armor with strange runes etched into the material. No matter, Brask thought to himself. They may look different, he said to himself, but they will bleed just like every other man.

The assassins threw themselves at Brask. Both of them wielded daggers, but for their main weapons, one held a longsword and the other a rapier and they spun them with expert skill. Brask halted his forward movement and raised his axe, ready to defend himself. He had fought multiple opponents before and readied himself for a hard fight. The upcoming fight would have been even more difficult if Drisk would have entered the fray, but he just stood back and watched, hands resting on the hilts of his own weapons. Brask couldn't tell if he was a coward or genius, waiting for the others to wear him down before making a killing stroke. Whatever the reason, Brask quickly pushed the thoughts of the guild leader from his mind and concentrated on the two assassins, and their blades, coming at him.

The two men came in at the same time, one swinging high and the other low. Instead of blocking completely, Brask threw his lower body back, avoiding the attack from the man on the right. He then swung his axe around in a mighty arc, almost decapitating the assassin on the left who was aiming at his chest. The man just managed to stop himself before meeting the razor sharp blade. As it flew by his throat, missing by a single inch, the assassin stepped back, not nearly as aggressive as before.

Brask righted himself and brought his axe back towards his body. The assassin that had attacked low moved in, determined not to give his opponent any opportunity to recover, but he had never fought against Brask, who needed no time to recover. The leader of the Knights knew that if you paused, even for a second, in any battle, you weren't likely to last long, so he continued moving, in any way he could.

As he pulled back, the assassin came in, but instead of continuing to retreat, Brask threw out a kick, smashing his foot into the assassin's shin. The man, caught by surprise by the odd maneuver, stumbled but quickly recovered from the impact. He growled in annoyance and started his attack anew. By the time he came back in, Brask was waiting.

Wanting to keep the man off guard, Brask charged, swinging wildly. The assassin met him head on and their weapons collided in a shower of sparks. The thief had to block with both weapons and still Brask's strength almost smashed him off his feet. He slid back a few inches but tensed his muscles and managed to come to a stop. Brask let loose a growl of his own and pushed with all his might. This time the assassin lost his footing and stumbled backwards. Brask went in for the kill, seeing his opponent's hands flung out to the side, but the other assassin joined the battle and attacked Brask in anger. Brask had to abandon his first attack and shift his swing. He successfully parried the two blades but the assassin had successfully locked his axe against his sword and dagger, keeping him occupied while his companion came in swinging from the side.

Seeing the blades flying towards his face, Brask suddenly pulled back. When the force pushing against him vanished, the assassin stumbled forward, right into the path of his companion. Brask thought he had them but his opponents were quick and the man coming from the side adjusted his swing. The dagger went wide but the sword sliced across Brask's shoulder. He hissed in pain and moved away, but they followed, pressing him. Brask let loose a deep snarl that made him sound like a wild tiger and pressed back.

He swept his axe around with all his might, making the two assassins leapt away. They quickly recovered and continued their assault on the large man, but Brask just kept swinging and coming at them, making them scatter. They moved all around the room, sometimes coming within a few feet of Drisk. When they neared the guild leader would move away, doing his best to avoid getting involved. Brask managed to sneak a glance in Drisk's direction and saw something that renewed his strength. The man looked scared.

But despite Drisk's worried expression, Brask knew this battle had already gone on way too long. He would tire long before both assassins and at any moment Drisk was surely going to become involved, probably when his back was turned. Brask quickly made a decision that he knew was going to hurt.

His next swing was not nearly as powerful as it could have been and his axe fell well short. The closest assassin took the opportunity and jumped in, swinging his dagger from overhead. He would have swung his sword as well but he sacrificed one blade for a sure hit with the other. Brask knew he was going to be wounded no matter what he did, but that was just what he wanted.

He raised both arms up, right into the path of the dagger. The blade punched through his left forearm, sinking in to the hilt and spraying blood across Brask's face and chest. He clenched his teeth in pain, but kept his arm up, which forced the assassin's arm up as well. Brask then pulled, which brought another surge of pain coursing down his arm, and the assassin fell toward him.

Brask's right hand came away from his axe and shot forward. He grabbed the throat of the assassin and squeezed with all his might. The man tried to scream in surprise, but his voice was suddenly shut off as his larynx was crushed. Seeing his companion in the grip of the mercenary, the other assassin swung at Brask's arm, trying to break his grip, but Brask had been expecting that and threw his leg out. His foot connected with the assassin's stomach and sent him reeling backwards. As that assassin stumbled away, the other one let go of both weapons and grabbed Brask's arm, trying to pry him loose, but his grip was like an iron clasp.

Brask suddenly sensed something behind him and kicked out without even looking to see who it was. A rush of satisfaction went through him as he heard Drisk's gasp of breath.

Knowing he had little time to act, Brask pulled the held assassin toward him. He paused only a single second then pushed him back. The man fell away, gasping for breath, trying desperately to draw in air, but his throat had totally collapsed. As he fought for life, Brask took his axe in both hands and looped off the man's head, taking half of each of his hands with it. Before the headless corpse had hit the ground, the mercenary leader turned, facing Drisk and the other assassin. Drisk was still struggling to draw in breath, but the other assassin had recovered and went to return to combat, but stopped suddenly, his eyes scanning the area behind Brask. The mercenary leader did not turn. He already knew what the assassin saw.

To the left, Vistalas and Ristil stood ready, bloody weapons in hand. Thorstar was on Brask's right, his leg and sword both dripping blood. The big man wasn't even favoring his wounded leg. He just stood as solid as an almost seven-foot statue of stone, ready to add more layers of blood to his blade. Though the assassin was a trained killer and expert swordsman, the sight before him would have given any warrior pause.

"What are you waiting for?" Drisk shouted at his assassin, motioning for the man to attack. The assassin looked from the four men before him to his leader and back again. As Brask grabbed the dagger in his forearm and pulled it free, without so much as a grunt, the assassin started backing away towards the shadows. He knew the battle was lost and wasn't about to die for nothing.

"What are you doing?" Drisk screamed in anger and desperation, but his words were lost on the assassin as he melded into the shadows and disappeared.

"Now it's just you and me," Brask said, taking a menacing step toward the guild leader. Drisk stepped away, visibly shaking. Then he started to turned, to run away from certain death. There were exits all over the building and if he could just reach one, he could lose the killers behind him in the alleyways of Pelartis.

Before he took single step, still in the midst of swinging around, pain suddenly exploded behind his right knee. He shrieked in surprise and terror. His knee buckled and he fell flat on his face. He quickly managed to prop himself up on his elbows. He looked down to see a dagger sticking out from behind his knee.

"Going somewhere?" Ristil said, withdrawing his hand from the air.

Drisk looked up from the floor to find Brask towering over him. The mercenary said nothing. He just reached down, grabbed Drisk around the throat, and lifted him off his feet. My gods! Drisk said to himself. The man doesn't even act as if his wounded arm is a hindrance!

Drisk looked down the length of Brask's arms, one bloodied from an assassins' dagger. His eyes followed the strong muscles and stopped when he reached the flaming balls of fire that were the eyes of Brask Battlebeard. Then, suddenly and painfully, he was jerked forward, stopping only when his face was an inch from the mercenary.

"Where's the assassin?" he asked in a calm voice. Drisk had expected the man to scream at him or spit the words with malice, but he spoke as if he was speaking to a long lost friend. Somehow, that made it worse.

"Wait!" Drisk pleaded. "I'll...I'll tell you anything! Just don't–"

Brask suddenly shook him, cutting off his words. The jerking motions caused the dagger in Drisk's leg to slip out, which sent icicles of discomfort running up his leg.

"Where?" Brask said again calmly.

"All right!" Drisk almost screamed, his voice rising to the pitch of a frightened woman. "I'll tell you what you want! He's–"

Drisk's voice suddenly died and his body shook. Brask only wondered what happened for half a second before the tip of a dagger shot out of Drisk's throat, spraying Brask's neck and chest with blood. The guild leader spasmed once then his body went limp. Brask dropped the man and took a step back, looking to where the thrown dagger had come from.

"There!" Ristil said, pointing to a shadowed corner on the second level. All eyes fell on the corner, to the dark form hiding in the darkness. No one could make out any detail, but then the figure bolted from the shadows, running across the balcony.

It was the second assassin, or at least another man dressed exactly like him. He ran full out, heading for a door standing at the end of the balcony.

"Shoot him!" Brask shouted, turning to Vistalas and Ristil, the only two of the Knights that had ranged weapons. Both men were moving before Brask had finished his sentence.

In seconds, two arrows were flying through the air, with two more already nocked and ready. They looked to be flying true, but at the last instant, the assassin slowed, ducked, and leaped, avoiding the first two arrows with relative ease. The second two came right behind, but again, the man easily avoided them. Then the door was open and he was gone.

"Outside!" Brask shouted, running toward the door they came through. The others followed, hoping they would be able to catch the assassin, or at least follow his trail. The man was their only hope to salvage at least something from this whole debacle. Without him and the information he obviously held, for he had killed the only man about to spill everything, they would be back to square one. They needed him to find Graeak's thief.

They burst out the heavy doors and ran around the building, heading to where the assassin should have emerged. They moved through the alleyway, looking for any signs of the man's passing, but all was silent and not a single sign of him could be seen. It was as if the man had just disappeared.

"Find him! Brask shouted. "Find...something!"

They searched for a good ten minutes, but came up with nothing. Not even Ristil could find the faintest signs of him moving through the area, through any area for that matter.

"He could have teleported," Vistalas said. "Or perhaps he was a shadow jumper."

"Either way," Ristil said in anger, "he's gone. We got nothing."

Brask looked into the alleyway, where the man should have gone. He turned and looked back at the guild hideout. He eventually turned his gaze into the city.

"Let's go," he said in anger. "We have to get out of here before any of the other thieves return. Let's hope Dex and Jannda have had better luck."

They retrieved their mounts from inside the hideout and left the guild behind them, heading back into the city. Brask held a little bit of hope that Dex and Jannda would be more successful than they were, but then he remembered that they had Druzeel with them.

"Damn it!" he silently cursed. With that bumbling idiot with them, they would be lucky to learn what day tomorrow was.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 14

Dex and Jannda rode down the wide avenue cutting through the center of Pelartis. They carefully navigated their mounts through the crowd, headed for the merchant that would hopefully point them in the direction of the assassin, or someone that could. If the man they were going to see did not have the information they needed, they would just have to hope that Brask and the others would come up with something. This was a big city and they all knew finding one assassin, even one as unique as the one they were chasing, would be difficult.

As they continued down the brick paved roads, Dex's mind continued to drift to Druzeel and to what he had said to the young wizard. He had not meant to make Druzeel feel so inadequate or like some child they needed to chaperone, but in his mind, he went over the words he had spoken and quickly realized that was exactly how he had come off. He had made the young man feel like a fifth wheel, like he was nothing but trouble and a constant pain in their side. Brask would agree with that statement and there was a small part of Dex that could as well, but Druzeel was useful and had powerful magic at his disposal. If Brask and the others could just get past their preconceived notions, the wizard could truly shine. Graeak never would have sent his prized student with them if the archmage had not thought him worthy. They just needed to start treating him like an equal, something that Dex had not done just a few minute ago. He was upset with himself for there were many times in his own life where he had been with people that treated him like he had treated Druzeel and he remembered the pain and anger from those times. He should have known better.

"Stop beating yourself up," Jannda said a few minutes later, seeing the look on his face. "He'll be all right."

"I know," Dex said, looking at his friend. Jannda had always been able to read his expressions and know what he was thinking, especially after a tense situation. Her ability to read people and sense their thoughts was what made her such an accomplished bard. She knew what songs to sing, what tales to tell, and most importantly, what magic to cast to ease anyone's troubles.

"Do you?" she then asked. "I've seen that look before and know your disrupted thoughts will be with you for some time. Do you care about that boy so much?"

"I care about what happens to him," Dex replied truthfully.

"Just what happens to him?"

"No," Dex responded, shaking his head, a smile on his face. "I care about him. I guess I can't help myself. He really does remind me of a younger, more innocent Dex Swifthood."

"Was there ever anything innocent about you?" Jannda joked, trying to ease her friend's worries.

"At one time," Dex simple said. "Though I think...know he can take care of himself, Graeak trusted him in our care and I don't want something to happen to him. It would look poor indeed if we returned to our employer with the corpse of his prized student. That boy has so much potential I just wish Brask and the others would give him the chance to show it."

"You don't think they have?"

"Not without expecting him to fail. Sometimes they even set him up to fail. I just think he needs motivation and less of words that antagonize him."

"True," Jannda said, realizing that she had offered a few harsh words toward the young wizard herself. "But he also needs to learn what not to do and sometimes the only way to do that is to fail."

"Agreed," Dex replied, "but let him fail on his own. Brask seems to only place him in the worst situations, wanting him to fail and even encouraging it. It is one thing if Druzeel collapses under pressure by himself, but quite another if someone else, a supposed companion, steps on him before he has even had the chance to try."

"But that may only make him stronger," Jannda pointed out.

"Or crush his spirit completely," Dex said. "There is only so much a man can take before he implodes. Druzeel has tremendous power at his fingers and I want to make sure it is pointed in the right direction, used for the right purposes. Ridicule that young mind too much, pound on it too hard, and it will crack and that will benefit no one. That may even cause him to turn against those he originally thought as his friends and I don't think that is something anyone wants, even Brask."

"Brask certainly walks a fine line with Druzeel," Jannda said.

"I just want to make sure he doesn't cross it," Dex replied. "If that happens, there may be no helping either one of them."

"You are way too pure to be a mercenary," Jannda joked, a smile quickly spreading across her face. "You should have been a priest."

"Don't have the stomach for it," Dex replied. The two companions shared a laugh, which helped to push away their worries and questions of Druzeel, at least for the time being. When the moment of mirth passed, they turned back to the road.

As they moved into the wealthier part of the city, Jannda looked behind them, looking for the handful of guards that had been following them since they left the dungeons. It didn't take long for her to locate them for they were staring in their direction, still right on their heels. Though annoying, the guards' presence was not particularly troubling. They were going to see a wealthy merchant after all, not some shady underworld criminal. If they wanted to waste their time, then so be it. Their presence just assured that Brask and the others would have fewer men following them. Now they may have a problem with those Pillars for Jannda knew her fellow traveling companions were on their way to see a known thief and criminal. That was not something they wanted the authorities to know, but that wasn't her problem right now. Right now, she only concerned herself with finding the merchant.

"So where do you think Brend is at this time of day?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

Brend Hillsborrow was a wealthy merchant, dealing in jewelry and other exotic, and fairly expensive, clothing accessories. In a city such as Pelartis, a city full of affluent, self-centered people, a man like him thrived. There was hardly a man or woman–and sometimes a child–that was walking around that did not sport one of his creations. His products were sold in the over three dozen stores that lay throughout Pelartis. He called his business Alluring Accents and one could find the beautifully designed buildings, as carefully crafted and built as any of his pieces, on almost any corner, in only the richer neighborhoods, of course.

Because his craft mainly attracted the attention of women, wealthy women who were married to nobles and other well-connected people, Brend was the perfect man to turn to regarding information, of any kind. One wouldn't think it, looking at the elegant, well-dressed women that usually visited his establishments, but when their husbands, and sometimes lovers that their husbands knew nothing about, spoke of business and gossip, their women were always close by, listening to every word. And those words were often repeated and heard by the employees at Alluring Accents, who relayed that information to Brend. Dex soon discovered that his gold came not only from the overpriced trinkets he sold, but it also came from the information he cared to sell and in this city, any city for that matter, information could carry a high price.

"Either at his largest store or the Dryad's Kiss," Dex answered. He knew Jannda knew where to find the man but he answered her anyway. Talking about what they were doing was a good way to keep his mind focused on the task at hand on not on his other concerns.

"The man likes to drink," Jannda remarked. She had met the heavyset merchant shortly after meeting Dex and immediately took a liking to the man. Though he was a serious businessman, stern at times and sometimes hard to deal with, he knew how to relax and have a good time. Many of those good times involved him sitting in a chair, surrounded by women, knocking back glass after glass of sweet red wine. She had never met a man that could drink like Brend Hillsborrow.

"So which should we try first?" Jannda asked, smiling as she started to think about the merchant. "The tavern or the store?"

"Since they are right next to each other," Dex said, "I guess it doesn't really matter. My guess is, at this time of night, Alluring Accents is closed, but the Dryad is open all night long. He'll be there."

Dex had first met Brend while on a job for a gem merchant. He had been hired to transport a large collection of gems to Alluring Accents, but had run into problems along the way. The value of what he carried soon spread to every ear in the city and he was soon besieged by thieves and assassins. Though difficult, he and a handful of others hired to do the job delivered every single stone, surviving because of Dex's leadership and tactical skills. Brend had been so impressed with Dex that he soon hired him to do odd jobs every time he visited the city. The two soon developed a strong friendship and Brend told him he should stop by any time he was in Pelartis. The mercenary planned to do just that.

The two Knights reached the tavern twenty minutes later. There were still an abundance of the people in the streets but the crowd thinned slightly as they reached the Dryad. Dex thought the sudden dispersal came from how late it was but Jannda attributed it to their proximity to a place with lots of ale and a plethora of beautiful women. Though technically not a brothel, those with the right amount of coin could purchase a night of sinful pleasure within the tavern's walls. Those that ran the Dryad did seek out and employ the most beautiful in the city, and it wasn't just to serve drinks and food either. That particular characteristic was another reason why Brend frequented this place.

The front of the Dryad's Kiss was constructed of stone but had two giant tree sculptures carved of wood, one standing on each side of the door. The limbs stretched all the way up the building, shaped around the stone as if they had grown that way naturally. Thousands of carefully carved leaves hung off the limbs, adding beauty and a feeling of nature to the building. Windows with frames of dark wood sat on the upper floors of the building, expertly placed so the leaves and limbs of the tress would not block the view of the Dryad's visitors.

The base of each tree was five feet wide and held cravings of deer, squirrels, and other animals of the forest. The theme continued up the wide trunk, lightly fading into the wood almost ten feet high. If one looked closely enough, they would be able to spot a handful of women that had been carved into the wood in such as way as to hide their nakedness behind a leaf or bush. The animals making up the collage also helped to make it difficult to spot the dryads hiding in the sculpted forest.

"Beautiful," Jannda said, admiring the work. She had been here before but being a bard, she had a deep love for all works of art, both spoken and physical, and the sight of the wooden statues always amazed her.

"Yes," Dex said, nodding in agreement. He looked to his right and saw Alluring Accents just a few doors down. The torches resting on the elegant columns of marble were out, signaling that the business was indeed closed for the night. That gave them only one place to look for Brend. Dex just hoped the merchant was actually here. He had never been to the man's home so if he weren't inside the Dryad, they would have to meet with the others and look for alternate avenues of information.

Dex and Jannda dismounted and led their mounts over to the half dozen young men that stood near the entrance to the Dryad. Each of them was dressed in plain trousers and bright green vests with a picture of a tree on the front. Both Knights handed one of the young men the reins to their mounts and a few pieces of silver to another. The man that took the coins nodded in thanks, gave them each a wooden coin with a number on it, and led the horse and pony to the stables that sat at the rear of the tavern.

"Interesting service," Jannda said, not remembering the young men last time she had visited. Then again, last time she was here, she had not been with her pony.

"This place is often visited by the rich," Dex explained, "and they expect such treatment, however foolish it may seem."

"Hey," Jannda said, holding her hands out to the sides, watching her pony being led away, "I'm not complaining. Just hope they treat her well."

The two walked up to the strangely plain wooden door. They would have thought that a place with such an extravagant exterior would have something a little more...majestic as an entrance, but the door was just a slab of thick, heavy wood. They pulled it open and walked inside.

The interior of the Dryad's Kiss was just as artistic and beautiful as the outside, with beautifully carved walls, elegantly crafted tables, and a marvelously built stage that currently held a handful of bards, each playing a different instrument. Their music filled the entire room, which was very large and very crowded, and gave the tavern a homely, comfortable feel. Staring at the two elves and three humans on stage, listening to the beauty of the music, Jannda suddenly felt the urge to jump up and join them, lending her voice to their alluring harmony.

As Jannda watched the bards perform, Dex looked over the rest of the tavern, marveling at the architecture. The walls of the Dryad were crafted to look like one large forest mural, with dozens of trees carved into it. Frolicking and dancing among those sculptures of wood and leaves were dozens of scantily clad dryads, each one meticulously formed to show off their seductive assets. The work was so well done that Dex swore that one of those creatures was about to jump off the wall and dance for the tavern's patrons. He looked up at the ceiling, seeing that it was made to look like hundreds of interlocking tree limbs, wrapped tight around one another to hold up the ceiling and floor above it. His eyes moved next to the large counter, which had the look of a downed tree, an extremely thick downed tree, with a flattened top so it could hold plates, goblets, and other utensils. Stools that looked like miniature trees and chairs that looked to be made of leaves sat scattered in front of the counter and around the trunk-like tables that sat throughout the establishment. Each one was full of patrons, drinking, eating, and sharing stories of conquest and adventure.

And those figures listening to those exaggerated stories were the serving wenches of the Dryad's Kiss, each dressed like the dryad carvings on the walls and looking just as beautiful. All of them had long hair, tanned skin, and wore hardly a thing. Every woman wore a narrow top that just barely covered her breasts and a short skirt, each of which looked to be made of dark green leaves. The women were laughing and engaging each patron, though Dex knew half if not most of them really did not care what their customers were saying. They only had coin on their minds and acted in a way that would assure they got it, be it at the table or in one of the dozens of bedrooms on the upper levels.

Everyone that worked at the Dryad was female, even the bartender, though she was anything but attractive. She was a burly woman with powerful shoulders, large arms, and even larger legs. Her face looked to be as hard as stone and her gaze was said to be able to melt steel, but she held a friendly expression as she served drinks and platters full of food. Dex has never met Grenda Bulgshrum but he knew she was not a woman to be taken lightly, no matter her current state of mind. Not only did she own the Dryad's Kiss and serve as its bartender, but she was also something of a bodyguard for the girls working for her. Anyone abusing those she employed soon found themselves unconscious and out in the street with hardly a memory of how they got there.

"There he is," Dex heard Jannda say. He looked away from Grenda and followed Jannda's eyes to a large table near the back of the room, surrounded by a handful of serving wenches. They were all laughing and flirting with the large, nicely dressed man that sat alone at the table.

The jewelry merchant was dressed in a coat of bright blue silk, a surcoat and mantle of orange, and a blue cap made of some other type of material that Dex could not identify. As usual, his short brown beard was neatly trimmed and carefully combed, as was his shoulder length hair. His face was rosy and his dark blue eyes sparkled as he laughed and mingled with the females around him, telling Dex that he was already full of red wine. His large belly was wrapped with a colorful sash and his pudgy fingers, even his thumbs, were adorned with some type of ring or trinket. Along with those, he wore a golden necklace, a few sparkly bracelets, a handful of earrings, and a pearl stud in his right nostril. Even if he didn't like wearing all that jewelry, he certainly dressed the part of his chosen profession.

The companions worked their way through the crowded room. As they went, Jannda kept turning, keeping one eye on the door. When they had almost reached Brend, the Pillars that had been following them came in and quickly picked Dex out of the crowd. Jannda was so short that she was hidden from view amongst the tables and patrons, but she managed to keep an eye on the guards.

A few conversations suddenly stopped as the guards entered. Though not uncommon, Pillars in the Dryad were a rare thing for most of the men had been told–and some outright forbidden–not to visit the tavern because of the type of business they did. The reason it had not been completely shut down was that Grenda had paid off the right people, many of which were repeat clients in the tavern. As long as she caused no trouble and the guards didn't disturb the business, the Dryad could stay as it was. Since the orders of these particular guards were to watch Dex and Jannda, many of the men were more than happy to be able to follow them into the tavern that many of them never got the opportunity to visit.

Jannda watched as the guards tossed a few coins to the handful of men sitting around a table. They gladly gave up their seats for the pieces of silver. The Pillars then sat down, their eyes trying to stay focused on Dex, but more often than not, they fell on the gorgeous women walking around the room. Jannda suddenly got an idea but waited until they made contact with Brend.

"By Findle!" the hefty merchant bellowed as they neared, citing the god of luck. "Dex Swifthood!" His voice was deep and carried through the room, almost overpowering the loud music playing just a few feet to his left. "And Jannda!" he continued, a wide smile filling his massive face as his eyes fell upon Dex and his halfling companion. "By the gods, it has been a long time."

"Hello Brend," Dex said cheerfully, walking right past the giggling women and shaking the merchant's meaty fist. "It is good to see you."

"And you as well," the man answered, not bothering to get to his feet. Truthfully, Dex did not blame him for staying seated. At the moment, the merchant had a very attractive serving girl sitting on his knee. "Have a seat you two. Ulthra here will get you whatever you wish," he said, patting the girl on his knee gently on the back. "I'm buying tonight so order whatever you want. And Jannda, why don't you get up on stage and sing us a spell or two?"

"Come now," Jannda said, batting her eyelashes just as the girls surrounding Brend were doing though she was doing it mockingly, "never before midnight."

"Is it not yet midnight?" Brend said, his face feigning surprise. "Time seems slow tonight. Thank Tilmeric," he said, referencing the god of time, "I've got nowhere to be tomorrow."

Brend let out a mighty laugh, one quickly taken up by the girls around him. He grabbed the full glass of wine sitting on the table next to him and downed the entire contents in one massive gulp. He wiped his lips and set the glass down, motioning for the girl standing just to the right of Dex to get him another. She smiled longingly, took his glass, and left to do his bidding.

"So, what will you have?" Brend said. "Surely you're hungry. You have the stench of the road on you. Traveling can make any man, or halfling," he said, shooting Jannda a wink, "famished."

"Normally," Dex said, "we would gladly take you up on your offer, but we are pressed for time."

"Oh, come now," Brend said, shooting Dex a disapproving look. "Matters of business should wait for the sun. The night is for fun and entertainment. Isn't that right ladies?" The serving wenches responded with another round of giggles and laughter. Jannda just rolled her eyes.

"This can't wait," Dex responded, taking on a serious look. "Brend, I really need your help."

The jewelry merchant looked up at his friend and saw the concern on his face. Brend's expression of merriment quickly faded, replaced with a stern business look. The man knew when to get serious and if Dex was concerned, he had cause to be. Jannda couldn't help but smile at the sudden change in attitude. That was why she liked Brend so much. He really only had two types of moods: fun loving, carefree drunk or serious merchant. The best thing was that he could seemingly change between them on a whim

The merchant patted Ulthra on the hip. She stood and moved around to the back of him. Brend leaned forward, meeting Dex's eyes.

"What do you need?" he asked, his voice low and calm.

"Do you have somewhere private we can talk?" Dex asked. "Not that I do not trust the girls here, but others may be listening."

"In the back," Brend said. "Grenda has private dining rooms."

"Good," Dex said, but before the merchant rose, Jannda quickly pointed out one problem.

"They'll follow," she said, motioning towards the group of Pillars across the room. Some of them eyed the girls that walked by them, but more than a few were intently watching the exchange between the merchant and Knights. "You think the girls can help us out?" Jannda asked Brend with a mischievous grin.

"Not a problem," Brend said happily.

The merchant motioned for Ulthra to lean down. When she did, he whispered something in her ear. Whatever it was, a malicious smile quickly spread across her face. When he leaned up, she nodded at the merchant, motioned for the other girls to follow, and led them over to the Pillars table. Dex and Jannda watched as they immediately began to flirt and engage the men, who were more than happy to have the company. In seconds, all of the guards had forgotten about why they were here.

Brend got to his feet, rather quickly for a man so large, and motioned for Dex and Jannda to follow. The two did as instructed and walked with the man through the room towards the counter.

"Wait here," Brend said. The man walked over to the counter. Grenda came over to him. The two exchanged words and the merchant slipped her a few coins. She nodded and dipped her head toward a large door sitting just to the right of the long bar. When their conversation ended, Brend walked over, opened the door, and motioned for his two friends to enter.

Inside was a large rectangular room, just as elegantly constructed as the room they had just left. Carvings of trees and dancing dryads decorated the walls. Two huge, stone fireplaces, made to look like the yawning mouths of some fearsome beast, sat on two of the walls, one on the far wall across from them and the other to their left. Three wooden tables, surrounded by dozens of chairs, sat in the center of the room. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling over each one. Each fixture had over a dozen thick arms made of steel that held hundreds of glittering crystal prisms and pendalogues that shined in the candle light. At the moment, only the one in the center was lit but it provided more than enough light to illuminate the entire room. Cabinets, credenzas, small tables, and other various types of decorations finished off the room.

Dex and Jannda walked into the room, followed by Brend, who shut the door behind him. The three companions walked to the center dining table and took a seat. Brend leaned forward to speak but Dex held up a hand.

"One moment," he said. He looked at Jannda and nodded his head.

The halfling suddenly started to sing, almost in a whisper, yet her voiced filled the entire room from floor to ceiling. She sang of a deaf woman, lost in the woods on a winter morning. The poor girl had been picking flowers when a snowstorm suddenly hit. She managed to find shelter before being swept away by the winds, but was now hopelessly lost, unable to hear the calls of her mother and father as they searched the woods, desperately trying to find her.

The melody may not be loud, but Brend felt it pull at his heartstrings. He felt the girl's fear, felt the hope flowing from her body as she tried to find her way back home. That was Jannda's gift. No matter what she sang, no matter how loud or low her voice, the words were always beautiful and filled anyone that listened with certain emotions, depending on the subject. In this case, sadness was the emotion the song invoked, but there was something else behind the halfling's words. As Brend listened, he felt the magic behind the song. He felt the mystical energies gather and spread throughout the room. The magic washed over him, his two friends, and the wood surrounding them, coating the entire room as if she were painting it with a large brush. Her song only last a few minutes, but when she stopped, all the noise from the other room suddenly stopped. Brend suddenly felt as if he was in a bubble of silence.

"No one can hear us now," Dex said, "be they listening by ear or magic."

"A breathtaking melody," Brend said, looking at Jannda with renewed respect. "I dare say one of the loveliest I've heard in a long time." The halfling bowed in gratitude. She would have liked to hear more of his praise, but time was quickly flowing by.

"As I said," Dex started, getting to the point, "we need your help, specifically information you may have come by."

"I shall give you all I can," the merchant replied.

Dex and Jannda spent the next few moments telling the merchant what they were doing in Pelartis and who they were looking for. Both Knights knew they could trust the jewelry merchant so they told them who had hired them, what was stolen, and everything else that they felt would help him find what they were looking for. They even mentioned the run in they had with Xavdak and that they think the assassin was behind the entire ordeal. When they were finished, they sat back, wearing expressions of hope.

"After all this time," Brend said, "you still find yourself in the most precarious predicaments. I see things haven't changed very much."

"No they haven't," Dex replied.

"Well," Brend said, a slight bit of disappointment to his voice, "though I am glad that you two have so far come out unscathed, I regret to say that I have heard nothing of the assassin you described. Whoever he is and for whatever reason he has come to Pelartis, I hate to say that he has remained in the shadows. He is either very skilled or extremely lucky."

Dex and Jannda's shoulders slumped at the merchant's words. They had expected Brend to have something, but the man wasn't even able to provide them with the next step. It appeared that they would have to rely on Brask and the others. This assassin was really started to get on their nerves.

"I may not be able to lead you to the assassin," Brend said, his face telling them that he had suddenly thought of something, "but I can point you to where someone like him may go. Someone with his type of magic, with the types of items he possesses, would have to go to the Undermarket, especially if he plans to sell those items. I can't imagine he would try to purchase or rid himself of such an item anywhere else."

"What's the Undermarket?" Jannda asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"The place to buy things that the Pillars and other law makers do not want you to buy," Dex quickly explained.

"And the place where your assassin would go to sell the staff or purchase other wicked items," Brend added. "If you want to find him or speak with those that may know where to find him, that is where you must go. I suggest you make sure your coin purses are full though. Many of those in the market charge much more than I do for information."

"Do you know anyone we can speak with?" Dex asked.

"I know a few," Brend said with a smile. "I think I can–"

"Quiet!" Jannda suddenly said, placing a hand on both Brend and Dex. Both men instantly went silent, wondering what had spooked their halfling friend.

Jannda stepped away from her friends, turning her ear towards the far end of the room, specifically to the fireplace across from her. For a few moments, she heard nothing but silence, but then the faint sound of someone shuffling down a chimney came to her ears. She caught the sound a second time, but this time it came from the other fireplace.

"We are not alone," Jannda said, turning back to Dex and Brend.

As the words finished coming from her mouth, a black cloud fell from each chimney, covering the inside of the hearths completely. It started to pour into the room, moving like a gigantic slug, swallowing the light. Both Dex and Brend jumped to their feet. The Knight whipped out his longsword and dagger while Brend took a few frightened steps back, moving towards the protection of his two friends.

Suddenly, two daggers made of shadow exploded from the cloud from across the room, moving with the speed of a crossbow bolt. They covered the space that separated the three companions and the darkness in seconds, speeding right for Brend's heart. Just before they hit home, Dex grabbed his friend and yanked him to the side. The man just barely avoided the speeding missiles as he fell into his savior. The daggers whizzed by, stopping only when they hit the wall behind them, striking the door that the three friends had entered through. Seconds after they hit, they dissolved, leaving nothing behind but two gouges in the wood.

"Go!" Dex said, positioning himself between the cloud of darkness and his friend. Jannda did the same, facing the cloud on her left while Dex concentrated on the one across the room. The two Knights motioned for Brend to flee, to run to the protection of the main room on the other side of the door.

"I'm sorry I can't help," Brend said with a tiny bit of fear. Though he was a large man and could fight like a dragon for the best bargain or deal, when it came to physical altercations, he considered himself a mouse at best. "I fight with words and coin, not blades and magic."

"Just get to safety," Dex said, continuing to push him back. His eyes stayed locked on the black blob across from him. He noticed that it had slowed its advance into the room and had started to warp and change. It split four times and each separate cloud started to take shape. He looked to the cloud facing Jannda and saw that it was doing the same thing.

"It's jammed!" came a panicked shriek from behind them. Jannda risked a glance behind her and saw Brend trying to rip the door open, but it stayed as still as a slab of stone.

"Is it locked?" she quickly asked, fearing she already knew the answer.

"No," Brend said, showing her that the handle did indeed turn. "It just will not budge."

Jannda cursed. Whatever was about to face them had somehow barred the door behind them and with the spell she had just cast, no one on the other side would be able to hear them for many minutes. By then, they could all be dead.

"Is there another way out?" Dex asked, seeing no other doors or windows before them.

"Yes," Brend answered. "Behind the fireplaces."

"Well that's no good," Jannda said.

The eight shadows, which were blocking both fireplaces, had now taken on a humanoid shape, each one holding blades of darkness. With a silent curse, Dex immediately recognized what these creatures were for they had no distinguishing characteristics and seemed to be entirely composed of shadow. He had faced these creatures before, in the Fairgrove Forest.

"Shadow stalkers," Jannda said, echoing Dex's thoughts. It suddenly became perfectly clear that the Pillars weren't the only ones watching them. The assassin had somehow found them and sent his minions to deal with his pursuers.

"Stay behind me," Dex said, switching positions with Jannda so he was now facing the fireplace on the left, the closest possible exit for his friend. "We'll draw them off and make you a path."

"I'll summon the guard as soon as I'm clear," Brend said.

"Just get that damn door open," Jannda replied.

Dex and Jannda started to separate, with Brend staying close on Dex's heels. The mercenary moved towards the fireplace and the four stalkers that had started to walk in his direction. Each of the featureless shadow men held their blades out, ready to sink them into flesh.

"When I say," Dex said, directing his voice at Brend, "run to the fireplace and get out of here. I'll cover your exit."

"Can you hope to occupy them all?"

"I'm going to try."

Dex quickly scanned the room, looking at every possible scenario for the battle ahead of him. He looked over the walls, the ceiling, the tables, and even the fireplace, trying to gain every advantage over the four figures walking towards him. It would have been much easier if he only had to worry about himself, but he had to push the stalkers back and keep them busy long enough for Brend to escape. At the moment, there was only one thing within his reach that he could use to push all of his attackers away.

Dex suddenly broke into a sprint, running at the stalkers, right by the side of the table. As he went, he sheathed his sword and dagger and brought his hands out in front of him. Anyone watching him would have thought he had lost his mind for he was now bearing down on four armed and dangerous creatures, but at the last moment, just a few feet from reaching the stalkers, Dex leaned over as he ran and grabbed one of the wooden chairs sitting next to the table. The seat was much heavier than it looked and he almost fell over trying to lift it, but his forward momentum provided the extra burst of strength he needed and he lifted the chair and started to swing it wildly.

The stalkers, apparently startled by their target's sudden movement, stopped their advance and raised their weapons to defend themselves. Unfortunately, Dex was swinging without aiming at any one of them in particular. He was just hoping to drive them back. The tactic appeared to be working for with each wild swipe of the chair, the shadow stalkers jumped back to avoid being hit with the thick wooden legs. Two of them tried to sneak by but Dex was much faster than he looked and almost smashed their heads in.

"Go!" Dex shouted as he pushed the stalkers back a few feet from the fireplace. Brend didn't need to be told twice and ran for the opening. One of the stalkers tried to rush by Dex to get to the fleeing merchant but the mercenary altered his swing and successfully blocked the stalker's attempt.

Brend quickly reached the fireplace but paused before blinding walking in. He took a second to make sure a stray shadow stalker wasn't waiting in the chimney or dark corners of the hearth. When he was confident it was safe, he dove in, pushed on a loose stone that he knew activated the secret door, and jumped through as soon as the back opened.

Dex heard the thick stone wall open and felt the ground beneath his feet vibrate as it snapped shut. Though his friend was safe, he kept swinging the chair around wildly, waiting for the stalkers to become impatient and make a mistake. He didn't have to wait long.

As he swung to the left, two of the shadow men on the right surged forward, blades aimed for his side. Instead of pulling his swing back the other way, Dex let the power of his attack pull him around in a circle. As the chair swung around, the stalkers tried to skid to a stop, but by then it was too late and the chair crashed into them.

Dex let go as his wooden weapon made contact. To the wood builder's credit, the chair only cracked in a few places instead of breaking apart. The fact that it stayed together only aided Dex for it carried forward, throwing the stalkers back and to the ground. It rolled over top of them, crushing their shadowy forms and causing wisps of shadow stuff to snake into the air. Normal men would have groaned in pain and their blood would have already painted the floor, but the two stalkers never made a sound and only darkness leaked from their wounds. Dex would have loved to run over and end them before they got to their feet, but the other two stalkers were already charging.

He jumped back as they swung, still wielding nothing but his hands. The blades missed by a few inches but the shadow men pursed. Instead of grabbing his weapons, he retreated and jumped up on the table, scrambling to his feet. As the stalkers moved to follow, Dex kicked out, sending a wooden chair right into the gut of one. The creature stumbled back but did not double over like a normal man would have. Dex quickly reminded himself that these things had no internal organs or bones to damage. They were figures of shadow stuff and could only be stopped with a mortal blow.

The stalker he had yet to face jumped on the table, turning towards him with his blades. The creature's slight delay allowed Dex to finally bring his weapons to bear and he lunged, aiming a well placed strike at the stalker's head. Unfortunately, the shadow man, or whomever his form was mimicking, held some skill and it easily dodged the thrust. Dex didn't let his first miss discourage him and he continued his assault.

The two traded blows for a few moments, neither of them gaining any ground. Dex got the feeling his opponent was only trying to wear him down and not trying for the kill. When he heard movement behind him, he knew why.

The stalker he had hit in the gut with the chair was climbing on the table, soon to be followed by the two he had knocked down with the chair. Though the narrow surface they fought on would only allow one stalker to attack him from each direction, it was only a matter of time before the wounded ones figured out that it would be more advantageous for them to stay on the ground and attack his legs. After all, he could only battle so many opponents at once. He had a knack for strategy and fighting tactics but that wouldn't help when surrounded by enemies.

Suddenly, Jannda's musical voice filled the air. The sound quickly filled the room and penetrated everyone within. It didn't take long for the magic within those words to take effect and Dex felt a surge of strength and clarity pass through him. His mind was eased and he felt as if he could take on a hundred stalkers. The creatures around him experienced just the opposite. Their movements slowed down just a bit and their attacks seemed a little less concentrated. They started to become clumsy and were visibly annoyed at the song the halfling was singing.

Dex used their sluggishness against them and planted a swift kick in the stomach of the stalker behind him. Again, the creature didn't collapse in pain or loss of breath, but it stumbled away, providing Dex with some room. He lashed out with his sword and gave the stalker in front of him a strong attack that should be easily parried. The tactic worked and his opponent blocked the strike, but it drove its sword downward, just as planned, and Dex kicked out, sending that stalker staggering backwards. The other two stalkers, finally realizing what they were doing wrong, positioned themselves around the table's edge and swung at Dex's legs. The mercenary jumped up, avoiding their blades. The stalkers reared back for another swing but he never gave them an opportunity to hit him.

When he jumped, it put him within range of the large chandelier hanging overhead. He grabbed hold of the bottom of the fixture, praying it would be strong enough to hold him. The thick metal arms groaned in protest but held his weight, so he pulled up and squeezed himself between the arms, climbing to the top. As he went, he kicked free dozens of crystals and accents. They fell to the table and floor with a crash, filling the room with a noise that sounded like a million coins falling on stone. The sound was horrific and somewhat drowned out Jannda's voice.

The stalkers, seeing their prey swiftly moving away from them, jumped up to the chandelier after they had regained their footing. Moving just as fast as Dex, they climbed up the chandelier, daggers and swords seeking Dex's legs.

Dex quickly found himself at the top, his head bumping into the ceiling. He had to duck a dagger thrown from below, from one of the stalkers still on the ground, and the movement made the fixture start to sway. The rocking motion was actually a good thing for it made it harder for the stalkers below to hit their target.

The stalkers were quickly gaining, but that was exactly what Dex had wanted. When they were well intertwined inside the chandelier, he grabbed hold of the thick chain that hung from the canopy and slammed his dagger to where the bottom of the chain met the column of the fixture. There was a shower of sparks but the chain held fast. The quick jerking movements made the chandelier sway even more, but Dex was relentless. He slammed his dagger in the same spot twice more, desperately trying to snap the fixture loose. Just as the shadow blades were speeding towards his calves, the chain came loose with a tearing sound and the chandelier fell free, taking the two stalkers with it.

The two shadow men on the ground dove away just as the chandelier crashed to the ground. Since it had been rocking back and forth, when it came free, it was angled at the ground and not at the table below it. Regardless, the thing came apart in an explosion of crystal and steel, showering the area with deadly shards and leaving the ground peppered with grooves and vicious scrapes. The sound that came with it rocked the room if not the entire building. Dex didn't care how powerful or strong Jannda's spell had been. Someone would definitely here that. The two shadow stalkers inside the fixture also came apart, their shadowy bodies exploding as if they had swallowed a fireball spell. When the puffs of darkness cleared and the debris settled, all that remained were a couple of black stains, thousands of shards of crystals, and a few twisted pieces of dark steal.

Dex didn't hold onto the chain for long for the two stalkers that had fallen to the ground when the chandelier fell picked themselves up and turned in his direction, daggers readied to throw. The mercenary let go and fell onto the table, sword and dagger ready once more. The stalkers moved towards him.

* * * * *

Jannda moved away from Dex quickly, wanting the two groups of stalkers to stay separated. If they ganged up on them, she knew their chances of survival would have decreased significantly. Luckily, the group at the far end of the room followed her movements and stayed with her as she came around the table at the other side of the room. She held a dagger in both hands. She usually fought with a dagger and her magical club, but these creatures would not be bothered by a strike to the kneecap or sharp blow to the elbow for they had no bones to break and they could not easily be crippled. No, if she was to be victorious, she needed to cut through the shadow stuff.
The four stalkers walked over and stood opposite her across the long room. They made no sounds and wore no expression that she could see. They only waved their shadowy blades in anticipation. The halfling hated to keep them waiting.

She planted her short legs and charged, pumped her limbs as hard as she could. The stalkers watched her only for a few seconds then ran towards her, their much longer limbs covering the distance quicker than she could.

Jannda seemed intent on meeting all four creatures head on, with only two small daggers for protection. That's what it appeared and the stalkers thought that as well, but as they neared, as their dark blades whipped around to cut her head from her shoulders, Jannda dropped and slid underneath the legs of the stalker in front.

As she slid across the ground, she dragged her daggers across the stalker's inner thigh. The blade parted the black substance and wisps of darkness immediately started to leak from the wounds. The creature staggered forward but did not fall. If it had been a real man, the wounds would have caused him to drop to his knees and howl in pain. Instead, the creature just turned and hobbled after her.

Jannda hoped to her feet, coming to a stop right in front of two other stalkers, who wasted no time and swung their blades down at her head. Using her smaller size as an advantage, Jannda jumped to the left then right, easily avoiding the dark blades. When they leaned back to attack again, she came in close to the one on her right, almost hugging his legs. Being so near, the stalker would not be able to attack her effectively, but that did not stop the other one from swinging in her direction.

When Jannda saw the creature swing, a smile split her face. Then she was twisting out of the way, looking forward to seeing the stalker's black blade plunge into its companion.

Unfortunately, her smile quickly gave way to a groan for the blade did indeed plunge into the stalker's leg, but instead of cutting into the shadowy flesh, it seemed to merge with it, causing no visible damage. When the stalker withdrew its blade, the area was unmarred.

"That's not fair," Jannda said with a frown. Now she had to change her entire strategy.

Four blades came streaking toward her as she contemplated what to do next. She quickly moved away, stopping only when she felt a chair at her back. The stalkers thought they had her and all four moved in for the kill, but Jannda once again dropped to the floor and scrambled underneath the chair and back into the protective darkness of the large table.

The stalkers did not let the chairs hinder their pursuit. They grabbed them and tossed them away, seeking their tiny adversary. Jannda, barely having to lean over to fit underneath the thick wood, waited patiently under the table until they leaned over and came at her. When the first sword sought her out, the darkness obviously posing no hindrance to the stalkers' sight, she parried and struck, darting in and out of combat like a snake attacking a mouse.

Her needle like daggers shot out over half a dozen times as each stalker tried to catch her. Each time a few more wisps of shadow were dancing in the air, but the wounds were small and appeared to be having little effect in slowing the stalkers down. Once again, if they were normal men, the multiple wounds would have already caused two of them to slip into unconsciousness, but they were tireless and continued their assault unabated. It was only a matter of moments before one of those blades found her flesh and once that happened, the rest would surely follow.

After she parried another strike, Jannda did not attack. Instead, she scrambled down the table, heading for the far side of the room. It took a few seconds for the stalkers to see what she was doing for they had all gathered too close together and their arms were blocking their view. When they finally realized their target had moved, they went to follow.

Jannda emerged from underneath the table a few yards away. When she came out, she immediately started to sing, to call forth bardic magic that would aid her in defeating the stalkers moving at her.

She sang of a mighty warrior, beset on all sides by murderous orcs. They had wounded him severely and surrounded him and they were tightening the circle and moving in for the kill. All seemed lost for the strong warrior but he held true to his faith and called on the gods for aid. They answered his called, filling his body with holy strength and healing his wounds with divine light. With renewed strength, the warrior rose and set his wrath upon his would be killers.

The magic from the song filled Jannda's body with strength and renewed vigor. It cleared her mind and set her limbs moving faster and made her feel like she could take on four giants as well as four simple shadow stalkers. As she continued to sing, her voice filled the room and the music settled over the stalkers. They reeled from the beautiful melody and staggered as the magic assaulted their evil nature. Their movements became sluggish and their bodies were slow to react to their demands. Jannda, still singing, took immediate advantage of their ailment and launched her daggers at the closest one.

The weapons sailed true, slamming into the neck of the stalker just a few feet from Jannda. Normally, her assailant probably would have been able to block or avoid the missiles, but the magic in the music was too much of a hindrance and they made it through the creature's defenses.

Though the stalker was composed of nothing but shadow and had no veins or jugular to cut, two blades proved to be too much and it sank to the floor, wisps of darkness wafting from its entire body. The creature started to shrink in size as the shadow stuff dissolved. In a few moments, the daggers clattered to the ground and the stalker faded away, leaving nothing behind but a dark stain on the floor.

The remaining creatures in front of Jannda let out a hiss as their companion died. As they shambled towards her, still stumbling from the words that continued to pour from her mouth, their forms wavered just an instant, but quickly became solid once more though they moved even slower and with less enthusiasm. What was it Druzeel had said about these things? Jannda asked herself. If she remembered correctly, the young wizard had said these creatures were connected somehow and if you kill one, the rest were quick to weaken. Well, she was not about to let her momentum slow.

Jannda charged at the next closest one, hoping to take out another of her opponents before the other two came forward. As she neared, she whipped out two more daggers and swung, but the stalker must not have been as weakened as it let on for the creature dodged one of her swings and parried the other. Then it was returning the attack, with a strong thrust that almost took Jannda through the eye. She just managed to duck and turn away. Amazingly, she held her song, still filling the room with her sweet voice. The creature let loose another hiss of frustration and pushed its attack.

After trading another few blows, Jannda found herself besieged by another stalker. She twisted and ducked another dagger and sword. Her evasive movements were proving to be successful, but the third stalker was almost upon her. So far, her size and speed helped her avoid the multiple thrusts and swings the stalkers sent her way, but the third stalker would be upon her soon. When it joined the battle, she would be surrounded and her advantages would be gone, but just as the third was running up, its blades flashing through the air, a tremendous crash shook the entire room and all four combatants suddenly stopped, startled by the noise.

Jannda prided herself on her concentration, on her ability to block out every type of distraction while singing or playing music, but when that giant chandelier smashed into the ground, it was too much for even her to overcome and her song faded into the clamor.

When the commotion died and silence descended on the room, Jannda looked over at the wreckage. She saw a twisted pile of steel and crystal and two dark stains on the ground, all that was left of the grand fixture and two of the shadow stalkers that had been facing Dex. Her three opponents suddenly let loose a hiss of pain and staggered back as two more of their companions perished. She went to finished them off but had to spare a quick glance across the room, to see if Dex was all right.

At first, she didn't see him, but suddenly, he was standing on one of the tables, facing his final two stalkers, who also looked to have been severely weakened from the death of their companions. Not only did they look hurt, but they were slowly backing away, as if they knew they were no longer a match for the man in front of them. Jannda turned back around to face her three stalkers to see them acting in a similar manner, but before she could move in, a loud thump sounded from the door at the end of the room. It sounded as if someone was trying to break it down.

"Open up in the name of the Pillars!" came an angry shout from the other side. It appeared that the Pillars they had left in the other room had finally noticed their absence. That or the chandelier exploding had alerted them.

Dex and Jannda looked toward the door but quickly turned back to their opponents as the stalkers let out a growl of annoyance. The creatures started to back away into the shadows, the fight no longer in them. Their bodies slowly became transparent as the darkness started to swallow them.

"No you don't!" Jannda cursed, not wanting to let them go. She ran forward, swinging into the darkness, hoping to hit something, but the stalkers had already faded away, leaving only Jannda and Dex to answer for the destruction.

After three more hits, the door gave way and crashed to the floor. A group of Pillars ran into the room, weapons out, eyes searching for danger. When the man in front, a mouse-like fellow with beady, dark eyes, an unkempt beard, and pale skin, saw the broken chandelier, his angry glare quickly settled on Dex. He found Jannda next as she walked over to join her companion.

"What's going on here!" the man asked, looking at the shards of crystal and warped steel that was a chandelier. His eyes darted all around them room, "Where's the merchant that came in here with you?"

"My chandelier!" came an angry voice before Dex or Jannda could respond. The two Knights looked beyond the Pillars to see a group of people gathered around the doorway, trying to see what had caused the commotion. The crowd suddenly parted as Grenda shoved her massive bulk into the room. "What have you done to my dining hall?" she asked, her eyes finding the only two people that could be held responsible. "Where is Brend?"

"We were about to–" Dex began but the lead Pillar cut him off.

"Get these people back!" he shouted, motioning for the men around him to push back the crowd and escort Grenda from the room. After a short shouting and shoving match between the Dryad's proprietor and a half dozen guards, the Pillars managed to get everyone out and block the doorway. The man who was obviously the leader of these particular Pillars turned back to Dex and Jannda, impatience showing on his face.

"Well?" he asked. "Explain yourselves and tell us what you have done with the jewelry merchant."

Dex narrowed his eyes at the man in annoyance. He did not like the guard's tone but did as he was instructed. They had been in enough trouble already and he knew it would be better for everyone if he just told the truth and held his temper in check. When he was finished, the man fixed him with a look of disbelief.

"Shadow thieves again?" he said in annoyance and anger. "You people have an explanation for everything."

"It's what happened," Jannda said simply.

"I'm sure it is," the man replied sarcastically. "I don't know what happened in here but I highly doubt that your 'shadow men' caused this much destruction. Until we find out what really went on and where the jewelry merchant is, if he is still alive, you are both under arrest for destruction of property and under suspicion of murder."

"What?!" Jannda and Dex blurted out at the same time. Is this really how the Pillars worked? both of them wondered.

"Take them into custody!" the man barked. Three of the Pillars behind the man moved forward, two of them holding manacles. Jannda and Dex both stepped back, trying to decide what to do. Jannda began to raise her daggers, intent to fight her way out of the room if necessary. She would not be put into chains for something so frivolous. She would have thought that Dex would have moved to stop her but he looked just as angry and ready to fight as she did. Luckily, before the guards moved any closer, a voice split the air.

"Stop!"

All eyes moved to the doorway and to the man shoving his way into the room. The guards had tried to stop him but with the help of Grenda, who had threatened bodily harm should the Pillars not stand aside, the man was able to make it inside.

"Brend!" Jannda said with relief. The jewelry merchant looked a little disheveled and out of breath, but appeared to be unharmed.

"Everything my two friends have said is true," the merchant said, walking to stand with his companions.

"What?" the lead Pillar asked in frustration. "You just now entered the room. How can you possibly know what they said?"

"You are leader here, correct?" Brend asked, speaking to the Pillar that had ordered Dex and Jannda arrested. When the man nodded, Brend proceeded to tell him what had happened, mirroring his companion's words exactly. When he was finished, the guard only narrowed his eyes.

"They still have to answer for the destruction and disturbance they caused," the Pillar commented. "The Dryad will need reparations and if they can't pay then–"

"A private matter that has already been resolved," Brend said, cutting the man off. He tipped his head toward Grenda. The guard looked over at the woman in confirmation. When she nodded and held up a large sack that jingled with coin, the Pillar turned back to the jewelry merchant. His eyes narrowed.

"And they in no why harmed you?"

"Harmed me?" Brend said in disbelief. "My good man, these two saved my life. Without them I would be but a red stain on the floor."

"Well," the Pillar said, flustered, "their assailants still need to be found, so they'll have to come with us to–"

"Come now," Brend said, flashing a few pieces of golden jewelry. "Surely you don't need them to finish your investigation? Perhaps we can work something out."

The Pillar met Brend's eyes then his gaze settled on the expensive pieces of jewelry. With hardly a thought, he ordered his men out of the room. He told them to secure the area around the Dryad and look for the so-called shadow men that the three had described. When the room was empty of everyone but Dex, Jannda, Brend, and the lead Pillar, the guard took the jewelry with a frustrated swipe and walked toward the exit. Before he left the room, he stopped and fixed Dex and Jannda with an angry glare. Then he turned and left the room.

"Well," Brend said, clapping his hands together. "That was fun."

"Are you all right?" Dex asked.

"Oh, yes," the merchant replied. "Fine. I apologize for taking so long. Couldn't find my way out of the alleys. Like mazes they are."

"Who was that horse's ass?" Jannda asked, referring to the guard that had just left.

"Eighth Pillar Ricus Gildric," Brend replied. "An impatient, bully of a man who has an extreme dislike of outsiders. He prefers to manacle first and ask questions later. It was a good thing I arrived when I did or you two would probably be back on your way to the dungeons."

"And a few pieces of jewelry are all it takes for them to look the other way?" Jannda asked no one in particular. "So much for that honor and discipline I heard so much about."

"Make no mistake," Brend said, leading the two from the room and back out to the street after they had gathered their things, "most of the Pillars are disciplined and follow a strict code of conduct, but every barrel of apples has a few rotten ones from time to time. It was actually a good thing that Ricus was the one to find you. If it had been one of those honorable guards you love so much, I may have been joining you in the dungeons for even suggesting a bribe."

"Thank you for your help," Dex said, shaking the man's hand. "With both the guards and the information you gave us."

"A pleasure," Brend said. "Haven't had that much excitement in quite some time. Feel free to stop by my store so we can do it again."

"Not anytime soon," Jannda responded. The merchant let out a hearty laugh and shook the halfling's tiny hand. The two Knights then retrieved their horses and said goodbye to their friend.

The two Knights rode down the street, heading for the Wilted Rose. They would meet up with the others, share what they learned, and hopefully have a new path to follow. Unfortunately, they would not be going alone.

As they left the Dryad behind, Dex noticed that a group of Pillars was still following them. He just sighed and shook his head. A small part of him was actually grateful that they were trailing them openly for he knew that after the encounter with the stalkers, the assassin would still be watching them and he was far less revealing than the Pillars. But much more dangerous.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 15

At first, Druzeel thought he was standing in front of the wrong place for when he went to look for Piyus, he had originally been searching for a tower. Since Graeak and every other wizard he had read about lived in the great columns of stone and steel, he assumed that Piyus would as well, but what he saw before him was like nothing he had ever seen.

It was a perfect dome, measuring over two hundred yards in diameter and stretching almost one hundred feet high. It appeared to be made of stone but carried none of the qualities associated with the hard material. Instead, it looked to be covered by a single sheet of mirror, encompassing the entire surface, reflecting the sky and the surrounding buildings. Druzeel could only imagine the shine that bounced off its surface during the day. Somehow, he knew it wouldn't be as harsh as it should be, but still, it would be quite a sight. Even at night, the building sparkled from the thousands of torches and magical light that sat throughout the city. The wizard's home was marvelous and filled the young wizard with wonder. It also stirred a deep curiosity inside him. He couldn't begin to imagine what the inside looked like.

The archmage's home was surrounded by a tall fence, consisting of black poles that stretched over ten feet high. Among the hundreds of shafts of iron and charming scrollwork were designs in the forms of dragons, unicorns, and other magical creatures, giving even the surrounding border a mystical feel and look. Druzeel found that if he stared too long at the metal animals they almost seemed to move, dancing along the fence line. As he made his way to the entrance, he swore that a handful of the iron beasts were actually following him, watching his every move.

Beyond the fence were grounds filled with colorful flowers, decorative stone pavers, and shrubbery that lent beauty and grace to the archmage's gardens. Bright green trees, stone planters, bird baths, and other decorative garden accessories lay scattered through the area. Druzeel would dare say that the green area before him rivaled that of even Graeak's.

The entrance consisted of two giant gates, each holding a large M that sparkled with bluish light. The thick letters looked like the night sky, filled with scintillating stars. Each was surrounded by elegant scroll patterns that ended in leaves, flowers, or, as any wizard should be quick to notice, runes that certainly held magical power. Though Piyus's home and the surrounding area was beautiful, Druzeel thought it was a bit overdone, that Piyus was going a little too far to let everyone know exactly how wonderful, or magnificent, he was.

"Please state your name and business at the house of Piyus the Magnificent," came a soft voice out of nowhere. Druzeel looked all around but found no one but himself standing anywhere near the gates. The sound seemed to come from the gates themselves.

"Uh..." Druzeel began but stopped. He knew the voice had been magically produced and that someone inside the dome was probably watching him right now, so he quickly composed himself and started again. "Druzeel Sesstar, apprentice to Lord Graeak Loyalar, come to see Piyus the Magnificent for aid in finding a stolen artifact."

There was silence for a few moments. Then there came the sound of a latch being pulled back. The gates before Druzeel slowly opened.

"Enter and be welcomed," the soft voice said. "Piyus the Magnificent will meet you in the vestibule of The Eye of All Things. Please follow the path in front of you."

Druzeel waited until the gates had come to a stop before walking in. In front of him was a stone path that led all the way up to the dome, or The Eye of All Things, as the voice had called it. There were separate trails that broke off from the one he traveled down but he did not deviate and walked straight towards the dome, which at first, seemed to have no entrance. When he came within a few feet, a doorway suddenly appeared. The wall just faded away, leaving nothing but an entrance. Druzeel slowed momentarily, eyeing the opening with a little trepidation, but saw nothing out of the ordinary and walked inside.

Druzeel walked into a large circular foyer composed mostly of a deep gray brick. Large plates of bronze, some many yards wide, sat scattered throughout the chamber, on every surface. There was no pattern to the plates, no reason for them being where they were. It appeared that someone had just walked in and thrown them all around, uncaring as to where they stuck. Though strange, the shiny plates added a certain style to the architecture.

Above his head, almost thirty feet high, hung a large pendant the size of a giant's leg, made of shiny plates and rods of silver. The dozen or so elements of the pendant intersected each other and the three balls of light, each the size of a man's head, that were constantly rotating around and through them reflected off the shiny surfaces, lighting up the room. Druzeel found it odd that the light bouncing off the pendant did not reflect off the bronze plates sitting around the room. It was as if the slivers of metal weren't even in place. The young wizard knew magic had something to do with the lack of reflective light.

Besides Druzeel and a few pieces of decorative furniture, the room was empty. A handful of doors sat against the walls of the lower level, each made of shiny bronze. Druzeel assumed there were many more sitting in the walls of the two levels above him but he could not see them because of where he stood. It was quiet, a bit chilly, and very cold. It gave him the feeling of being in a mortuary and it was not at all what he expected.

Suddenly, a puff of yellow smoke appeared only a few feet from Druzeel, followed by the smell of burnt cinnamon. It startled him and caused him to stumble back a few steps. When the smoke cleared, Piyus the Magnificent was standing before him.

Just like his home, Piyus did not dress as a typical wizard. He held no staff, and wore no robes or cloak, just close fitting clothing that made him look very skeletal and gaunt. He had on a flat yellow doublet with long open sleeves, revealing a deep gray shirt underneath. His gray pants were a bit puffy but narrowed as they came close to the knees. Tall yellow boots came up just below the knees and his shins were covered with guards of bronze. Short yellow gloves protected his hands and like his shins, his forearms were covered in long plates of bronze. He wore a simple belt lined with small pouches and a handful of rings decorated his fingers. If other jewelry or trinkets covered his body, they were well hidden.

Piyus had deep blue eyes, almost gray, a narrow nose, and a thin, narrow mouth. His head was hairless but the sides of it were covered in wild, dark gray hair. A beard, similarly wild and unkempt, covered the bottom half of his face. Someone just meeting the man would think him lacking in wits and a bit maniacal, but Druzeel knew from listening to Graeak that the man before him was a powerful wizard and a kind, honest man.

"Young Master Sesstar," Piyus said, his voice deep and throaty. The tone surprised Druzeel for he did not expect someone so skinny to speak with such force. "Welcome to my home."

"My lord," Druzeel responded with a respectful bow. "Thank you for seeing me at such a late hour."

"Always have I time for one of Graeak's students," the tall archmage said. "Tell me, how is Lord Loyalar these days? It has been some time since last he and I spoke."

"He is well," Druzeel replied, "though time has finally caught up with him."

"Yes," Piyus said, stroking his beard. "Time has a habit of doing such things."

If Druzeel remembered correctly, Piyus was a decade or two younger than his mentor and like Graeak, like all wizards it seemed, he used certain magics and potions to keep himself young. Where Piyus and his friends differed though was Piyus had yet to stop using those magics to keep himself young and full of vigor. Eventually, they would all lose their potency, but the eccentric archmage planned on using them for as long as he could.

"You wear a look of urgency," Piyus said, waving his hands in the air. Druzeel was unsure of what he was doing. He just watched in silence, waiting for his host to finish. "Sit and let us talk."

"That's fine," Druzeel said, "but there is nowhere to–"

Druzeel looked around, astonished to see that he now stood in a completely separate room. Gone were the high ceilings and giant pendant. In their place sat a small library, with shelves of books, a pair of couches, dozens of candelabras, and a table holding two glasses of wine and a platter of bread and cheeses. He hadn't even felt the magic that had transported them here. The change had been so subtle, Druzeel really couldn't be sure if it was himself or the room that had actually changed positions.

"Please," Piyus said, motioning for him to sit on one of the couches. The archmage wore a knowing smile, delighted by his guest's surprise.

"A neat trick," Druzeel said, taking a seat across from the wizard.

"Trick?" Piyus asked with raised eyebrows. "I guess that is what some may call it."

"Did Graeak contact you?" Druzeel asked, wondering if his mentor had told his old friend to expect him. If he had, that would explain the fun Piyus was having with him. If not, then the man truly was as bizarre and strange as Druzeel had heard.

"Though I would have liked that, I have not spoken to my old friend in some time. I dare say that we both can share the blame for our lack of communication. A wizard's life can be very involved." Piyus's eyes wondered for a few seconds, as if he was searching his mind for something. Druzeel raised his eyebrows in confusion but remained silent. He did not want to disturb whatever the man was trying to do. Perhaps age was getting to him as well.

"The last time Graeak and I spoke," Piyus said as if he had never stopped talking, "was many years ago, but I distinctly remember him talking about a very bright young student he had the privilege to teach, a young man by the name of Druzeel Sesstar. I must say, it is nice to finally put a face to the one who has managed to thoroughly impress my old friend."

Druzeel couldn't help but smile at the words of praise. He knew Graeak spoke highly of him, but it made his heart beat with pride even more to hear that he spoke of him to another great archmage.

"Thank you," Druzeel said. "I have learned so much under him."

"Yes," Piyus commented. "More importantly, you have learned when to ask for help when something is beyond you. It is important for a wizard to realize when he can't do something, otherwise he will never learn how to do it. Of course, there is not much that Piyus the Magnificent cannot do!"

That comment set Druzeel back a little. It was said that Piyus was strange and eccentric. Druzeel thought the rumors should have added egotistical and narcissistic, but then again, what wizard isn't?

"So," Piyus said, leaning back, taking a sip of his wine. "What is it that I can help you with?"

Druzeel let go of those last comments and immediately started to tell Piyus what happened at Graeak's tower and why he was in Pelartis. Though Brask and the others said to be careful with the information they let out, he told the archmage everything. This was Graeak's friend and Druzeel knew he could trust him. When he was finished, he sat back, waiting for his host to respond. For many minutes, Piyus just sat in silence, his eyes staring right at Druzeel. The gaze was starting to make the young wizard uncomfortable. It was as if the man was looking through him, into his very soul. He was about to say something but luckily, Piyus finally decided to speak.

"Interesting," the man said, tugging–actually pulling!–on his beard. "This assassin possesses strong magic indeed to break in and out of Graeak's tower, though I wonder if the wards were properly set."

"Graeak's magic wouldn't–" Druzeel started to say in anger, jumping to defend his teacher, but Piyus cut him off, waving his hand across his face.

"No matter," the man said without care, rising to his feet. He started waving his hands through the air. "Let's see if we can find this staff."

This time, Druzeel paid attention to what was happening around him. The room began to quickly change. The walls shifted and twisted, growing taller and moving further away from him. The couches faded, replaced by stacks of books and scrolls. The bookshelves changed as well, but instead of disappearing completely, they grew larger and taller, shooting upwards many feet, stopping only when they hit the ceiling, some forty feet above. A handful of large fixtures appeared overhead, lighting the room with orange candlelight. Small tables suddenly sprang up and long cabinets and chests full of wondrous items appeared along the edge of the new room taking shape. Perhaps most impressive of all was the large crystal sphere that materialized in between Druzeel and Piyus. The orb was the size of a large chest and sat on a stand in the form of silver dragon wings.

The entire change lasted less than three heartbeats. When it was complete, Druzeel found himself standing it what looked like Piyus's personal casting chambers. The room was very large, stretching at least a hundred feet, end to end. There were smaller levels above him, each filled with books, tomes, scrolls, and other works of literature. The shelves were full, the chests overflowing with clothing, and the floor was littered with parchment and other debris. It looked like something had exploded in here, but when Piyus went off to a large desk on the far side of the room, humming as he went, Druzeel knew that what he saw was perfectly normal.

"Do your servants come in here?" Druzeel asked, wondering if the man even had servants. He hadn't seen another soul since entering the dome and besides the voice that had spoken to him at the gates, Piyus was the only other being that had talked to him.

"They are not allowed in here," Piyus said, thumbing through a tome almost as thick as Druzeel's leg. The man's words at least confirmed that there were others in the building, even if he hadn't seen any. Druzeel knew firsthand that just because you did not see them did not mean they weren't there. In The Fount, the servants only did their work very late at night, as to not disturb the students or their mentor, but wasn't it late right now?

Pushing the thoughts to the side, Druzeel looked around the chamber for an exit, thinking that perhaps the only way in was to teleport, which would explain why he had not seen anyone, but he quickly found a handful of bronze doors, easing his growing sense of claustrophobia. Though he was used to living in a tower, he always like to know where the exits were.

Druzeel turned away from Piyus and walked over to the orb. Inside was a swirling mass of blue and silver clouds. They were constantly moving, like an ocean being assaulted by a strong wind. It reminded him of the beginnings of a rainstorm, just before Fthairial, goddess of the sky, unleashed thunder and lightning upon the world. If not for the implied threat that Druzeel saw within his mind, the scene playing out inside the orb could be considered beautiful.

"All right," Piyus said, drawing Druzeel's attention. He slammed the tome shut and walked over to the orb, standing directly in front of it. "Let us see if we can find your assassin. I have a picture of the man you described and that should prove adequate enough for me to find him, but stay close and keep your mind open just in case."

Druzeel nodded and backed away, giving the archmage as much room as he could. He had watched Graeak perform these spells before, and done a few himself, and knew that sometimes, when calling upon strong magic, one needed plenty of room to move around.

"This assassin," Piyus said, looking at Druzeel, "possesses strong magic and will most likely have wards and shields protecting him. You know what may happen when trying to locate him. I suggest you take precaution."

Suddenly, Piyus didn't sound so confident. Perhaps he was just being cautious or maybe honest. One never knew what could happen when trying to locate someone that may not want to be located. Piyus was a powerful archmage yes, but when trying to scry, more often than not, one had to be many times stronger than the wards protecting the intended subject in order to break through. It was much easier to defend than it was to attack. Knowing what may happen, Druzeel nodded to the archmage and cast a series of spells on himself. Should a magical backlash or something else detrimental occur, his spells should keep him safe.

Once Druzeel was finished, Piyus voiced the simplest of divination spells. On the slight chance the assassin was not shielded, the magic should have made him appear within the orb, but as expected, the clouds remained unchanged.

For the next twenty or so minutes, Piyus continued with his spell casting, each time, using a slightly stronger spell then the last. His hands glow an array of vibrant colors each time he used his magic and a few times the clouds inside the crystal orb moved as if they were going to suddenly part and reveal what they were looking for, but each time nothing happened. The sphere just stayed dark and unresponsive.

"Who are you?" Piyus asked. For a moment, Druzeel though the archmage was speaking to him but he quickly realized he was talking to himself.

"Perhaps we should focus on the staff first," Druzeel suggested, thinking that it would be much easier to find. Of course, if the staff were still with the assassin, locating it would be the same as locating the thief.

"I have already tried," the archmage said, never once taking his eyes from the orb in front of him. "Either your assassin has sold it and it is still shielded, which is unlikely, or it is still with him. Whoever this man is, he has powerful magic protecting him."

"So he has eluded us yet again," Druzeel said, distraught. Piyus finally looked away from the orb, meeting his eyes.

"I have not even begun!" Piyus exclaimed, his eyes flashing. "There has never been a man, woman, or beast that has long stayed hidden from Piyus the Magnificent!"

Druzeel thought he heard a small amount of insanity creeping into the archmage's voice. He knew the man was a bit odd, but the tone gave him worry. How far was Piyus willing to go? Would he be willing to put himself in harm's way to find this assassin? Would he put me in danger? Druzeel asked himself.

Though troubled by the expression on Piyus's face, Druzeel pushed the concerns from his mind. He had to trust the archmage to control himself. He had to trust that Graeak would not send him to a dangerous man. Besides, Druzeel was willing to put up with a certain amount of madness to catch this thief. His teacher was depending on him and he was willing to let Piyus do what he wanted in order not to fail, not that he could stop him anyway. He also wanted to show the others that they could depend on him and that he was actually worth something. If Piyus found the assassin, Druzeel would have something to give to Brask and the young wizard wanted nothing more than to shut the man up about how useless he was.

Piyus began to wave his hands through the air above the orb. He moved in smooth motions, his body rocking from side to side. He started slowly at first, but as time flowed by, his movements sped up. Druzeel had never seen this type of casting before, but then again, he had never met a man quite like Piyus. He continued to watch in wonder as a yellow glow took form around the archmage's hands and the clouds inside the orb swirled and danced, picking up speed as he went. Words started to pour from his mouth as he called forth the magic he would need to locate the assassin. As he spoke, magic and energy slowly filled the room and gathered around the archmage. Druzeel was acutely aware of the power rising around him. He could feel it on his skin, smell it in the air, and could see it in the maelstrom in the center of the orb. Piyus felt it as well for his voice just became louder, his movements more distinct as he continued the spell.

This was awesome magical power, Druzeel thought to himself, spells and energy that he rarely was able to witness in use. He had seen Graeak use this level of magic before, but only on a few occasions and only when the need was absolutely necessary. Power like this was usually reserved for dire situations. Knowing that, Druzeel once again became worried that Piyus was going too far, that he was using too much for the help that Druzeel had asked him for. He wanted to find the assassin, but he also did not want the city to explode, or himself for that matter.

The orb started to glow and hum as the magic continued to gather within. The clouds danced wildly, swirling and twisting as the miniature storm raged within. Druzeel thought he even started to see bolts of lightning within the chaos of the orb. It was amazing and freighting at the same time. He found himself slowly backing away, wanting the protection of a thick stone wall between himself and the spectacle before him.

"Reveal yourself!" Piyus suddenly shouted, startling Druzeel. The archmage thrust his hands forward, throwing all the power he had gathered at the orb, commanding the assassin to appear.

Sparks of purple light suddenly broke out all over the room. Druzeel was almost singed by one, but he managed to turn away just before it burned his face. He quickly cast another spell, protecting him from such bursts, but then a terrible rumble shook the room and he was thrown to the ground. A rough wind also materialized inside the casting chamber, throwing parchment and books into the air. The tumult deafened Druzeel, but he managed to find his feet. He grabbed hold of a railing to steady himself and looked toward Piyus.

Amazingly, the archmage was still on his feet, continuing to throw his magic at the orb. Was he smiling? Druzeel asked himself, unsure of the expression on the man's face, but Piyus's face was the last of Druzeel's worries. He quickly turned toward the orb and his eyes widened in fear.

The sphere was glowing purple, a deep shade of violet that seemed to suck the light from the room. Dozens of arcs of lighting danced along its surface, coming within inches of striking Piyus. The blue and silver clouds that had resided inside the crystal sphere were gone, replaced by a black that was so absolute that Druzeel swore he was staring at the end of time. The darkness pierced him to his core and he found himself unable to look at it for more than a few seconds.

In the name of the gods! Druzeel screamed to himself. What kind of foul, evil magic did the assassin have? What type of man would even deal with something so vile? And how can it be so powerful?! This was no normal sorcery. This was pure, unadulterated evil and it shook Druzeel more than he cared to admit. A part of him wanted flee, to run screaming back to Graeak and tell him to give up his chase, but the goodness, honor, and valor in him would not allow it. This man, this thief, must be found and brought to justice, not just because of what he has done, but for what he was: a tool of evil, a weapon of hatred and wickedness that must be undone.

The archmage seemed not to notice or feel any of these things. He just peered into the orb, continuing to pour his magic forth. Even as the chamber shook, as the burst of lights increased in size and heat, and the room was torn apart, Piyus just pounded away at whatever was fighting his magic, determined to break through no matter the cost.

"It's too much!" Druzeel shouted over the wind, his voice thick with concern and fear. "You must stop!"

"Reveal to me!" the man just shouted, ignoring Druzeel's words. He sent a final surge of magic at the orb, his strongest since beginning. The crystal, and whatever was fighting him, absorbed the energy and the hum coming from the orb increased tenfold. It vibrated the entire room, tipping piles of books and sending the hundreds of tomes on the shelves crashing to the floor. As the seconds flew by, the tempo only increased.

Druzeel ducked, thinking that the explosion he was expecting was about to happen. He knew a simple railing would not save him but his instincts told him to take covered behind whatever he could find. Piyus just took a single step back, his eyes never leaving the blackness before him.

Suddenly, there was a loud pop as all of Piyus's wards went off. Sparks and small explosions filled the air, some of them catching books and parchment on fire. Druzeel rolled away as the small pile of books he hid behind burst into flames. He jumped to his feet and tried to put out the flames, but his attention soon turned to the center of the room as a tremendous crack filled the air.

The wind, humming, and shaking suddenly stopped. The only noise was the crackling of flames and the sound of parchment falling to the floor. Piyus and Druzeel stood frozen in shock, their eyes on the crystal sphere, which now had a large crack splitting its surface. Gone was the glow and lighting, but also missing were the silver and blue clouds that Druzeel had seen when first laying eyes of the artifact. The only thing in the center of the orb was a flat, gray mist and even that was slowly fading away. The sphere was now just a normal, broken piece of crystal, its magic completely gone.

"Well," Piyus said as if he had just broken a simple wine glass, "that was interesting."

Druzeel stared at the man in amazement for many moments, but soon turned his attention to the small bonfire in front of him. Tiny fires burned all throughout the room and if not doused, they would quickly spread.

"My lord," he pleaded, looking to Piyus, "the flames."

"Huh?" Piyus said, finally tearing his gaze from the orb. He looked around the room, his face going from intrigue to surprise. It was as if he was just noticing the destruction around him. "Oh, dear."

With a few waves of his hands, the fires slowly died. All that remained were a few columns of black smoke. The mess remained but he did not seem too concerned. When the flames were gone, he turned back to face the orb, curiosity returning to his face. He also started to tug on his beard.

"I'm sorry about your orb," Druzeel said, walking up next to the man.

"Yes," Piyus said, not really hearing him. His eyes were wide as he stared down at his broken sphere.

"Piyus?" Druzeel said, reaching to touch the man. "Are you all right?" As soon as he placed his hand on the archmage's shoulder, Piyus threw his hands up and shouted.

"Interesting indeed!" he exclaimed in merriment. The suddenly expressive movement startled Druzeel and he stumbled back, unsure of what to expect. "Yes, very interesting. I've never quite had an experience like it. How about you?" he asked, his eyes drifting to Druzeel, who wore a confused expression.

"Are...Are you all right?" he asked again.

"Fine," Piyus said, turning from the orb, searching the piles at his feet for something. "Yes, fine, fine."

"I'm...sorry about the orb," Druzeel repeated, unsure of what to do next. Piyus appeared not to care. He just rummaged through a pile of books, finally coming up with a large tome, the same one he had looked through before he started looking for the assassin.

"What?" he asked, looking up from his book. "Oh, yes, well, not to worry. I have dozens." He looked back at the ancient pages.

"What happened?" Druzeel asked, wanting to know what that was he saw within the orb. He knew it was not just some simple ward the assassin had used to defend against Piyus's scrying magic. It was something else entirely, some type of unknown power that he had never seen before.

"I'm not entirely sure," Piyus said, still not looking up from his tome. "Something powerful, something very evil is protecting your thief. I have never felt a presence like it."

"Presence?"

"Yes," Piyus answered. "Whatever this was, it was sentient and did not appreciate me trying to pry. Instead of fighting me with its own magic, it sent my spells back at me, perverted them in some way as to make them hostile. Quite brilliant, actually. If not for my wards, I daresay you and I would be just a few red stains in the middle of a crater that was my home."

Druzeel visibly paled at the archmage's words. He did not like the vision that suddenly popped into his head. The fact that Piyus seemed delighted by what happened only made it worse.

Who in the hells was the assassin working for? Druzeel asked himself. How had he come by such potent magic?

"So what happens now?" he soon asked, after gathering his thoughts.

"Now?" Piyus asked, looking up from his tome. "Now I have work to do. I want to find out what that was and exactly how it did what it did. It is not every day that you have an encounter with this type of power."

"I meant about the assassin," Druzeel said. "And the staff."

"Forget about them," Piyus said, waving his hand around, as if they no longer mattered. "This is far more exciting!"

"I can't just forget about them," Druzeel exclaimed, his voice thick with annoyance and rising anger. Piyus seemed to have forgotten all about the reason for Druzeel coming to him. No, he had not forgotten, the young wizard told himself. He just didn't care anymore and that was unacceptable. He and Graeak needed his help.

"Graeak is depending on me and the others on finding the assassin, bringing him to justice, and returning the staff," Druzeel argued. "He put his trust in me and I will not stop until I have found the thief. I can't let him down, I can't let myself down. I have to show him I can do this."

For the first time since Druzeel had been in the tower, Piyus looked at him, really looked at him as if understanding his feelings. For a moment, his gaze drifted away from Druzeel, as if he was remembering something. His eyes softened and his expression showed compassion. He walked over and gently set down the large book he was holding. Then he walked back to Druzeel and set his hand on his shoulder. He took a deep breath.

"For the time being, I have done all that I can. This power blocking my magic is unique and I simply do not know enough about it to combat it properly. I will do my best to learn more and break through, but like all magical research, as I am sure you know, this can take much longer then we both desire. Until that time, I suggest you return to your friends and see what they have uncovered. If I happen to uncover anything that will be of use to you, I shall contact you immediately. You have my word."

Druzeel's anger quickly melted away, but it was replaced with disappointment. He was not disappointed with Piyus for the man had truly done all he could. He was dismayed that they had found out nothing about the thief, except that he had powerful magic at his disposal, something they already knew. The fact that Piyus heard his pleas and understood his feelings helped him to cope with the new feeling of frustration and it renewed Druzeel's respect of the man. The archmage really was just as outlandish as all the rumors said he was, and his changes in behavior were no exception.

"Thank you," Druzeel said. "I appreciate your help and any aid you may provide in the future. Would you like some help cleaning up?" he asked, willing to help put the room back together. After all, the chamber was so disheveled because of his request.

"No," Piyus responded with care. "Thank you. This little mess will hardly take a few minutes to organize. Return to your companions and find this assassin. Remember, Graeak is counting on you."

Druzeel offered a smile and nod. He turned to go but suddenly realized that he had no idea where in the dome he was or how to get out.

"Um..." he said, "how do I get out of here?"

* * * * *

After Piyus had seen Druzeel from his home, he returned to his ruined spell chamber and looked over the mess that was left behind. He recited a few words of power and waved his hands through the air. As the spell took shape and the magic spread throughout the room, the scattered pieces of parchment, fallen books, overturned furniture, and every other spec of debris started to move. Piyus continued to cast his spell, directing the contents of the room back to where they belong. The only things that did not move were the items that were destroyed by the small fires that had broken out. The remains of those items simply disappeared, transporting to a garbage heap somewhere inside the dome. In a handful of minutes, the room was cleaned and organized, even more so than it was when Druzeel first arrived. In truth, Piyus had been meaning to clean the room for some time. He just never got around to it. The magical backlash was just what he needed to finally do what had to be done.

When the room was clean, Piyus walked up to the cracked orb. With a simple wave of his hand, the sphere disappeared, leaving behind an empty stand. He waved his hand again, sending magic through his home, and in seconds, another orb appeared on the stand. This one was a little smaller than the last and instead of blue and silver, clouds of purple and gold swirled inside.

For many moments, Piyus stood in front of the orb, tugging on his beard, deep in thought. He thought about Druzeel's strange assassin, the staff he apparently stole, and the power that was shielding him. Whatever it was, it was extremely strong and its mentality was that of pure evil and vileness. Piyus didn't think it was the assassin himself for any being composed of that much wickedness would hardly be able to walk around the city without a hundred people noticing. No, whatever this was was trying to stay hidden, and keep the assassin in the shadows as well. Whatever it was, Piyus knew one thing: it was hiding more than just a simple magical staff.

Deciding he wanted to know exactly what he was trying to find, Piyus waved his hands over the orb. The purple and gold mist responded to his magic and swirled around and around.

"Find my old friend," Piyus said. "Wherever he may be."

The words sent the clouds inside spinning. The magic coursed into the sphere and sent it flying across the land, searching for a particular wizard. Piyus knew that Graeak would have wards and spells on him that prevented people from spying on him, but the two old friends had long ago cast wards that allowed either of them to find each other no matter where they were or what magic guarded them. Now, the time it took to locate the person was a different matter entirely. Piyus knew he could be waiting for many minutes, possibly hours or days, depending on what his friend was doing. After only a half hour, Graeak's wrinkled face appeared within the orb.

"Piyus?" Graeak asked, apparently surprised to see his old friend.

"Hello," Piyus responded. "By the gods, Graeak! You look terrible." Piyus didn't mean that his friend looked ill, he just looked old, much older than the eccentric archmage would have thought, but it had been many years since he had last seen him.

"Thank you, Piyus," Graeak responded in a flat voice. "I can always count on your honesty, however brutal it may be."

"I just had the pleasure of meeting your prized pupil," Piyus said.

"I know," the old archmage replied.

"Do you?" Piyus said with raised eyebrows.

"I've been keeping my eye on him from time to time. When he disappeared from my sight, I figured he was in your spherical domicile."

"An interesting boy and one with potential. I can see why you have been keeping him tucked away in your tower. There is scarcely a wizard that would love to have such a student to teach."

"Druzeel is a wonderful student," Graeak responded with a smile, "and will become an even better man. You didn't frighten him too much, did you?"

"I don't think it was me that frightened him," Piyus said. When Graeak gave his friend a look of confusion, Piyus explained what Druzeel asked him to do and the disaster that resulted. As he recounted what happened, Piyus saw Graeak's smile disappear. In its place came a look of grave concern. The delight that Piyus had been feeling about discovering something with such power slowly faded, replaced with something mimicking the look on his friend's face.

"I should have contacted you sooner," Graeak said with sorrow, "but I am not as strong or quick witted as I used to be."

"What is it?" Piyus asked, truly concerned. "What is it you're looking for? Druzeel's quest is for more than just locating an assassin and the staff he stole, isn't it?"

"More than you know," Graeak replied. Piyus listened intently as his old friend started to explain.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 16

As Druzeel slowly made his way down the street, getting further away from Piyus and his strangely wonderful home, he found himself at a loss. Piyus had been a huge opportunity for him to prove to the others that he wasn't worthless, that he could actually contribute something substantial to the group. He had hoped to be returning to Brask and the others with the location of the assassin, with names and places of where they could capture him. Instead, he was returning just as he had left: with nothing. But it was not a complete loss. The archmage had now taken an interest in the assassin and the magic behind him. If Druzeel believed only half the tales Graeak had told him of his eccentric friend, Piyus would never stop searching for answers until he found them. Unfortunately, that could take longer than Druzeel and the others had, but he could always hope that Piyus would stumble upon something soon and contact him. It wasn't much, but it was something. At least he could tell the others that he enlisted the help of a powerful archmage. That should impress them, but knowing Brask, Druzeel doubted it.

The thought that he was probably in for another berating was a little troubling, but not nearly as troubling as watching Piyus fail. Piyus was a powerful practitioner of magic, an archmage with spells at his disposal that would amaze even the most accomplished of wizards, and he had failed to break through the assassin's wards. If someone as powerful and strong in magic as Piyus the Magnificent could not locate the assassin, what chance did they have? And if they did find the man, how could they possibly capture someone with such power? Druzeel did not like Brask, but his exploits and success spoke to the man's skills and those of his companions, but even they had their limits. Could they hope to triumph over someone that had swindled two archmages?

Questions and concerns continued to grow in his mind as he made his way through the city. Was this assassin as powerful as he seemed or was it the one he worked for that really held the strength? Druzeel knew that the weakest of men could seem powerful with the right artifact or spell. He had seen firsthand the wonder and might a powerful wand can bring to a novice wizard's hands. On his first day under Graeak's tutelage, he had given him a wand that had spit out a rainbow of colors, colors that could freeze a man solid or dissolve a wall of stone. It was amazing to wield such a weapon, but it was clearly too powerful for a first year student. Graeak told him, told all his students in fact, that if they worked hard, studied and did as instructed, that one day they would eventually be able to use such magic, even without the wand. That promise was usually more than enough to light a fire under the up and coming wizards.

Can we even hope to take this man down? Druzeel asked himself, referring to the assassin. Are they even strong enough to do it? He was the only magic user in the group, besides Jannda, but her magic was completely different and Druzeel couldn't see the thief falling to a few songs or mystical music. Brask and the others were well equipped, but based on what he had seen of the assassin, just the few seconds that he had faced the man, he didn't think it would be enough. They needed more.

Druzeel looked up from his horse, never even realizing that he hadn't been paying attention to the road in front of him. After taking a quick look around, he realized that he had no idea where he was. He had been so engrossed with his thoughts, that his horse, with no one to lead it, had gone wherever it pleased. It appeared his horse had just walked straight, moving deeper into the city.

Though still busy, the crowds had noticeably thinned as night wore on. Druzeel looked to the sky, calculating that he had about an hour before his intended meeting with the others. He wasn't looking forward to the meeting but at least he could tell them that he had attempted to find the thief and still had Piyus looking for him. He wanted to do more, to try to find another way to help with the quest, but Piyus had been his only option. Well, Druzeel suddenly thought, not the only option.

He slowly motioned his horse to the side of the road and glanced around to make sure no one was watching. When he was alone, he took out the ring Graeak had given him and slipped it on his finger. He had not wanted to bother his mentor for he really wanted to show him that he could handle this on his own, but Graeak knew Pelartis better than he did and his mentor may know someone else that he could talk to before his meeting. Druzeel desperately wanted to have something else to give to his companions and he had run out of options.

He turned the ring three times and waited until Graeak came into view. Usually it took a few moments for his mentor to appear so when nothing happened for the first few seconds, Druzeel thought nothing of it, but when another thirty seconds passed, the young wizard started to become a little worried. After an entire minute, it became clear that Graeak was not going to appear within the blue gemstone.

A pang of fear coursed through Druzeel as he sat staring into the sapphire emptiness. Where was Graeak? Had something happened to him? Had something happened to Atlurul? Detrimental thoughts quickly coursed through Druzeel's mind. He immediately saw his mentor's body lying on his bed, his heart having finally failed. The image swirled and he pictured the assassin, having returned to tie up loose ends, ramming his dagger into his mentor over and over again, spilling his blood all over the tower's floor. Druzeel tried to shut out those offal visions but couldn't help himself. He didn't usually see the bad when confronted with an unknown situation, but with Graeak, who was growing older every day and with the assassin eluding them at every turn, it was hard to think of anything else. Surely, I would know if he was dead, Druzeel said to himself.

Confident that he would know if Graeak had passed, he closed his eyes and took a series of deep breaths. When his nerves calmed and the visions in his head cleared, he looked back at the ring. The ring is not absolute, he told himself. Graeak is an important person in Atlurul and there were many reasons why he would not be able to answer a call. Just to make himself feel better, Druzeel mentally counted ten reasons why his mentor may not answer his call, none of them involving death or pain.

With his mind clear and the fear gone from his body, Druzeel took off the ring and tucked it away. He would try contacting Graeak again after he spoke with the others, only if they had not found anything that led to the assassin or another lead. If they had something to go on then, he would not have to worry about bothering his teacher.

Druzeel looked to the sky then turned back to the road in front of him. He pictured Dex in his mind and cast a quick spell. In less than two seconds, he felt the magic pulling him further into the city. The light throb he felt in his mind told him that Dex was somewhere ahead of him, about a half hour away. As he neared the fighter, the pull and magical beat would get stronger until he found him. Hopefully, Jannda was still with him.

It appeared the pair had gone somewhere close by. Druzeel was happy that he would meet them before the appointed time for it would be much easier to explain to them what he had found without Brask adding any comments. He just hoped Dex and Jannda didn't hold any harsh feelings after his outburst. He felt bad by what he had said and realized Dex had just wanted to help. Personally, Druzeel just wanted to put it all behind him. They had more important things to worry about.

With a quick kick, Druzeel motioned his horse back into the street and towards the two Knights. He had been so impatient to get back on the road that he almost ran over a pair of men walking by him.

His horse bumped into them, throwing one man to the ground and the other grasping for his saddle. He managed to grab hold of Druzeel's robes instead of the saddle, almost pulling the young wizard over. The horse quickly stopped and took a step back, taking the man with it, whose legs were now dangling a few inches from the ground.

"Hey!" the man who was now clutching Druzeel's robes shouted.

"My apologies," Druzeel blurted out, leaning over to catch the man. He grabbed his arm and gently helped lower him to the ground. "Are you all right?"

"Watch where you're going!" the man said, helping his friend from the ground. The two were dressed in simple blue cloaks and dark gray clothing. Druzeel thought it an odd dress for this part of the city, but their clothing wasn't his concern. He just worried that he had hurt them.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Are you hurt? Do you need me to–"

"We don't need anything," the man on the right said, his voice full of annoyance. "Just watch it."

With that, the two walked off, dusting off their arms, leaving Druzeel in the street, watching them go. The young wizard only shook his head, trying to shake some sense into his mind. Pay attention, he told himself. You'll get there. He urged his mount forward once again, this time a little more aware of where he was going.

Because Druzeel was now concentrating on the road in front of him, he never saw the Pillars following him, or the two men that had bumped into him. He also never noticed that after the guards had passed the two men, one of them flipped a dagger into the air, a dagger that just moments ago had been sitting in one of the sheaths on Druzeel's belt. The man caught it and smiled maliciously. Then he and his companion disappeared into the darkness of a nearby alley.

* * * * *

After his conversation with Graeak, Piyus had spent the next half hour gathering books and tomes, searching for information on the Orb of Decay. At first, he found it more than a little odd that his old friend would send his apprentice and a handful of mercenaries after the artifact and not go after it himself, but after speaking with Graeak and seeing the man for himself, Piyus realized how true Druzeel's words had been. The man was getting old and the years of magical powders, potions, and spells was not helping the process. In fact, it was only speeding Graeak's inevitable demise for the youthful magic that he had used over the years was rapidly fading, far faster than either man had thought. Graeak still had a few years left, but Piyus knew his friend's final days would not be pleasant, filled with pain and the troubles of old age. He hid his discomfort well but Piyus quickly saw through the facade.

"I tell you this now," Graeak had said after telling his friend about what Brask and the others were really searching for, "to make sure that if Druzeel and the others fail, the orb will not be forgotten. You are the only other person I trust with this information, Piyus. If you are able, please see what you can do to help Druzeel succeed. It must be found and destroyed, if that is even possible. If not, it must be kept from the world. Forever."

The plea from his old friend hit Piyus hard for he had never heard the man speak with such concern and uncertainty. There were only a few times the archmage could remember when Graeak had seemed frightened and those were times he would like to forget. Men like them did not scare easily, but when they did, it was important to take note for something unpleasant was sure to follow. Another detail that for some reason unnerved Piyus was that Graeak did not want Druzeel knowing about the orb.

"He is young and still growing," the aging archmage had said. "The orb can have a powerful influence on a still developing mind and though I am confident he can resist its pull, I do not wish to take that chance."

Piyus could understand his friend's fears for even though Druzeel was indeed strong with magic, he seemed a little too easily led. That was apparent by the way he spoke of his companions. Piyus heard the need in his voice as he spoke about the assassin and wanting to find him. He knew the young wizard truly wanted to capture the assassin for his teacher and bring the man to justice, but he also knew he wanted to feel needed by his traveling companions. He wanted to belong and be looked upon as a valuable asset to the group. At first, Piyus thought that was rather silly for a wizard should not care about what others think of them, only what they themselves think of them, but he remembered when he was a young, naive lad and could understand Druzeel's feelings. He kept the young man and those feelings in mind well after his talk with Graeak had come to an end.

After Piyus gave his word that he would help Druzeel, Graeak's face faded from his crystal ball and left the man in silence. For many moments after their meeting, Piyus had stood in quiet shock. The sight of his old friend had unnerved him more than he cared to admit for, over the years, he had used the same spells and magic to keep himself from aging. To know what his future held was not something he enjoyed knowing. With great caution and careful planning, Piyus knew he could avoid such a fate, but time would catch him eventually. As he had told Druzeel, it had a habit of doing such things.

That short conversation with Graeak had brought back a few unwelcomed memories to Piyus, memories from a phase in his life when he had become obsessed with delaying his demise. That period of his life was brief, but it was a time he would remember forever for he had contemplated becoming a lich, for that seemed the only way to become immortal. But it carried a heavy price. To become such a monster, one would have to forsake the pleasures of the flesh, forever, and embrace undeath until the end of time. During his studies and journeys to uncover the knowledge necessary to become such a creature, Piyus had seen and almost done some very bad things. Those life experiences had served to turn him away from such foolishness and embrace his mortality. His talk with Graeak and seeing him so feeble and flimsy made Piyus think about his life once again. For a wizard as eccentric and unorthodox as himself, those types of memories and fear of dying were dangerous thoughts, but he quickly banished them from his mind. He had closed that chapter in his life and wanted nothing more to do with it.

Piyus took a few moments after those disturbing visions had been tucked away and cleared his thoughts. He pushed away the memories of his youth and the image of himself as a lich and concentrated on helping his friend. That was what mattered now. That was what he must focus on.

It wasn't easy to concentrate after seeing Graeak as he was, but Piyus was an archmage and knew how to focus his mind. He immediately ran around his library, gathering books where he may find information on the orb and other artifacts with similar qualities. According to Graeak, there was no magical item that could come close to the evil and power of the Orb of Decay, but Piyus still took the time to research similar magical artifacts, hoping to find something to shed light on exactly what he was dealing with. In all his years, even with his vast knowledge of magic and spells, he had never heard of the orb until know. It amazed him that such a creation could stay hidden from the world for so long, could actually stay hidden from him for all these years. That thought and the fear on Graeak's face when speaking of it made Piyus move with haste, impatient to uncover the orb's hiding place and get it back from the person that had stolen it, an assassin that no doubt had nothing but evil intentions.

After scanning through one of his oldest tomes, Piyus walked to his crystal orb and waved his hand over the surface. The purple and gold mist inside the sphere danced and swirled in response. He prepared himself to contact several large libraries scattered throughout the land, to search their collections to see if they held the knowledge he sought, but before he could begin, a light shiver ran down his spine. The sensation told him that many of the wards he had placed around his home had just been triggered.

Piyus uttered a quick word and the clouds inside his orb parted, showing him the outside of his home, the area where the wards had gone off. He saw one of the many entrances to his home, entrances only he should have been able to activate, was wide open. Crawling into the opening were a dozen blurry blobs of black. At first, Piyus thought there was something wrong with the orb, but quickly felt the magic cloaking the figures breaking into his home. Whoever they were, they were cloaked in some type of spell to hide their true forms.

"I do so hate uninvited guests," Piyus said, twisting his hand to follow the forms as they entered his home and ran down the hallway.

While still keeping his eye on the dozen or so forms moving through his home, apparently heading right toward his casting chamber, he voiced the words to a spell and sent his thoughts racing through the dome. In less than a few seconds, he felt his magic connect him to the minds of his apprentices and the others that worked in The Eye of All Things.

"Some thieves have decided to visit us," he said out loud, knowing his words would be heard in the minds he had connected to. "Hide yourselves and worry not. I shall deal with them. Oh, and Delrimar, do not forget about your test tomorrow."

Confident his pupils and staff would listen to his words, Piyus let the magic fade and looked back to the orb. It definitely appeared the thieves were heading straight for him, which told him they knew where they were going. He briefly wondered how exactly they knew the layout of his home but quickly pushed the irrelevant thoughts to the back of him mind. How they knew did not matter. What mattered is they had the audacity to break into his home.

Normally, Piyus would have cast a spell and activated hundreds of wards and traps placed around his house. Just the handful that the thieves were running towards would have been more than adequate to erase them from his hallways, and existence for that matter, but it had been some time since Piyus had been engaged in battle and he found himself wanting to exercise his mind and spells once again. His meeting with Graeak had him wanting to feel young again and what better way to work his muscles than to engage in a brief skirmish with a few rogues.

To make sure his students did not become overly concerned, Piyus cast a series of spells that would prevent sound and vibration from moving to other parts of The Eye. He wanted complete isolation for he had some nasty things planned for the thieves, magic that would defiantly be felt without the shields. A couple of those spells also protected the items in the room from being damaged should fire, lightning, acid, or other forms of magic be used. After he was done, he cast a handful of other spells on himself, various protections that any wizard would wear before going to battle, no matter how simple the forthcoming confrontation appeared. When he finished with those protections, he cast a spell that made a double of himself, and positioned the fake Piyus next to the orb, facing the swirling clouds. Then he cast a final spell, invisibility, and faded from sight. He stood just a few feet from the orb, patiently waiting for his guests to arrive. The wait was not long.

A doorway at the back of the room opened, up on the second level. A man dressed in all black leathers slowly and silently entered. His footfalls made not a sound as he snuck into the room. Piyus was actually impressed. There wasn't even the faintest noise or shift of air as the man moved. Even the loose pieces of parchment he passed never gave any indication that the thief was sneaking by. It was as if the man wasn't even there. Piyus knew it was much more than skill disguising the thief's movements. Besides cloaking magic, the thieves also appeared to be covered in spells of silence.

Following on the first man's heels was another figure, similarly dressed and making no noise at all. As he cleared the doorway another one entered, followed by ten more, each wielding daggers and shortswords. Soon, twelve assassins were slowly spreading out around the room, their eyes never leaving the back of the fake Piyus that hovered over the crystal ball, seemingly oblivious to the danger behind him. Piyus had to hold back a chuckle as he watched them move around the room, some boldly walking down the stairs, stopping within only a few yards of his magical double's back.

Piyus made his magical creature turn around suddenly, looking at the thieves with a shocked expression. He was next going to have it shout in outrage but before he sent the commands, twelve daggers had flown through the air and slammed into his double's chest.

Instead of dispelling the double, Piyus made it act as if it was in horrendous pain, slowly succumbing to mortal wounds. As the daggers hit, the fake archmage fell back, falling into the orb. Blood seeped from the wounds and fell to the floor. The double slowly slid down to the ground, staring at its chest in surprise. Then it died, its arms falling limp at its sides. The twelve thieves stood up straight, acting if what they had just done was not possible. Surely, it should have been much harder to sneak up and kill one of the city's most powerful wizards.

It was then that the real Piyus motioned to the doorway the assassins had entered through. The door slammed shut, sealing them inside. Every thief spun around, facing the door, another dagger in hand, expecting their assailant to be standing behind them. Instead, they found empty stairs. Their surprise lasted only a few moments longer, when Piyus's voice filled the chamber. They looked around in surprise, trying to pinpoint where the noise was coming from. Then the first spell ripped through them.

A blast of lightning exploded from Piyus's raised hands. The bolt slammed into the closest assassin, lifting him from his feet and throwing him towards the back wall. Just before he hit, an arc of lightning erupted from the man's back and jumped to the thief standing closest to his flying body. The impact on the second thief had a similar effect though less powerful. It threw the man back. He hit the ground and slid almost ten feet before coming to a stop, but before he stopped, another bolt came from him and jumped to a third assassin. This man fell back, screaming in pain. The jolt was not as bad as his companion's was, but the electrical shock made his mouth clamp shut in pain. As he shook, another arc leaped from his body, hitting yet another thief.

The chain lighting jumped eight more times, each slamming into an assassin and bringing a yelp of pain. Many of them tried to jump for cover, behind a stack of books or piece of furniture, but Piyus had long ago altered this spell to follow his targets. The lightning jumped around corners and curved around stacks of books, determined to make contact. Though each successful hit was less damaging then the last, the impact of the final few bolts still made the men scream out in agony.

"You have all made a grave mistake!" Piyus yelled, dismissing his invisibility and showing himself to the thieves, who were all still writhing in pain. He had cast a spell to amplify his voice. As he spoke, it echoed like thunder throughout the room. "You have broken into the home of Piyus the Magnificent! Submit now and you shall have my mercy. Refuse and the pain you shall soon receive will make even your mothers weep in distress."

In response, seven of the assassins sent their daggers sailing through the air. Piyus could sense the magic within each one but he stayed where he was, never once attempting to avoid the shiny missiles. When they came within an inch of contact, they bounced off one of his shields and clattered harmlessly to the floor.

"All right then," Piyus said, understanding their answer. He started casting another spell. The assassins that had managed to get to their feet rushed forward intent on stopping him, but they never got close.

Piyus finished and thrust his hand in the air. A great clap of thunder suddenly filled the room, shaking the bookcases and causing every piece of furniture to jump. Books fell from their shelves, tomes crashed to the floor, and the stones rattled in protest. A glass vase sitting on a small table on the third level shattered, spraying water and flowers across the floor. Even his crystal ball shook, threatening to crack. If not for the magical properties of the item, it surely would have shattered like the vase.

If not for his sphere of silence and motionlessness that surrounded the chamber, everyone in the building would have fallen to the ground, clasping the side of their head. Instead, only the twelve thieves dropped, clutching their ears in agony. They screamed and groaned, rolling around on the floor, trying to regain their hearing. Many of them pulled their hands away bloody, which made them cry out even louder. As they tried their best to recover from the awesome spell, Piyus took the time to cast a series of spells. He could have finished off the men right then, but he was having too much fun. The magic he called forth now was meant to add to that entertainment.

The first spell called forth a longsword made of glowing blue light. It appeared out of nowhere, hovering in the air just a few inches in front of Piyus's right side. It bobbed up and down, held aloft by nothing but air. The second spell caused a large green hand, about the size of a small table, to shimmer into existence on the archmage's right side. Like the sword, it floated in the air, waiting for its master's command.

Piyus's third spell opened up a doorway to one of the elemental planes. The archmage sent his will into the otherworldly dimension and called forth one of the planes inhabitants. Unable to resist such a powerful will, the monster of dirt and stone answered and took shape directly in front of its summoner. The earth elemental, no larger than a dwarf, quickly took form in the spell chamber and waited for instructions.

"Keep them busy for a while," Piyus said. He waved his hands at the handful of thieves in front of him. All three of Piyus's magical tools moved forward, directly at the thieves, many of which had finally regained their footing.

The sword attacked two of the assassins, swinging through the air as if it was being wielded by an expert swordsman. It moved so quickly that the thieves had to go on defense to avoid being sliced to ribbons. The hand flew through the air to levitate right in front of another thief. It did not attack or make any threatening moves. It just sat in the air blocking the man's way. The thief, seeing no reason to attack the disembodied hand, tried to move around it, but as he moved, it moved with him, stopping him in his tracks. He tried to push through but the hand was as solid and as heavy as stone and kept him from advancing. Thoroughly frustrated, the thief starting hacking at the hand. His blade made a tiny gash on one of the hand's fingers but did nothing to impede its attempt to block his passage. Now angry, the thief just swung, determined to cut it down.

The earth elemental thundered across the ground, charging two of the thieves just gaining their footing. As it neared, it swung one of its club-like arms, determined to bash the man's chest in, but the thief stumbled to the side, avoiding the attack. Seeing an opening, the other thief swung, but his sword missed the soft dirt that made up the elemental's body and banged off a piece of rock. The elemental just let loose what would be described as a growl and continued to hound the men.

Piyus almost giggled in glee as he watched his spells take on five of the assassins. The other seven, six of which were just now regaining their composure, stood on the second level. Since one of them seemed a bit more winded than the other, he focused his next spell on that man.

He opened his mind to the mystical energies that filled the room. The magic flowed into him as he started the spell and wove his hands through the air. More daggers sped at him, but as before, they fell away without leaving so much as a scratch. Two of the assassins cursed and ran for the stairs, hoping to come down and flank the wizard. The other four jumped from the balcony, falling to the first floor, no longer content with their ranged attacks. Just as they landed, Piyus's spell went off.

The air around the injured thief shimmered. The man looked around in dread, thinking his doom had finally come, but as the seconds went by, the shimmering faded, leaving him unharmed. No fire fell upon him and no spell of death claimed him. He appeared completely unharmed, so he got to his feet, picked up his weapons, and went to join his companions, thinking the archmage's spell had failed. He hadn't taken two steps before he hit a wall.

There was no visible barrier stopping him, but the wizard had obviously raised some kind of wall to stop him. He lifted his hands and felt that there was indeed something in front of him, something very solid and seemingly thick. He felt around, trying to find a way around, but as he continued to try to find an exit, he found himself walking in a circle. To his horror, he found that the wizard had incased him in some type of invisible cage. He was trapped!

"Don't go anywhere," Piyus said, looking in the trapped thief's direction. "I've got some questions for you after I deal with your companions." Piyus wanted to keep at least one of the thieves alive for he wanted to find out who they were, who they worked for, and exactly what they hoped to accomplish coming to his home. He surmised it must have something to do with Druzeel and his quest for the orb for their presence was too much of a coincidence. He hoped that what he learned would help Graeak and his favorite student.

But the questions would have to wait for later. The six assassins that were left were coming at him, blades poised for the kill. They were only a few feet away but Piyus was able to finish another spell right when they reached him.

Three daggers and four swords found Piyus's body, but just like the thrown daggers before, the blades failed to break through his protective wards. The magic wouldn't protect him forever, but he was confident it would last long enough to deal with the men surrounding him.

Just as the swords connected, a yellow haze suddenly came into being around Piyus's body. To anyone looking, it appeared that an amber cloud of dust had fallen over the archmage, but unseen by any except those closest to him, the cloud was filled with tiny green and brown spores that immediately coated the thieves around Piyus. As the thieves leaned back for another strike, they growled and shouted in anger. That sharp intake of breath allowed Piyus's spell to do its work.

The air that filled their lungs carried the spores that surrounded their target. As the dust coated their tongues and made its way down the thieves' throats, the men instantly started to cough and hack violently. Their arms dropped and they stepped away, struggling to regain their breath. Two men dropped to their knees, clutching their throats in pain. Another banged on his chest, trying to drive the pain from his body. The other three just staggered away, spitting and coughing, doing whatever they could to break the spell's hold on their lungs.

"Marvelous!" Piyus exclaimed, taking a few steps away from the struggling men. He moved away without so much as a sword barring his path. All twelve thieves were occupied, unable to do anything but defend themselves, try to break free from a cage, or hack up the painful spores that attacked them. In less than the time it took to rise out of bed, Piyus has disabled every one of his attackers, and he hadn't so much as a scratch from any of them.

"I give you one more chance," Piyus said, his voice booming across the room. "Surrender now and I–"

Piyus's words were cut off as the ground exploded at his feet. One moment he was waving his hands, shouting for the assassins to surrender, and the next he was flying through the air. The sudden attack caught him by surprise. He tried to voice a spell to slow his flight, but the words were lost to him.

He slammed into a pile of stacked books and a table, toppling both. The books scattered across the ground and the table crumbled under his weight. When he hit the ground, his shields flashed, taking the brunt of the impact. If not for the wards he had cast, the impact would have probably broken his shoulder. Instead, he just felt the force of the stop and a slight pressure all over his body. After he hit, he rolled, knowing exactly what to do to recover from such a fall. When he finally came to a stop, he looked to exactly where the attack had come from.

The assassin he had encased in the cage of force had somehow gotten free. Already, he was rearing back, preparing to throw something at the prone wizard. Piyus took a quick glance back to where he had been standing and saw that the ground was scorched. Whatever the assassin had used was explosive and had turned the stone black. Piyus's protective wards were great for stopping attacks directed at his body but did nothing to prevent area attacks from affecting him. The thief obviously figured that out.

The thief's arm came forward and he released a small round bead, about the size of a coin. Piyus immediately recognized it as a force bead, a magical item imbued with an explosive force, which was very effective at eliminating unwanted enemies. Upon contact, the bead would explode, damaging anything within a ten-foot diameter of the explosion.

Without getting to his feet, Piyus threw out his hand and spat out a spell. The magic formed around his hand and raced towards the bead. It wrapped around the small item and stopped it in mid-flight. The assassin let out a curse as Piyus threw his other hand out and the bead sped back to the man who had thrown it. He dove for cover just as the bead hit the ground near him, filling the area with a loud explosion. The assassin managed to avoid the brunt of the blast but the force sent him twirling through the air and into a padded chair. When he hit, the chair tipped over, spilling him to the floor.

"Didn't I tell you stay put?" Piyus said, casting another spell.

He brought forth the magic and thrust his hands towards the assassin's feet. The man had just regained his footing and he went to jump away once more, to avoid whatever the archmage was going to throw at him, but found himself unable to move. The stone beneath his feet had turned into a syrupy mud and his feet had already sunk in well past the ankle. He tried to pull free but that only made him sink faster. After a few more seconds, the mud was up to his knees. Amused at his struggle, Piyus spat the words to the counter spell and the mud suddenly solidified, turning back into rocky ground. The thief let out a gasp of anger and surprise as he realized he was once again trapped.

"That's better," Piyus said. He was about to cast another spell to make sure the thief could not bring any more surprises to the battle, but as he raised his hand, something hit him in the side and threw him back. There was no pain or discomfort so whatever had hit him had obviously failed, but when he went to lift his arm, to cast a spell at his newest attacker, he found that he couldn't.

Piyus looked down and found his body covered it green goo. The stuff stuck to him like a web and refused to let him move his hands. He looked up in anger and saw five thieves turned in his direction. The two that had been battling his conjured sword had somehow destroyed it and were holding wands in his direction. Two more that had been hit with his spore spell seemed to have recovered and were holding scrolls and beginning the words to spells. The fifth thief, one of the men that had been fighting the earth elemental, managed to break away from the battle. The scroll in his hands was just turning to dust as Piyus's gaze fell upon him. He was obviously the one that had cast the spell that had entrapped him.

"Hit him now!" the assassin shouted. Piyus's eyes widened as the four thieves let loose their magic.

A bolt of lighting flashed from one of the raised wands and slammed into Piyus. The blast sent him staggering backwards, but brought no pain. His wards flashed and absorbed the spell. Luckily, his legs were still free, otherwise he would have fallen to the floor. Unfortunately, his arms and hands were still bound so he could not cast spells. As the electricity coursed through him, he fought to free himself but the stuff binding him would not yield.

A hot blast of sand hit him next, spraying him with the force of a gale wind and causing him to stumble away, even further from the thieves. His wards flashed again, protecting him from harm, but they were beginning to weaken and a few of the grains of sand pelted his arms. Though they brought no pain, he felt the impact, telling him he had to get free and quickly. Even one as powerful as he could only take so much punishment before his magic was overcome.

As the sand continued to assault him, another blast of lightning tore into him. He staggered back, but before he could recover, he saw five bolts of darkness stream toward him. The arrows of shadow dove into him, causing one of his shields to fail completely and a surge of pain coursed through his body. He knew if not for the other wards he had in place, the shadow bolts would have crippled him. Instead, they only made him angry, but before he could turn that anger to strength, to tear free, fire exploded all around him. Another ward flashed, absorbing the flames from the fireball, but it eventually gave way, unable to stand against the constant bombardment of magic. Luckily, the ward died after the flames had already faded.

Two more bolts of lightning, another blast of sand, and a handful of shadow bolts flew his way again. He managed to avoid the dark missiles but dodging those put him in the path of the other spells and they tore through him. His wards sputtered, but held, but they had become so weak that they only absorbed half the energy from the attacks. The other half coursed into him, causing him to shout out in pain.

It had been a long time since Piyus had felt such discomfort and it made him angry. He fought against his green prison, turning his rage against the globe holding him. As it turned out, the magical attacks from the thieves had actually started to loosen the stuff binding him. Finally, he felt a few fingers slip free. Normally, a few fingers would not be enough for a normal wizard to cast his spells, but Piyus was no normal wizard. He had long ago learned to cast spells with but a single digit.

"Enough!" he yelled and spat the words to one of his most powerful spells, a spell he only used in the most dire of situations.

A circle of dark, malicious energy exploded from his body and spread throughout the entire room. The green globe encasing him instantly turned to ash and fell from his body. As the gray pieces floated harmlessly to the floor, the magic hit the thieves, the green hand, and the earth elemental. The hand just disappeared, as if it had never been. The elemental burst into a fountain of rock and earth, which quickly faded from sight. Three of thieves died instantly, their life forces snuffed out in the blink of an eye. They fell to the floor, faces frozen in an expression of shock and horror. The assassin trapped in the floor let out a scream that would shatter glass and clutched his head, fighting against the magic. Four of the others fell to the floor in unbearable pain. The rest managed to stay on their feet, trying to regain their breath from the attack they never saw coming.

Not wanting to give them an opportunity, Piyus cast another powerful spell. He no longer cared about keeping these men alive. He could question their bodies when they were dead. All he wanted now was to be rid of them.

Extreme cold filled the air as he spoke and gathered power to cast his spell. His eyes flashed with white light and his hands burst into a sapphire glow. When the energy filled him to the point of pain, he thrust his hands out and sent a storm of icicle shards streaming through the air.

A handful of the assassins dove for cover, hiding behind anything they could find to escape the blue death flying towards them. Those unlucky enough to not find something to block the shards were cut to pieces as if they were flimsy sheets of parchment. The assassin trapped in the floor, who was still screaming from the last spell, was suddenly silenced as the icicles turned him into a mound of blood. His flesh was torn away in ribbons and the floor behind him was suddenly painted in red. His head and most of his shoulders disappeared under the blast of ice and wind. Two other assassins who were caught in the open were suddenly turned into pincushions. They barely managed a scream before their bodies sprouted hundreds of shards of ice. If not for the tornado of wind that followed the shards, they would have toppled forward. Instead, they fell back, splattering the ground with their blood.

The remaining assassins managed to stay alive, but many of them received painful injuries as a result. Two of the thieves would soon perish if they did not take the time to bind their wounds, but they all knew the archmage wasn't about to give them a reprieve.

Piyus barely let his last spell finish before he began casting once more. This time, his hands took on a green glow as power filled him. Three of the assassins, seeing their target preparing another unpleasant surprise for them, grabbed their crossbows and took aim. The weapons were already loaded with a bolt and just before they fired, each of them spoke a word of power. The tips of each arrow glowed red like fire. Then the men pulled the triggers.

As the bolts flew through the air, Piyus finished his spell. After letting it loose, he twisted to the side, trying to avoid the missiles coming at him. Though confident his shields could turn them away, he saw the red glow surrounding the head of each bolt and decided not to take chances. Unfortunately, the thieves had shot well and he couldn't hope to avoid them all.

He dodged the first one, ducking low. He also managed to avoid the second one though it tore open the clothing on his arm. Luckily, it failed to penetrate his skin, but the third one caught him in the right shoulder. It broke through his wards and slammed into his flesh. Searing pain suddenly erupted down his arm and spread like wild fire up his shoulder and neck. He let loose a painful yell and staggered back, fighting against the pain. Against his better judgment, he grabbed the bolt and tore it out, sending an agonizing jolt through his entire body. Thankfully, the burning stopped.

As Piyus was hit by the bolt, his spell went off. A large green orb appeared in the air above the remaining assassins. In less than a heartbeat, it expanded and burst apart, like a giant bubble being popped by a sword. Unlike an empty bubble though, this one held liquid, a dark green acid that rained down upon the assassins.

One of the men was caught directly underneath the orb and his head was doused with the stuff. He let out a single scream before his head dissolved. His body pitched forward with a sickening splat. Another assassin took a shower of acid right on the chest. He screamed and tried to brush the stuff away but only managed to burn his hands. His terrified screams soon became gasps of bloody breath as the acid ate into his chest and lungs. In a few moments, he pitched over, his life taken by the spell. The other assassins screamed as the acid splashed against their skin and clothing, but they had been a little further away from the center of the spell and managed to survive the shower. They tore away their clothing and succeeding in wiping away the burning liquid. As they recovered, they turned toward the archmage, determined to finish him. They saw his burning eyes and a face filled with rage. Then they watched as he pointed at them and sent a small point of orange light flying in their direction. When the pinpoint of light hit the ground at their feet, the room exploded with fire.

The fireball engulfed all four men, burning away what was left of their clothing and turning their skin into charred flesh. One man was turned into a statue of ash almost instantly. As the flames raged, it blew him to pieces, his body coming apart and mixing in with the dancing flames. The final three managed to withstand the heat of the fireball but two of them had been too badly wounded by the icicle storm. As the flames died away, they fell to the floor, their bodies finally giving up.

"You're the last one," the assassin heard from behind him. When he turned, he met Piyus's face, a face contorted in anger and pain. "Lucky for you," the archmage spat. He reached forward, touching the assassin on the head and releasing his spell.

Extreme pain exploded in the thief's body. He felt the magic course through him, spreading to every finger and toe and even to his ears, where he heard himself screaming. As the magic took hold, every bit of moisture in his body suddenly evaporated. His eyes shrunk to the size of peas, his muscles shriveled, his flesh went tight, and his heart imploded. He managed only a single croak before he tipped over, his body stiff and statue-like.

When the final assassin lay dead, Piyus stepped back and let the tension drain from his shoulders. His body ached and his mind reeled from the effectiveness of the thieves' attack. The fight had been going so well, he told himself, but somehow, the assassins had come back from the brink. He had mistakenly underestimated them and let his foolishness cloud his judgment. I should have ended this as soon as I had the chance, Piyus told himself. He thought himself invincible. The soreness and pain in his body was a reminder of just how susceptible to pain and injury he still was.

He looked over the carnage before him and let out a deep breath. It had been many years, almost a decade, since he had been in a battle like this. The aches in his bones served to remind him why even the most powerful of men sought to avoid battle. Things rarely went the way you planned them.

"Oh, well," Piyus said, shaking his head. The battle was over. Now he had to clean up the mess, heal himself, and find out exactly why the assassins had come after him. Thinking about all the things he had to do now made him remember another reason why to avoid such a fight: the clean up afterwards.

Piyus let out another deep breath and started to turn toward his orb, to wake his students and staff and get them to aid in the clean up, but just as he started to turn, a hand came from behind him and grabbed his chest. He was violently pulled backwards, his face thrown back, looking up towards the ceiling. Then excruciating pain exploded in his back. It rapidly spread to the front of his body and suddenly intensified tenfold as a dark purple blade burst out of his chest, just below his ribs. He let out a gasp of shock as his blood painted the air and the pain spread throughout his entire body.

The ceiling suddenly dropped away, replaced with the floor that rushed up to meet him. Piyus hit the ground hard, unable to use his hands to slow his fall. As the numbness slowly crept through his body and the blood welled up beneath him, Piyus forced himself to flip over. It was agonizing and horrible, but he had to know what happened. He had to know how it happened for he still had wards in place and they should have protected him from such an attack. At the very least, they should have warned him. As his eyes fell upon the man standing over him, cold fear gripped his heart for the first time in years.

Piyus stared into the eyes of Druzeel's assassin. The man stood dressed in black studded leather, holding a shortsword with a purple blade, a blade that was now covered with his blood. The man's eyes were a black as night and his skin was a pale as a ten-day-old corpse. He stared down at Piyus with a dead look. Was the man even alive? Piyus asked himself. He couldn't tell anything else from the assassin's expression for half his face was covered with a black mask. The assassin just watched as Piyus squirmed under his gaze.

"How..." Piyus started to ask, but choked as blood welled up in his throat. He had no feeling in his legs and the numbness was slowly creeping up his body. His vision started to blur and he suddenly realized that he would be dead in the next few moments.

The memories and thoughts he had about his mortality came rushing back into his mind. His life, his friends, and many of his life experiences suddenly flashed before him. He had expected to die many decades from now, as an old man, looking much the same way that Graeak had when he saw him not two hours ago in his orb. If not as an old man, Piyus at least would have thought he would have perished in a mighty spell battle. Like everything in life, he suddenly mused, things rarely turn out how you thought they would. Now, he would die in a pool of blood, his life taken by the same assassin that he had been trying to find. Perhaps I should have considered lichdom a little more seriously, he thought to himself.

The assassin remained silent. He just walked around Piyus's body, coming to a stop at his head. A black booted foot rested on each side of Piyus's head. The archmage looked up, meeting the assassin's gaze. The man again said nothing. He just raised his purple sword. Without pause, he brought the blade down, point first, into Piyus's forehead.

Before the blade sliced into his head, Piyus suddenly realized how the assassin had done it, how he had gotten to him. The twelve assassins had been a decoy, fodder used to whittle him down and drain his magics. After they had drained his shields and most potent spells, the assassin struck, when Piyus was at his most vulnerable. It was a brilliant strategy and if the man had not been killing him at the moment, Piyus may have congratulated him on a plan well executed. Instead, he remained silent as the blade plunged into his brain.

The blade punched through his skull with ease, slamming into the ground. He expected to die then, but for some unknown reason, Piyus was still alive. He saw the blade sticking out from his head and felt the metal in his mind. He found it strange that there was no pain, only tremendous pressure. Then he watched as the blade began to glow.

Piyus felt magic assault his mind and attack his body. He felt the wards that remained around him slow fade away and suddenly realized that the sword was not just killing him, it was absorbing his magic, his very essence. With renewed terror, he knew the sword would soon consume his magic and soul completely, utterly destroying him. He would not go to the gods or the afterlife. He would not enjoy the rewards that death brought. There would be no reunion with old friends or loved ones. Piyus the Magnificent would just cease to be, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell.

Piyus tried to struggle, to break free of this ultimate doom, but he was completely paralyzed. There was nothing he could do but watch in horror as the assassin erased him from existence.

"You won't use...my magic," Piyus said in anger. "You won't get my power," he said. When he died, certain contingencies would activate, destroying almost all of the powerful artifacts and research he had gathered over the years. It wasn't much of a victory, but it was all he had to throw in the assassin's face.

The assassin just tilted his head to the side, regarding Piyus as a dragon regarded a sheep.

"I don't want to use your magic," the assassin said, his voice smooth and terrible. He held his head straight again. "Just you."

The blade suddenly pulsated with power. Piyus screamed out in terror as he felt his very self being ripped apart. Then there was a flash of purple light and Piyus the Magnificent was no more.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 17

It was late, well past midnight, but one would not know that by looking in the streets of Pelartis. Though the city was not nearly as busy as it was during the day, many still roamed the wide avenues, going about their business, many of it unable to be performed in the light of day. Thieves traded stolen goods, women sold their bodies for coin, and the desperate and deranged stalked the alleyways, waiting for an unsuspecting victim. Many of these unrefined men and women did their best to go unnoticed by the hundreds of Pillars that patrolled the city, but not everyone was perfect in concealing their actions. Some were thrown in chains, many were chased into the darkness while others were only given a sharp slap on the wrist and turned away. For one of the guards, he would have much rather been among his fellow Pillars, out in the night, chasing down criminals. Instead, he was stuck in a room, shuffling through mounds of parchment and reports. Such had been his life for the past few years. It wasn't fun or enjoyable, but it was his job and he did it better than many of his predecessors.

Xavdak sat in his large wooden chair, finishing up a report on a gang of thieves the Pillars had arrested just a few hours ago. The four men, novices by the description of their clothing and weapons, were caught menacing a duo of young ladies. The women had a little too much to drink just a few moments before the encounter and they were easily taken advantage of. Luckily, the Pillars happened upon the assault before anyone's life was lost. At the present time, the thieves sat in the dungeons, waiting for their time before the Colonnade.

The High Captain of Pelartis signed the bottom of the last page, straightened the stack, and placed them in a pile to his right. Xavdak then put the quill down and leaned back, rubbing his eyes with his thick fingers. It had been a long night and appeared to be one in which he would catch only a few hours of sleep before Solaris crept into the sky. Even though he was tucked away deep in the barracks, with no windows for him to see the sky, the dwarf could feel it in his bones that dawn was only a handful of hours away. If he was lucky, he could finish the last few reports and get some sleep within the next thirty minutes.

The night had definitely been an interesting one, starting with the debacle with Druzeel and his companions. So far, since the questioning in the dungeons, the group had managed to stay out of trouble, which came as a surprise to the old dwarf. By now, he would have thought that Brask or the half-elf would have killed somebody. Those two worried him the most out of all the Knights, but so far, reports of the group's activity had been calm. Druzeel had gone to see the odd archmage Piyus, Dex and the halfling had gone to the Dryad's Kiss, and the others were heading towards the slums. The report of Brask's destination came as no surprise to Xavdak for the man was definitely someone who would have friends in low places.

Thinking about the party's separate destinations brought a low chuckle to the dwarf's lips. Brask and his group had gone to the slums, a place associated with the more troubling citizens of the city. Dex and the halfling had gone to a tavern, a place full of odd people but none of them too threatening. And Druzeel, the seemingly purest of the group, was spending his time speaking with a powerful archmage, a good man known for his peculiar personality. The Knights definitely held differing personalities and ways of thinking when it came to solving a problem.

A knock on the door interrupted Xavdak's thoughts. He leaned up in his chair and cleared his mind of Druzeel and the others though he very well knew that whoever was coming to see him could have news of the young wizard and his companions.

"Enter," the dwarf said.

Captain Scarost Tilgramin came in and shut the door behind him. Xavdak had specifically chosen the man to receive messages from the Pillars he had ordered to follow the Knights and relay the information to him. The man had an excellent memory and was good at following orders. Xavdak had also appointed him because he didn't want a hundred different men coming to see him during the night. Captain Tilgramin was more than capable of taking all the information.

"High Captain," the man said, offering a salute, a fist held over his heart. He kept his light blue eyes on the wall behind Xavdak and his square chin parallel with the ground at his feet. He remained as still as a statue until his commanding officer addressed him to speak. His dedication to discipline and the rules was another reason Xavdak liked to keep the man close.

"Report," the High Captain said seconds after he came to a standstill.

"Sir, the men following Brask and his group of mercenaries report that they lost them upon entering the slums."

"What?!" Xavdak said, his voice holding surprise. Brask had been on horseback, in the middle of the night, in the middle of street. How could a group of almost a dozen Pillars, split into two groups no less, lose them so quickly?

"The mercenaries knew they were being trailed and as soon as they reached the slums they urged their mounts into a gallop," Scarost continued, his voice level and clam despite Xavdak's outburst. "Seventh Pillar Julmanec reports that they pursed them through the streets but lost them shortly after. The mercenaries used some type of spell to mimic their horses and sent the men on a wild chase. By the time they realized the rouse, Brask and his men were gone."

"And have we found them again yet?" Xavdak asked, his voice betraying his annoyance. He knew the mercenaries were resourceful but didn't think they could stay hidden for so long.

"No, High Captain," Scarost responded. "But," he quickly added, seeing his commander's frustration, "our men managed to track them to a large warehouse. The mercenaries were long gone by the time the Pillars arrived, but it was clear Brask and the others had been there."

"They found something?"

"Bodies," Scarost replied with a nod. "The warehouse was a front for a band of thieves, presumingly the upstart guild called the Night Hounds."

"Drisk," Xavdak said, familiar with the leader of the small guild.

"Yes sir," Scarost said. "He was among the dead. We have yet to learn why Brask and others went to the guild, but it is clear that some type of battle broke out. Drisk, as well as ten other thieves, were killed."

Xavdak sat back in his chair, rubbing his beard. The High Captain knew exactly why Brask had gone to the thief. They needed information of the assassin and what better way to find a killer than speak to those that he may associate with. But why the fight? What had happened to cause such a disagreement? Perhaps Drisk did not feel like sharing or Brask had done something offensive. Worse yet, perhaps the guild leader had been working for the assassin. Either way, Drisk and the Hounds may have been small, but the man was more than an able swordsman. He was also cunning for he had avoided the Pillars for years, as had most of his men, yet Brask and his Knights had cut them down, seemingly without a single loss. Perhaps Xavdak had underestimated the Knights and their skills.

"High Captain," Scarost said, snapping Xavdak's thoughts back to the matter at hand. "What shall I order the men to do?"

Xavdak looked at the captain, still rubbing his beard. The fact that Drisk and some of his men were dead was not such a big deal. They were criminals and would have been sent to the gallows as soon as they were caught anyway, but it were the Pillars and the Colonnade that should have handed out and executed the punishments, not Brask and his band of mercenaries. If they had killed the thieves out of self-defense, their actions could be justified, but the fact they had gone to see the guild at all could be considered a criminal offense depending on their intentions. Brask and his crew would have to be brought in either way, to find out exactly what happened at the warehouse.

"Close off the warehouse and have the men continue their investigation," Xavdak ordered. "As for Brask and the others, find them and bring them to me. I want to know exactly what happened in that place. I also want to make sure nothing happens to the mercenaries."

"Happen, sir?"

"The remaining Hounds will want revenge," Xavdak said. "Like us, they'll be searching for the men that killed their leader."

"High Captain," Scarost said, offering another salute. He turned and walked to the door. When he opened it he stopped, surprised to see Eighth Pillar Ricus Gildric standing on the other side. The man's fist was raised to knock on the door. When he saw Scarost standing in front of him, he took a step back and stood at attention.

"Captain," Ricus said, giving a salute.

"Eighth Pillar Gildric," Scarost said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Sir," Ricus said. "I have news of the fighter and halfling."

"You know to wait until I return," the captain said, angry with Ricus's lack of protocol. "You have not been given permission to see the High Captain."

"I know, sir," Ricus said, "but it is urgent and could not wait. The High Captain will want to hear this."

"You do not get to decide–"

"Let him in," came Xavdak's voice from behind the captain. "It is too late and I am too tired to worry about Ricus's small breach of protocol. We have more important things to worry about."

Captain Tilgramin stood aside, motioning Ricus to enter, all the while glaring at the guard. His gaze told Ricus that he would soon regret disobeying the rules, but his news was too important for him to worry about a few extra hours of duty, which would surely be his punishment.

"Speak quickly," Xavdak said, standing from his chair and shooting an impatient gaze at Ricus, "before I decide Captain Tilgramin is right."

"Yes, sir," Ricus blurted out. He cleared his throat and continued. "My men and I were ordered to follow the halfling and her human companion. We followed them into the Dryad's Kiss, where they met with a jewelry noble, Brend Hillsborrow. The three started speaking but stopped as they noticed we were watching. They made their way into the back room where we assumed they held their conversation."

"Did you follow?" Scarost asked.

"They...um...they slipped away unnoticed." Ricus said, tripping over his words. He suddenly appeared nervous.

Xavdak eyed the man suspiciously. He slowly walked around the desk and stood in front of the man, his hard eyes meeting Ricus's own.

"And how exactly did a halfling and two humans," he said in a low, harsh voice, "slip away from guards that were but a few yards away from them?"

"They...uh, they...sent us, uh...a...a distraction."

"A distraction?" Xavdak asked in anger. The way he spoke told both Scarost and Ricus that he already knew what that particular distraction would be. Though he never usually visited the Dryad's Kiss, he knew well the reputation of the place and the serving wenches that worked there.

"The merchant," Ricus said, now visibly sweating, "paid some of the serving wenches to distract us, to cover them leaving."

"You damned fool!" Xavdak suddenly yelled, balling his hands into fists. The dwarf was usually good at holding back his temper but Ricus was known to lose his attention easily and skirt his responsibilities and nothing angered Xavdak more than incompetence. The dwarf had not even wanted to use Ricus for this mission but he had been one of the only higher ranked Pillars available at the time. His stupidity, the report about Brask beforehand, and the lack of sleep had finally snapped Xavdak's last nerve.

"I order you to do one thing," he shouted, holding his finger up in front of Ricus's face, "one thing, and ye cana even do that! Ye be wurtless!"

Xavdak's voice slowly changed as he finished his last sentence, but Scarost and Ricus made no indication they had noticed. It was well known among the Pillars that in times of anger, Xavdak reverted to his dwarven heritage. When something annoyed him or he lost his temper, the dwarven accent came out, even more distinct than some dwarves that had lived with their kin for centuries. The High Captain's verbal quirk was an often-told joke among the men of the guard, though no one seemed to be laughing now.

"You did eventually notice them missing, did you not?" Captain Tilgramin asked, his voice showing he was as angry with Ricus as Xavdak was.

"Only when the chandelier fell," Ricus replied. Xavdak and Scarost looked at each other in confusion.

"Explain!" Xavdak said, turning back to Ricus.

"There came a loud crash from the room they had gone into that shook the entire building," Ricus explained. "We jumped from our chairs and raced to the door but found it locked. I heard sounds of battle on the other side and demanded they open the door. After a few moments and no response, we broke it down and rushed into the room. Inside we found one of the chandeliers that decorated the room smashed to pieces. The halfling and the human were there, looking like they had just been in battle, but there we no assailants and the merchant was missing. They claimed that more of those shadow men had attacked them but we found no evidence. I was about to have them arrested for the damage and suspicion of murder of the jewelry merchant, but Brend showed up before I could take them into custody. He confirmed their story and said he had paid for the damage. Grenda said he had so I had to let them go."

"Where are they now?" Xavdak asked, his voice returning to its normal accent, the way Ricus was used to. He appeared to have calmed down but anger still painted his face,

"They left the tavern," the guard responded, "but seem to be just roaming the streets. Whatever they spoke of with the merchant, I don't think they heard what they wanted. Personally, I think they were lying about their shadow attackers and were trying to get the merchant to–"

"I don't give a lynx's piss what you think!" Xavdak said, his voice rising to almost a shout. Ricus suddenly went silent and his eyes turned toward the floor. Xavdak ignored him and began to rub his beard again. After a brief pause, he looked to Scarost.

"Where is the wizard?" he asked. "Do we at least know what he's doing?"

"Last report said he was in the archmage's home," the captain said. "Ninth Pillar Willowsmin and his men could not follow the boy inside but they said they will be watching and report on when he leaves."

"We need to find out what Dex and the halfling wanted with the jewelry merchant," Xavdak said. "Brend is well-connected but I can't imagine he would be much help in finding their elusive assassin." He turned his gaze back on Ricus. "Where is the merchant now?"

"Still at the Dryad, as far as I know."

Xavdak gave no indication he had heard the man's words. He just turned on his heels and walked to the desk. He grabbed his helmet and put it on his head. After tightening his gauntlets and flexing his fingers, he leaned over and grabbed his war hammer, a large weapon covered in runes of dark orange. He strapped the weapon on his back and walked for the exit. Ricus quickly moved to the side to avoid being trampled. Scarost, seeing his commander so determined, followed after him, a look of approval on his face. Ricus, after a short pause, stumbled forward, running to catch up.

"Gather a dozen men," Xavdak said while walking to the stables, which sat just to the side of the barracks. "Meet me at the Dryad."

Captain Tilgramin saluted and broke away to follow his orders. Before gathering his men, he reiterated his commander's orders to the Pillars that had been following Brask. They saluted and sped away, racing to the warehouse to gather more information and send half their men to find Brask and the others. Ricus, unsure of whom to follow, stayed close to Xavdak, thinking it would be better to stay with him. The last thing he wanted was to disappear right when the dwarf captain wanted to speak with him again.

In less than five minutes, Xavdak, Scarost, Ricus, and a dozen Pillars were on horseback and heading for the tavern. Those people that were still in streets quickly moved to the side as they raced through the city. The urgency in which they rode was all the motivation the citizens needed to get out of their way.

The group arrived at the Dryad's Kiss twenty minutes after leaving the barracks. Xavdak and his men dismounted and walked straight for the entrance. Many of the people standing outside the tavern quickly made themselves scare, wanting no part of what was about to happen. A few others, walking past the establishment, stopped to see what was going on. After a few hard stares by the Pillars following their captain, the curious onlookers moved on, knowing it was better to heed the warning that was just given to them. A large man standing near the entrance, flirting with one of the tavern's serving wenches, saw the High Captain coming his way and almost fell on his face trying to get out of sight, all thoughts of a night of passion gone from his mind.

"High Captain," the serving wench said, offering a polite curtsy, though she barely had anything on to perform the action properly. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"Go get Grenda."

His stern voice and hard eyes told the girl that she had better just obey. He was deadly serious and the girl sensed it immediately. Luckily, she did as he instructed and disappeared from sight, almost running inside. She knew that the last thing her boss would want was a dozen Pillars, let along the High Captain himself, barging into the tavern, fully armed and armored. It would do nothing but keep the coin from finding her hands. They did not object to guards visiting to partake in the establishment's many offerings, but these men had come for business and nothing else.

It only took a few moments after the serving wench left for Grenda to come out and meet the Pillars. The large woman wore a look of concern, mixed with annoyance at the sight before her.

"High Captain," she said, bowing her head in Xavdak's direction. She knew better than to offer anything other than kindness to the dwarf standing before her. Everyone knew that not all of her business activities were exactly legal. She liked to keep herself in good standing with the guards. It helped them turn a blind eye to what she was doing. "You asked for me."

"Earlier tonight there was a skirmish with a halfling, a human, and a jewelry merchant named Brend Hillsborrow. They caused a good deal of damage, is that correct?"

"Yes," Grenda said nodding, "but Lord Hillsborrow paid for all the damages. I informed the guards it was enough. In fact, I believe I told you that," she said, pointing at Ricus. "What's this about?"

"I need to ask Lord Hillsborrow a few questions about what happened," Xavdak said, keeping his eyes on the tavern's owner. "Can you send him out?"

"I would," Grenda said, "but he left a short time ago."

"Where?" Xavdak said. The way he said the word told Grenda that it would be in her best interests to tell the truth. Sometimes, many of the business owners in Pelartis, especially those running businesses with less than legitimate practices, liked to hide or disguise information of their patron's whereabouts.

"Not far," Grenda answered truthfully. "He's a few doors down at his store, Alluring Accents. He had a few too many and decided to sleep there instead of trying to make him home."

Xavdak nodded his thanks and started walking down the street, the Pillars following right behind. Grenda watched for a few seconds then walked back inside her tavern, glad to be rid of the guards.

The dwarf did not look at the beautiful columns of marble or gaze into the large windows that held dozens of displays of the merchant's work. He cared nothing for the elegant necklaces, dazzling rings, or sparkling jewelry that rested on the tabletops or shelves. He just walked right up to the large door and knocked loudly, making sure that if there had been anyone sleeping in the buildings next to Alluring Accents, they would have awakened as well. Regardless of his knocking, no one came to the door. Xavdak continued to knock for many moments, but still Brend failed to answer.

With a snarl of anger, Xavdak lowered his shoulder and prepared to knock the door from its hinges, but something caught his eyes, a few faint grooves right next to the door handle. It looked as if someone had taken a blade to the door, trying to pry it open.

"Weapons out," Xavdak said, motioning to the guards. The Pillars said nothing and obeyed his words. Soon, over a dozen swords were shinning in the moonlight, with steady hands grasping their hilts.

Xavdak reached down and tried the door handle. With a soft click, the door opened. No longer surprised that it was unlocked, Xavdak slowly pushed it open and looked into the darkness.

If he had been human, Xavdak would have needed a torch to see the details of the room in front of him, but he was a dwarf, and the darkness held no secrets to his eyes. Slowly, his vision adjusted to the darkness and the room took shape. He did not see the room as if it was daylight. Instead, he saw the various levels of heat that every object, no matter what its composition, gave off. Even dead wood emanated some level of heat.

As he cautiously entered, he saw nothing but an empty store. Though his night vision aided him, it would do nothing to reveal an assassin hiding behind a counter, so he moved slowly, motioning for his men to wait for his order to follow. Since they were all human, they would need torches to see and if someone was hiding in the store, he didn't want them to know he was coming.

Xavdak scanned the store, looking for anything out of place, but nothing seemed wrong. The merchant's merchandise sat undisturbed, the displays and cases looked untouched, and the floor showed no signs of passage. The High Captain moved further in, hands tightly wrapped around the handle of his hammer. He walked towards the back of the store, eyes darting to every shadow, every corner, and even looking over the ceiling. He had learned long ago that people rarely looked up and the ceiling was a perfect place for an assassin to lay in wait. Again, nothing alarmed him. The store seemed empty, but as he turned to go, his eyes fell upon a mirror. Reflecting in its surface, laying behind a large counter in the back of the store, was what looked like feet. Xavdak turned around and walked over. The heat coming from what he knew to be a body was low, indicating either sleep or death. Based on the scrapes on the doorway, he assumed the latter. Unfortunately, his assumption proved to be correct.

Brend Hillsborrow lay in a pool of blood, his eyes opened in terror and his mouth agape in a wordless scream. He blue coat was soaked with blood and his dead gaze was locked onto the ceiling, seeing nothing but darkness. The puddle beneath him had spread out in wide circle, telling Xavdak that the merchant had been dead for a little under an hour. His body was still showing a little bit of warmth, but in another twenty minutes or so, the heat from his skin would be gone completely.

At first, Xavdak could not see what had killed the merchant because his body was cloaked in the shadow of the counter he lay behind and the dwarf just saw a large blob of heat. When he leaned in closer, the murder weapons, which were still embedded into the man's chest, slowly came into view. Xavdak narrowed his eyes as he saw what they were.

The High Captain stood up and gave the room one last look. There was a back room and a second level but he knew they would be empty. The murderer was long gone by now. The assassin had come to the merchant's store for only one reason. Once the merchant was dead, the killer had left.

Xavdak turned and motioned for his men to enter, but soon remembered that they could not see him in the darkness. He walked outside the store.

"Four men upstairs, four to the back," Xavdak ordered. "Search the store and report back anything odd. The rest come with me.

The Pillars rushed into the store, flooding it with torch light. As ordered, four guards walked up the stairs, swords out and eyes peeled. Another four moved through the main room, making an arrow right to the back room. Xavdak didn't bother to tell them that the place was empty. He wanted them on their guard and prepared for the unexpected just in case someone or something just happened to be waiting for them. He was fairly certain they would find nothing by an empty building, but he was a cautious man and made sure those he trained were as well.

Captain Tilgramin, Ricus, and four Pillars followed Xavdak through the room, following him to the body. The Pillars fanned out around the body, the golden glow from their torches illuminating the gruesome scene.

"By the gods!" Scarost exclaimed, seeing the blood. As a captain, he had seen his share of blood and gore, but he never got used to seeing such horrors. To Xavdak, that was a good thing. Men should never become accustomed to such things.

"Looks like he was stabbed over a dozen times," one of the Pillars commented. Wounds covered the merchant's chest and stomach and blood was splattered all over the floor and counter. Whoever had stabbed him had done it viciously and violently, continuing the attack even after the man had dropped to the floor.

"Are those...daggers?" Ricus asked, looking at the two tiny weapons sticking out of Brend's body.

"Yes," Xavdak said with a deep breath.

"Those are a little small for daggers," Scarost noted.

The blades embedded into the merchant were indeed smaller than the ones the guards were used to seeing and dealing with. They were about half the size of a normal dagger and the hilts appeared entirely too tiny for any man to grip.

"They are small," Xavdak responded, again with an irritated breath. "But they are not meant for human hands. These are halfling daggers."

Captain Tilgramin and Ricus looked at the High Captain in confusion, not understanding his meaning, but the bewilderment only lasted for a few seconds. Ricus was the first to get what his commander was implying.

"The halfling mercenary," he said in ager.

"Jannda?" Captain Tilgramin said in disbelief. "Could she have really done something like this? She is the size of a child. How could she take done a man that outweighs her by almost three hundred pounds?"

"She could if her fighter friend was holding Brend from behind," Ricus said.

"They sure seemed intent on talking to the man while at the tavern," commented one of the guards around the body. He and one other had been with Ricus when he was in the Dryad's Kiss, watching the mercenaries.

"Perhaps they killed him after they got what they wanted," Ricus suggested, nodding to the guard.

"So why did Grenda agree to give them a private room if they meant to harm him?" said the other guard that had been at the tavern.

"They may have threatened him," a third guard said, offering only his opinion based on what he had heard. "An assassin never tells their victim about their intentions. By the time the victim knows the truth, it is usually too late."

"We don't know for sure," Scarost said, listening to his men. He took note of all their words and scenarios, trying his best to understand what could have happened. "We cannot place guilt without doing a more thorough investigation," he finally said, realizing there could be much more to this than what they were seeing. "So far, there are no footprints or any indication that anyone was in here with the merchant. Whoever killed him was good at covering their tracks. Before we zero in on anyone, I want to have more evidence."

"They were the last ones seen with him!" Ricus said, unable to believe what the captain was saying. "Those people," he said, referring to the Knights, "have lied about their involvement with the destroyed caravan, stolen from the dead, and laid the blame for murder on the shoulder of so called shadow assassins. The weapons that killed Brend are even those a halfling would use. What more proof do you need to see their guilt?"

"You forget yourself, Eighth Pillar," Captain Tilgramin said with rising anger. He could deal with conflicting ideals and opinions, even with men disagreeing with him, but he would not let anyone speak to him, especially an officer of lower rank, in such a tone, with a lack of respect.

Ricus wore a look of disbelief, but he quickly realized what he had just done. Seeing the anger on Scarost's face, a superior officer, made him take a step back and a lump rise to his throat. He quickly lowered his gaze and stepped back.

"Regardless of their guilt or innocence," Xavdak said, not wanting to let the situation before him escalate, "they need to be questioned." Scarost, Ricus, and the other Pillars looked to the High Captain, who took on a hard look.

"Bring the fighter and halfling in for questioning. We have a murder to talk about."

* * * * *

CHAPTER 18

Druzeel's spell led him directly to Dex and Jannda. To his delight, they had not yet reached the Wilted Rose but were currently on their way as he rode towards them. The area around them was mostly deserted, with only a handful of citizens moving along the sidewalks and empty streets. Most of the businesses were closed but there were a few open that people decided they had to visit before the sun rose. Solaris would bring hundreds of people from their beds, into the streets, and to the various shops lining the roads. Druzeel assumed those people still out and about wanted to avoid the crowds and conclude their business before that happened. Whatever their reasons for being awake at such a late hour, Druzeel just ignored them and headed straight for his companions.

Jannda noticed him first and waved him over, her face displaying nothing but a welcoming expression. Druzeel was glad to see such a look on her face. He had not exactly left their company under the best of circumstances. He had yelled at them and stormed away angry and frustrated, but now those feelings were gone. What he had learned from Piyus had all but removed the negative feelings he held toward the two Knights. They all needed to put aside their personal feelings for the time being and concentrate on finding the assassin. If he had learned anything in the past few hours, it was to ignore the little things, at least until the large things were taken care of. After they had accomplished their quest, only then could they deal with their feelings and aggravations.

"Welcome back," Jannda said, nodding toward him. Dex nodded as well, his face showing a similar expression as his friend.

"I'm sorry," Dex said, bringing a surprised look on Druzeel's face. "I should not have spoken to you the way I did. I know what it is like to be talked down to and I should have acted better. You deserve better than that."

Druzeel just sat in his saddle in silence. He had not expected an apology. In fact, that had been the last thing on his mind when he went to meet up with them. He had also been planning an apology of his own, for leaving them. He knew they could take care of themselves, but it was wrong for him to leave. Breaking up the group was not smart and could have put all of the in danger. The fact that Dex said he was sorry filled Druzeel with appreciation.

"Thank you," Druzeel finally said, after a long pause. "And I too am sorry for my behavior. I know you were trying to help and should have acted better. This whole journey has just been so frustrating."

"Yes," Dex replied. "And it has become even more so in the past few hours."

"I know," Druzeel replied. "I have learned a few things about our assailant since we parted and none of them bode well."

"What have you been up to?" Jannda asked, genuinely interested in knowing what Druzeel had been doing since he left them in the streets. She assumed that after he had left he would have been wondering the city, calming himself or looking for a place to rest. Instead, it appeared that Druzeel was out continuing to look for their assassin. That could have proven to be extremely dangerous if he had actually run into the man they were looking for. Druzeel may think himself experienced, but based on what he had told them of his first encounter with the assassin, he was still no match for a man of such lethal skill.

"I went to go see Piyus," Druzeel said.

"The Magnificent?" Dex asked with surprise. "You went to go see Piyus the Magnificent?"

"Yes," Druzeel responded.

"And actually talked to him?"

"Yes," Druzeel answered, unable to keep the smile from his face at the tone in Dex's voice. Even Jannda looked impressed. They both knew who Piyus was and never thought someone as famous as Piyus would actually take the time to talk to Druzeel. That man could be fickle and was not exactly known for his willingness to speak to anyone.

"He's an old friend," Druzeel said, embellishing the truth just a little bit. The archmage wasn't actually his old friend, but Graeak's, but Druzeel didn't think Dex and Jannda needed to know that.

"Well?" Jannda said after a few moments of silence. "What'd you find?" Her voice held hope for if anyone could shed light on the assassin's location, it would be someone as powerful as Piyus.

"Only more questions," Druzeel answered, his voice telling Jannda that she was not going to like the answer.

For the next few moments, Druzeel went over, in exact detail, what had happened in Piyus's spell chamber. He described how Piyus, in his relentlessness, had almost destroyed his entire home trying to find the thief and uncover the source of the magic blocking his spells. Jannda and Dex looked disappointed that Piyus had been unable to uncover anything but they took solace in the fact that the archmage had promised to contact Druzeel should he uncover something in the future. The fact that they now had a man as powerful as Piyus the Magnificent on their side, searching for the thief, was comforting, but they had many more uncomfortable thoughts after hearing about the power that had come up against him.

"I don't know who or what he is working for," Druzeel said, referring to the assassin, "but he has awesome power protecting him."

"Would someone that had to move quickly and stealthy be able to carry such magic?" Jannda asked.

"No," Druzeel answered. "The type of magic I witnessed Piyus going up against would require powerful artifacts and spells, items that would be too large to hide and I would think too powerful for one to want to carry around. The assassin has help, but from whom I do not know. Whoever it is is much more powerful than the assassin."

"Who in the hells is this guy?" Jannda asked. "And who is the person or persons he is working for? And why would they go to all this trouble just for a few trinkets from Graeak's tower?"

"As I said," Druzeel said, "more questions than answers."

"I can't believe the assassin can stay hidden from Piyus forever," Jannda said. "Can his shields last for that long?"

"Actually, yes," Druzeel said sadly. "As long as the magic is renewed each day, the assassin and whoever is helping him can avoid Piyus's magic for as long as they want. I just wish I knew who was helping him."

"I guess we'll have to catch him to find out," Dex replied, his mind reeling from what Druzeel had told him. He had a dozen questions of his own, but since none of them would likely be answered until they caught the assassin, he kept them to himself. Right now, he wanted to concentrate on that, so he stayed silent and looked to Druzeel, who looked to have a question for them.

"So did you find out anything after I left?" Druzeel asked. He hoped that they had been more successful than he had, but based on their expressions, he didn't think so. Jannda's next words confirmed his thoughts.

"Yeah," she said, "that we are being watched by others besides the Pillars. Speaking of which..."

Before Druzeel could ask what she meant, he looked at her and saw her gaze looking past him. He turned around and caught a group of Pillars just down the street, shadowing their movements. It appeared they were still being watched.

"Let them follow," Dex said. "We have nothing to hide. Let's just get to the Wilted Rose and see if the others were more successful than we were." The trio urged their mounts down the street toward the tavern, hoping that Brask and the others would be there.

"What did you mean about others watching you?" Druzeel asked a few moments later, after they were on their way.

"We had a run in with some more shadow stalkers," Jannda said.

"What?!" Druzeel said, stunned.

Dex and Jannda took a few minutes to explain where they went and whom they went to see after Druzeel had left. She told him about the battle with the stalkers in the Dryad's Kiss, the encounter with the Pillars afterward, and how they had nearly been arrested before Brend showed up and cleared them. When they were finished, Jannda looked behind her and gave the Pillars that were following them a nasty look.

"So the assassin is watching us," Druzeel said to himself more than to the others. He had never thought about the assassin or his associates actually watching them as they scoured the city for him. He would have thought the man would have done everything in his power to avoid the party and their attention. It looked like he was wrong. It appeared the assassin's way of dealing with them was to just kill them outright. That would certainly hamper their tracking abilities.

"Not just us," Dex said. "The stalkers had gone after Brend as well. It looks as though they did not appreciate us speaking with him."

"Wait. What?" Druzeel suddenly said, his voice thick with worry. Dex and Jannda looked at him with confusion. When neither of them responded, Druzeel continued.

"They tried to kill the merchant?"

"Yes," Jannda answered as if it would be obvious. "Assassins usually don't care who they kill."

"But you said they were going after him because you were speaking with him," Druzeel said, trying to get them to understand. At this point, he had stopped his horse, too worried to continue. The others stopped with him.

"Yeah. So what?" Jannda asked.

"You think he is going to go after Piyus," Dex said, figuring out what Druzeel was getting at.

"No way," Jannda replied after Druzeel vigorously nodded. "No way the assassin would be that stupid and even if he was, Piyus is more than capable of handling himself. I mean, he's an archmage."

"You didn't face down the assassin," Druzeel quickly pointed out. "You didn't see the magic he was wielding and you weren't there when whatever magic is protecting him almost killed Piyus and myself. I may not know what type of power the assassin has aiding him, but if it is strong enough to beat back Piyus's spells, it is strong enough to break through his wards. I have to go back and warn him."

"Not a good idea," Dex said. "If the Pillars see us rushing back to the archmage, they may think something is seriously wrong and try to detain us."

"I can't sit by and do nothing," Druzeel said, clearly concerned for the archmage.

"I know," Dex said, "and I agree with you, but I suggest we try to find the others first and see what they have found. If they have come up without about as much as we have, then we go to the archmage, together. They may have information that will lead us to the assassin. If that's the case, we can get to him before he gets to Piyus."

Druzeel looked a little reluctant. His face showed worry, concern, and fear, fear for Piyus's life. He honestly believed that the assassin, or whoever he was working for, could be strong enough to kill Piyus. He couldn't let that happen, but he understood Dex's point and the last thing he wanted were the Pillars delaying them.

"We'll go to Piyus," Jannda said, trying to convince Druzeel to agree to Dex's plan. Her tone told Druzeel she was not willing to split up again. "We'll go, even if Brask says no," she then said. "Just us. If we have to."

Those last words seemed to be enough for Druzeel. He nodded and the three urged their mounts forward, rushing through Pelartis to the Wilted Rose. The deserted streets allowed them to move as fast as they needed. Jannda looked back to see if the Pillars were following. Sure enough, they stayed on them, matching their pace. Luckily, they didn't look alarmed at the trio's sudden increase in speed, or if they did, they seemed not to care.

Before long, they were in front of the Rose. The building stood three stories tall and built from a dark wood with a red hue. Vines covered in thrones were carved into the wood, stretching from the ground all the way to the roof. A single door led the way inside and it was carved to look like a wall of wilted roses. Though real, half-dead roses usually looked ugly and depressing, but carved from wood they actually appeared comforting and beautiful. But Druzeel didn't take the time to admire the architectural beauty of the building. He just pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted. Dex and Jannda did the same and the three companions went inside.

None of them took the time admire the delicate woodwork or enjoy the fire that burned in a large hearth near the back of the room. They just scanned the crowd, which was thankfully thin at this time of night, looking for Brask and the others. When they failed to find the mercenary leader or any of the others, they walked back outside, intent to meet them as soon as they arrived. Druzeel did not want to give Brask any time to settle in for he knew the man would be hard to move once that happened. No, he wanted them mounted and ready to move. Warning Piyus was his number one priority and he wanted the others ready to go as soon as possible.

"How long do we wait?" Jannda asked.

"I don't know," Dex answered honestly. They were still about twenty minutes early. The fighter knew that was about nineteen more minutes than Druzeel wanted to wait, but they had to. If Brask showed up and found them missing, he would think something bad had happened because Dex was never late. He did not want to worry any of the others, but knew he might not have a choice.

So they waited. Druzeel paced back and forth, looking to the sky over a dozen times. After ten minutes, he wanted to leave, but Dex told him he had to be patient.

"But Piyus may be in danger!" Druzeel said. "We can't just–"

"Do you trust Piyus?" Dex asked calmly. Druzeel went silent, unsure of the question. "Do you believe in his power?" Dex asked.

"Yes," Druzeel answered.

"Then trust in him to be able to deal with trouble should it find him," Dex said, reasoning with his young companion. "We will leave as soon as the others arrive, or very soon after the appointed time if they do not. Trust in your friend." That seemed to calm Druzeel for he remained quiet, but continued his impatient pacing.

After the appointed time had come and gone, Druzeel looked back at Dex but said nothing. The fighter just kept his gaze out into the city, hoping the others would show soon. Five more minutes went by, then ten and still no sign of Brask and the others. After fifteen, Druzeel could take no more.

"I have to go," Druzeel said, jumping on his horse. "I'm sorry, but I have to. You know where I'll be when the others show." He kicked his horse into a gallop and took off down the road. He thought he would be on his own, but after only thirty seconds, he heard Dex and Jannda's horse right behind him. He turned and saw them right on his heels. He offered a thankful nod to the two Knights. They returned the gesture and followed him into the city, towards the archmage's home.

Druzeel didn't care if their galloping looked odd to the Pillars that would surely be following. His only concern was for Piyus and the danger he may be in. He was confident Piyus could combat anything coming his way but knew he owed it to the man to at least warn him.

They reached The Eye of All Things in less than a half hour. Druzeel brought his horse right up to the giant gates and dismounted. Dex and Jannda followed suit and stood next to him in front of the entrance to the wizard's home.

"Hello?" Druzeel said after a few moments of silence.

"Um...what are we doing?" Jannda asked, unsure of why Druzeel was talking to the gate in front of them.

"When I was first here," Druzeel explained, "a voice from the gates greeted me. When I was granted entrance, they opened."

"How long did you have to wait?" Dex asked.

Druzeel looked over at Dex, clearly nervous. "Not this long."

After a full two minutes of silence, Dex walked up and raised his hands to the gates, intent on touching them.

"Wait!" Druzeel said quickly, raising his hands to stop his friend. "He may have wards on the gates."

"Relax," Jannda said, grabbing his hip. "He knows what he's doing."

Druzeel stood by, thinking this was a bad idea, but his nervousness faded when Dex touched the gates without setting off any wards or spells of destruction. Unfortunately, that nervousness turned to cold fear as Dex pushed and the gate slowly swung open.

"Is that normal?" Jannda asked. Neither man answered her, letting her know that it surely wasn't. Someone like Piyus would not just leave his home wide open for anyone to wonder into.

The three companions walked in, a little more cautious. Dex and Jannda had their hands on their hilts. Druzeel walked forward, worry thick on his mind. He knew Piyus would not leave the gates unlocked. Could others be responsible for dealing with them? he asked himself, wondering if Piyus would leave that job to the people that worked for him or his apprentices. Even if he did, surely an archmage would know if the barrier around his home was no longer warded. Perhaps he was still searching for the thief, concentrating too hard to notice. Druzeel doubted his feelings but hoped they were true.

They continued down the paved path, walking right towards the large domed building. They scanned the grounds, peered into the shadows, and looked hard into every corner or area that may hide a body. It would be stupid for anyone to try to attack them out in the open, but this assassin was proven to be bold and they left nothing to chance.

"Oh, no," Druzeel said, drawing Dex and Jannda's attention. They looked to where his eyes were and saw a large opening in the domed building right in front of them. It was a large archway with nothing but darkness inside.

"What is it?" Dex asked, coming to stand next to Druzeel.

"That opening only appeared when I was within a few feet," Druzeel said. "And it closed behind me after I left. Something is definitely wrong." He moved to run forward but Dex grabbed his arm.

"If it is," Dex said, his voice very serious, "we must be cautious. If Piyus is indeed in danger, then we may be placing ourselves in danger as well by entering his home. No running off. No heroics. I've seen smart men die by doing extremely foolish things because a friend or loved one was in trouble. Stay calm and try to think before acting. We stay together and keep our minds clear. Do you understand?"

Druzeel nodded, taking a deep breath though Dex's words did nothing to calm his nerves. Seeing The Eye left open just amplified his fear.

They slowly walked forward, coming within a few feet of the entrance. Dex peered inside but saw no movement. Everything was silent and dark.

"You won't see anything until you enter," Druzeel said.

"Great," Jannda commented. "How perfect for an ambush."

"Can you shield us from attacks?" Dex asked Druzeel.

"Yes, but it will only block the first few."

"That is all we need."

Druzeel nodded and cast his spell. The magic settled over all three of them, coating their bodies with a shield that would turned away all ranged attacks and prevent all but the most powerful sword strikes from reaching them, at least the first few. It wasn't much, but if an ambush did wait for them, it would give them a few seconds to recover and counterattack.

After the spell was cast, the three companions took a deep breath and stepped inside. They found themselves in the large foyer that Druzeel had been in a few hours earlier. Thankfully, no arrows sped towards them and no assassin jumped from the shadows. Except for the furniture and a few lit torches, the room was empty.

They took a few moments to make absolutely sure they were alone. When certain, Dex turned to Druzeel.

"Where would Piyus be?"

"Probably his spell chambers," Druzeel said. "All the way at the end of the center hallway."

"Then let's go there," Dex said. "Best not to deviate until we knew for sure what's going on. If he's not there, then we'll look for him elsewhere."

Druzeel nodded in agreement and walked to the double doors. He opened them and found a long, dark hallway waiting in front of him. Usually, over thirty torches kept the hallway brightly lit, but only a handful burned now, lighting the stone with an ominous glow. Druzeel took a deep breath, waited for Jannda and Dex to step beside him, and started down the hallway.

They moved slowly, eyes scanning every crevice, ready for a fight should something happened. Druzeel could hear his heartbeat in his ears and the blood rushing to his face. His breath came out in short bursts and his skin broke out in a light sweat. He looked to his companions and saw nothing but strength and courage on their faces. At that moment, he envied Dex and Jannda and a small part of him wished he were like them. They were hardened, experienced adventurers and he knew they had been in situations like this a hundred times before. They knew what to do and they knew how to act. Should an assassin come at them, they knew how to fight. Druzeel had never been in this situation and did not quite feel confident he would know what to do should a battle break out. He had to believe that his instincts would take over, but could not be sure. If something does happen, he told himself, just follow their lead. Look to Dex for what to do.

"At least the Pillars aren't following us in here," Jannda whispered, trying to lighten the mood. Dex and Druzeel remained silent. Her intention had obviously failed.

They came upon a closed door on their right but left it that way. At this point, they didn't want to look anywhere else but the spell chamber. That was their goal and they wanted no delays, but after a few more feet, they come to another doorway and this time, the door was open.

"Jannda," Dex said, nodding to the door. Though she was no thief, she was the smallest of the group and could move silently when needed.

They would not leave an open room unchecked, just in case someone waited within, so Jannda moved against the wall and slowly inched toward the door. Druzeel was amazed at how silent she actually moved. He watched her as she crept forward, hand on her dagger. She reached the doorway and leaned over, trying to see inside. As her eyes broke the plane of the archway and the room came into view, the tension in her shoulders suddenly loosened. She slowly stepped into the doorway, hands at her side. Her eyes, sad and full of remorse, soon looked over to her to companions.

Druzeel's heart beat so hard he thought it would burst from his chest. What was in that room? he asked himself, expecting the worst, though he wasn't entirely certain what that would be.

"You may not want to see this," Jannda said, her gaze falling on Druzeel.

Druzeel stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening. He wanted to ask what she was looking at, but the words would not come to his mouth. Dex looked back at him and just patted him on the shoulder. Then he walked toward Jannda. Druzeel watched him come to the doorway and his face suddenly went slack. He looked back at Druzeel, met his eyes for a single second, and walked in the room with Jannda. For that the one second, Druzeel saw a sadness he had never seen before and it scared him to death.

The moments crawled by and only silence came from the room. He thought he heard Jannda and Dex whispering to each other but could not be sure. What was in that room? he kept asking himself. He knew he shouldn't look. He knew he should heed Jannda's advice, but he found himself slowly inching forward. Stop! he screamed in his mind, be he couldn't stop moving. When the room finally came into view, his heart stopped.

Every surface was covered in red. The walls, floor, and ceiling were splattered with blood. Even the furniture was covered with the stuff, all of it originating from the three bodies that still lay in the three beds placed around the room. Druzeel knew that this room and been one of the apprentice bedrooms so he knew he was looking at three of Piyus's students, or what was left of them.

Their chests had been sliced open and their entrails had been taken out and thrown around the room. Two of the bodies were missing arms while the other had its leg meticulously cut away from its hip. Vicious slash marks painted everything else. It was as if their rooms had been filled with whirling blades, blades that continued to chop and slash for what had to have been hours. It also appeared that the three men had been caught by whatever had massacred them in their sleep. The poor men, no, kids Druzeel suddenly realized for they could be no older than fifteen or sixteen, never knew what hit them.

Bile jumped to Druzeel's throat. He tried to hold it down but couldn't and painted the floor with his stomach. It felt as he had retched for hours, but in truth it only last a few seconds. After he was done, he looked back and saw Dex standing in the doorway, staring at him.

"Are you all right?" he asked, coming over.

Druzeel could only nod and wave him off, though he was not sure he was going to be all right. He had never seen such gore. Even Vallia's death had not been so graphic and he would remember that for as long as he lived. He felt that what he had just seen would follow him long after he had left this world.

A surge of intense fear suddenly shot through Druzeel as he stood there holding his stomach. It was clear by the silence, the unlocked gate, and the wide open entrance that somebody had broken into The Eye and killed everyone they could. He did not know if anyone else was dead but had the feeling that there would be no left alive within The Eye of All Things. If what he had just seen had happened to mere apprentices, what had happened to Piyus?

Forgetting Dex's words about running off, Druzeel turned and looked down the hallway. He eyes fell upon the large doors leading into Piyus's spell chambers and he suddenly found himself running towards them. Gone were the thoughts of assassins hiding in the shadows or ambushes waiting around the corner. Gone were the visions of daggers and arrows ripping through him. All he thought about was finding his teacher's friend. He had to find him and make sure he was all right.

"Druzeel!" someone yelled behind him but he barely heard the words. He just kept running, fearing what he would find. When he reached the doors, in what felt like only a few seconds, he threw them open and ran inside. His mind never registered that the doors were unlocked. He just moved without care. The scene before him crushed his soul.

The room was in shambles, the floor covered with books, broken furniture, and scorch marks. Splinters of wood, broken glass, and shredded parchment lay scattered everywhere. Many of the stacks of tomes and scrolls that Druzeel had seen upon his first visit now lay in broken piles, many of them showing signs of recently being burned. Many of the shelves and bookcase were broken or cracked, their contents now decorating the stone floor instead of the wooden planks. Nothing in the room seemed to have escaped some type of damage. Even parts of the floor showed damage, with one small section being crushed, looking like someone had taken a large chisel to the stone and pounded on it for hours. There was also a large area of the floor that had dozens of small burn marks, as if droplets of fire had fallen from the sky.

Druzeel saw damage, but what he did not see, what he had expected to see, was the source of that damage. There were no bodies of assassins, no broken weapons, and no splatters of blood of any kind. It was as if a hurricane had just swept through this place, leaving nothing behind but chaos. Based on what he was looking at, he would have expected to see gore in the same caliber as the bedroom he had just left behind him, but there was nothing. Well, that wasn't completely true. There was blood, but it was not coming from a dead thief or assassin. The only blood that Druzeel saw in the room came from Piyus, whose body he was just now noticing.

"No!" Druzeel yelled and ran over. When he reached the archmage, he skidded to a stop, almost tipping over, his breath taken from him by what he saw.

Piyus lay on the floor, right in front of the stand where his orb lay. A large pool of blood lay beneath him and his eyes, dull and lifeless, lay open, staring at the darkness covering the ceiling. A single dagger lay embedded in his chest but it quickly became clear that the archmage had suffered from more than just a single wound. His clothing was singed and haggard and the sleeve of his right arm was torn open. Other small tears littered his clothing, but none was as large as the one that lay right below the dagger.

Directly below the hilt, right below Piyus's ribs, was a vicious wound, most likely the wound that had killed him. The flesh around the puncture was black and rotten, looking like it had been that way for days if not weeks. A thick layer of dried blood covered the parted flesh and clothing around it was soaked through. The way the skin was parted told Druzeel that whoever had killed the archmage had stabbed him through the back, the blade easily slicing all the way through his body. It was the signature move of most assassins. After realizing that, he had no doubts that it was an assassin that had killed the archmage, perhaps the same man they were searching for. No one else would have been able to get that close to Piyus or cause so much damage.

Tears started streaming from Druzeel's eyes as he looked down on Graeak's friend. He would have thrown up from the sight but his stomach was empty. Also, what he had seen just a few moments earlier, the massacre of the apprentices, had numbed his body and mind. What he saw before him was horrible, but not nearly as terrible as what had happened to the apprentices. While that was horrific, Piyus's death was more upsetting and more depressing than anything else.

"Druzeel," came Dex's voice from the doorway leading into the room. It was full or remorse and sadness. The man had let Druzeel's recklessness go after seeing the corpse lying on the floor. He knew who the man was and understood how his young friend was feeling. The fear and remorse he was feeling was punishment enough.

"Piyus," Dex said, coming to stand right next to Druzeel. Druzeel nodded even though it wasn't a question.

"By the gods," Jannda whispered, coming up on the other side of the shocked wizard. She leaned over and looked the archmage over. She studied the wound in the man's chest and the blood beneath him. "He's been like this for some time," she said. "Even if we had gotten here earlier, there was nothing we could have done."

Druzeel heard her words, understanding that she was trying to make him understand that they would have been too late to warn Piyus no matter when they would have headed in this direction. The assassin had struck early, probably right after Druzeel had left. It turned out their quarry had eyes on all of them.

"It's my fault," Druzeel suddenly said, dropping to his knees. "If I hadn't come here, if I hadn't asked for his help..." His words trailed off as the full realization of what he had done hit him.

"No," Dex said, kneeling next to him. "You didn't do this. You could not have known what would happen." He took Druzeel by the shoulders when he saw he was not really listening.

"Look at me," Dex said, waiting for Druzeel's tear filled eyes to meet him. "This was not your fault," he repeated again when Druzeel looked at him. "Do you understand? You didn't do this or cause this. This death lay on the hand of whoever has taken Piyus's life, not yours. Piyus would feel the same way, as would Graeak. You didn't do this. This was not your fault."

Druzeel only gave a weak nod and looked back at Piyus. Dex stood and took a deep breath. He knew that no matter what he had said, Druzeel would continue to blame himself for some time. He had done the same thing, when he was barely out of his teens, when someone close to him had been killed simply because they knew him. He had blamed himself for the death for many years, only relieving himself of the guilt after gaining experience and realizing that evil men would do evil things no matter what he did or whom he knew. He came to understand that he could not blame himself for the actions of those of evil nature. He knew that as Druzeel grew and went through life, he would come to understand that as well, at least, that was his hope.

Dex looked at Jannda and motioned for her to search the room. They needed to look for clues, to try to find out who had done this–though they already had a good idea–and how they had managed to kill someone as powerful as Piyus. If the assassin really was that strong and resourceful, Dex knew the Knights would have to rethink their strategy. They were well equipped and ready to take on almost any job, but this was slowly starting to be beyond them. They may have to call in a few favors and turn to more powerful allies to catch this thief.

As Dex and Jannda began to search through the wreckage, Druzeel scooted closer to Piyus. The tears had ceased falling from his eyes but sadness still filled him. His body felt empty, his heart a hallow husk. He didn't think he would ever feel joy again. How am I going to tell Graeak? he asked himself. How am I going to let him know that because of me, one of his oldest friends is dead?

Trying his best to keep the visions of his mentor from his mind, Druzeel leaned over and closed Piyus's eyes. He didn't want to leave the man in such a disrespectful position. The sight of him staring blankly at the ceiling also disturbed Druzeel more than he would like to admit.

Druzeel leaned back and looked over the body. His eyes fell upon the dagger sticking out from Piyus's chest. The fact that the assassin had left it there to mock them, to throw it in their face that he had succeeded in killing such a great man, angered him. It burned some of the sadness and guilt away and filled him with anger. He would not let such a symbol of evil stand, so he leaned in and grabbed the hilt.

"Druzeel!" Jannda shouted, turning just as he grabbed the hilt. "Don't!"

But it was too late. Druzeel had already yanked the dagger free, but before he could toss the weapon away, he looked up and Jannda in confusion. What was the big deal? he told himself, not understanding her outburst. It was then that the doorway they had entered through burst open.

Standing in the doorway, surrounded by a dozen Pillars, was Xavdak. The dwarven captain wore an expression of anger and frustration, and also disgust. He looked ready to explode in anger, but before he said a single word, his eyes fell on Druzeel, the body he kneeled over, and the bloody dagger in his hand. The High Captain's gaze then went to Dex and Jannda, who by the looks of it, were pillaging through the archmage's belongings.

Druzeel followed the dwarf's eyes. He looked to his companions and back to the High Captain. Then his eyes went to the dagger in his hand. It slowly dawned on him what was probably running through the dwarf's head. To any one of the guards standing in the doorway, the young wizard knew that they thought they had just walked into a murder and were looking at the three people responsible.

"No," Druzeel whispered and dropped the dagger. It clattered to the ground and Druzeel went to stand, but before he moved, Xavdak shouted.

"Stay where you are!" he yelled, pointing at Druzeel. He marched into the room, followed by the guards behind him. He made a few gestures and the Pillars fanned out, weapons in hand, surrounding Druzeel and moving to surround Dex and Jannda. The two Knights remained still, hands held high. They both knew that any sudden movement and they would be filled with Pelartian steel and bolts. Half of the Pillars had crossbows trained on each one of them.

"What by Dominia Honorspirit is going on here?" Xavdak asked, invoking the name of the dwarven goddess of knowledge. His hardened eyes fell upon Druzeel as he was painfully yanked to his feet by two Pillars.

"We...we...," Druzeel stammered. He was still in such shock that the words failed to find his lips. He could not believe this was happening.

"We found him like this," Jannda said, speaking up for the group. "He–"

"I not be askin' you!" Xavdak shouted, the presence of his dwarven accent telling the Pillars that he was angry. He took a second and calmed himself then looked back to Druzeel. "I asked your young wizard and he better find his words soon or I'll have you all thrown in the dungeons."

Druzeel looked to Dex and Jannda, his eyes pleading for help. Dex met his gaze and nodded, his face trying to portray strength and confidence. Jannda did not look nearly as confident, but luckily, Druzeel failed to notice. He just took a deep breath after looking at Dex. He did his best to clear his mind and the troubling thoughts.

"We found him like this," he said, his words finally coming out even though they were thick with fear and nervousness. "We were coming to warn him, but got here too late."

"Warn him of what?" Xavdak asked.

Druzeel quickly told Xavdak what had happened, starting with his first visit to Piyus's home. Since the High Captain already knew why they were in Pelartis, he skipped telling him of the assassin again. He told him of Piyus's attempt to locate the assassin, the magic that had almost destroyed them, and the help the archmage promised to give. He then spoke of his meeting with Jannda and Dex and that they knew the assassin was watching them and sending stalkers after them and the people they asked for help.

"I had to tell Piyus," Druzeel said, "so we returned to warn him, but found that we were too late. We ran across the murdered apprentices then found Piyus in here. I swear, we are only trying to find out how this happened."

"And the bloodied dagger you were holding?" Xavdak asked in a skeptical tone. Though the story made sense, it was full of holes

"I didn't..." Druzeel began, his voice cracking. "I didn't want to leave it in."

"And what about you two?" Xavdak said, looking to Dex and Jannda. "What did you talk to the jewelry merchant about?" He had barely waited until Druzeel had finished speaking before asking the questions.

It came as no surprise to the two Knights that Xavdak knew about the encounter. The guard that had questioned them–was his name Ricus?–was one of the Pillars holding Druzeel. Knowing that there was no point to lie, Dex told the High Captain what they talked about. He left nothing out. When he was finished, he kept his eyes on the dwarf.

"Search the halfling," Xavdak said, bringing surprised looks from both Knights. Druzeel even looked confused, wondering about the sudden interest in Jannda.

Though thoroughly perplexed as to why she was suddenly so popular, Jannda raised her hands high and let the guards close to her pat her down. He seemed specifically interested in her daggers. He even took them out of their sheathes and studied each blade. After a few moments, he must had been satisfied with what he found for he placed the daggers back in their scabbards and turned to face Xavdak.

"They are all here and clean," he said.

"She could have bought new ones," the guard who had questioned them in the Dryad said.

"Anyone want to tell me what that was about?" Jannda asked.

"Brend Hillsborrow was found murdered in his store not long after you two had visited him," Xavdak said, pointing an accusing finger in their direction. "And a pair of daggers, daggers suited for the hand of a halfling, was found embedded into his body."

Druzeel's head snapped from Xavdak to his two companions. Dex's mouth hung agape and Jannda looked similarly shocked. The fact that they were just as surprised at the revelation as he was brought a surge of relief through Druzeel. He knew they had not killed the merchant but a small part of him carried just a little bit of doubt. When he saw their expressions, that doubt faded away. Why would you doubt them at all? he asked himself.

"And you think I killed him?!" Jannda asked, her words interrupting Druzeel's thoughts. A grin split her face because of the ridiculousness of the suggestion. She looked from Xavdak to Dex, who also looked as though what the dwarf was implying was absurd.

"We are still investigating," Xavdak said, "but you two were the last to be seen with the merchant. It also does not matter what I think, only what the facts show."

"But you have no facts," Jannda shot back, her voice angry. She did not like being falsely accused. "Only speculation."

"So you are proclaiming your innocence?" Asked a man standing next to Xavdak. He had the look of a captain and spoke like one to.

"What do you think?" Jannda asked, throwing out her hands.

"High Captain!" one of the Pillars exclaimed and pointed at Druzeel. Every eye in the room turned toward the guard. They quickly went to Druzeel next, who wore a look of terror and confusion.

"What?!" he exclaimed, looking down at his body, where the guard was pointing. By the way the man looked at him, he would have thought he was covered in flaming spiders. He would have grabbed his chest trying to find what the man was looking at, but the two guards on either side of him quickly grabbed his arms and held him steady.

"What is it?" Xavdak asked, following the Pillar as he walked over to Druzeel, but just before the guard reached Druzeel, he leaned down and picked up the dagger that had been pulled from Piyus's chest.

"What's happening?" Jannda asked, taking on an alarmed look. She wanted to grab her weapons but she dare not move.

The Pillar that had grabbed the dagger leaned over and brushed aside Druzeel's robes. Sitting on his belt were three scabbards, each sized for holding a dagger. Two of them held blades, but the third was empty. Xavdak leaned in, looking at the hilts of the two daggers sitting on Druzeel's belt. Then he looked over and studied the one held by the guard. He turned his gaze on Druzeel.

"Is this you dagger?" Xavdak asked, his eyes solidifying into orbs of rock.

"What? I...no..." Druzeel stuttered and stammered, the sight of an empty scabbard confusing him. When had he lost the third dagger? He hadn't even pulled one of the blades free of its home since coming to the city.

"Look harder," Xavdak growled.

Druzeel went silent and looked at the dagger in the guard's hand. He looked over the leather wrapped grip, the silver cross-guard, and the blood covered blade. Those looked similar to just about any dagger he had seen, but then his eyes fell upon the rounded pommel and the small F engraved into the center of the circle. A fear like he had never known coursed through him and he felt the blood drain from his face. The style and position of the F told him what he had feared, that the dagger was indeed his. That letter was engraved into almost every weapon that was taken or borrowed from the place he had lived for most of his life. That letter stood for The Fount. Graeak's tower. His home.

"No!" he whispered. "It can't be. It's not possible."

"This be yer dagger!" Xavdak growled through clenched teeth. He was not asking a question.

"Y...Yes," Druzeel cried, his admission bringing a startled gasp from all within the room, including Dex and Jannda. "But I didn't do this! I didn't kill anyone. It must have slipped out when I was riding. It must have–"

"Enough!" Xavdak shouted, silencing everyone in the room. "I be 'avin' enough o yer lies an the lies of ye an yer friends," he spat, pointing at Dex and Jannda. The two held out their hands and started to say something but the guards around them moved in and grabbed their arms, rather forcefully. The others raised their crossbows, guarding them.

"I be foolish ta fall fer yer innocent naiveté once," he said, turning his gaze back to Druzeel, "but never again." He took a deep, calming breath. "You duped my men and I and because of it, two good men have lost their lives."

"NO!" Druzeel shouted, almost bursting into tears again. "You can't believe we did this! You can't believe it!"

"It doesn't matter what I believe," Xavdak said, "only what the facts show and right now, they show you and your friend to be killers." He stepped back and addressed the entire room, his voice loud, strong, and angry.

"I hereby place you, Druzeel Sesstar, under arrest for the murder of Piyus the Magnificent and I place Dex Swifthood and Jannda Cupsheight under arrest for the murder of Brend Hillsborrow. Take them away."

The grips of the guards holding Druzeel tightened and he let out a grunt of pain. He struggled to break free, but the guards' grips were like iron. Jannda and Dex didn't struggle at all for they knew there was no use. They were surrounded and outnumbered. They were also too shocked to speak.

"No!" Druzeel screamed one last time. A heavy set of manacles were clasped around his wrists. The cold metal bit into his flesh, but the fear and terror he was feeling drowned out the pain. He screamed and fought as they took him away, pleading his innocence. A guard behind him must have finally had enough of his struggles for pain suddenly exploded in the back of Druzeel's head, robbing him of his voice and consciousness. As fresh tears streamed down his face, darkness rushed up to meet him.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 19

A little less than an hour after the appointed meeting time, Brask, Vistalas, Thorstar, and Ristil arrived at the Wilted Rose. They would have been there on time but they had to move slowly and with care in order to avoid the patrols of Pillars moving throughout the city. They held little doubt that the guards were looking for them after they had given them the slip in the slums. Xavdak was not the type of military leader to let his quarry go that easily. He wanted them followed to know what they were doing and would no doubt have Pillars scouring the city looking for them. Brask knew that even coming to the Wilted Rose was risky, but they had to meet up with the others to decide on the next course of action. After the debacle with Drisk and his guild, they had run into a dead end. At least they knew the assassin was here and had contacts placed throughout the city, but that wasn't helping them find the man any faster. Hopefully, Dex had a little more luck with his contacts. If not, finding the assassin would be that much harder.

They moved their horses through the alleyway and came up next to the Rose. Brask eyed the surrounding area, looking for Pillars, but found none. Even though he did not actually see any guards didn't mean they weren't watching the tavern. It also did not mean they weren't inside. Xavdak may not have known where their intending meeting place was, but the dwarf had men following all of them and if Dex was inside, Pillars probably were as well and since it was so late and most of Pelartis's citizens were in bed, they would not be hard to spot in an empty tavern.

"Vistalas," Brask said, looking to the rogue. "Check it out. If you see them, do not make contact. Just come back here and we'll figure out how to get their attention."

The thief nodded and quickly disguised himself as a wandering old man. He rubbed some dirt on his face, covering specific places to make him appear older. In the light, he would not fool anyone, but at night and in a low-lit tavern, it would be convincing enough. He covered his body with a large cloak, took on a slight limp, and hunched over as if his back had been warped by old age. After the way was clear, he slowly walked from the alley and made his way to the tavern. No guards appeared and no one tried to stop him. In a few moments, he was inside.

Brask knew it would take a few minutes for Vistalas to return. Though he hated having to wait, it was necessary to avoid detection. If there were guards inside, it would look suspicious for him to walk in and then right back out again. The fastest way to finish his task, and Brask knew Vistalas would do it, was to go in, have a look around, then go to the bar and ask if they could spare a poor old man a drink. The last thing any tavern owner wanted was a freeloader, especially in this city. With luck, Vistalas would be back in less than five minutes and, hopefully, on his own two feet. Some owners could be a little aggressive with beggars. There were a few times when Vistalas had used the tactic and ended up being thrown out instead of walking. Thinking about those times now brought a small smile to Brask's face.

Sure enough, after exactly five minutes, Vistalas came limping out of the tavern. He turned back towards the building, offered a curse to sell his disappointment to any that may be watching, and stumbled into the alley. When the darkness had swallowed him, he removed his cloak.

"Dex isn't here," he said, wiping the dirt off his face. "Neither is Jannda nor Druzeel. There are no guards either, just a handful of drunks."

"Could we have missed them?" Ristil asked.

"Doubt it," Vistalas replied. "You know Dex. He'd wait for us even if the building were burning down around him."

They all knew what Vistalas said was true. Dex would wait, regardless of how late Brask kept him. He wouldn't be happy about it, but he would not leave. There was one time Brask had kept him waiting for almost three hours. They all thought Dex would be long gone when they finally arrived, but sure enough, there he was, a scowl and a handful of harsh words for his tardy companions. No, Dex had not been here yet, and that was bad.

Brask said nothing. He just rubbed his chin and looked down at the ground in concern and frustration. Thorstar watched the man and took on a look of worry himself. Ristil just looked back into the streets, making sure his companion was not followed.

All the men knew they had reasons for concern because Dex was never late. In fact, he was often times early. Those few times he had been late to a meeting, it was only by one or two minutes at most. The fact that he wasn't here did not bode well for them or their missing companions. Brask quickly thought about the reasons for his delay and none of them were promising.

Brask's first thought was that he could have been stopped by the Pillars, but that seemed unlikely. The guards had not shown any interest in actually hindering Brask or the others, not until they made an active attempt to lose them. Since Dex said he was going to see a merchant, a supposed law-abiding citizen, he saw no reason for him to try to avoid the Pillars. His second thought, which brought a sneer to his face, was that Druzeel had done something stupid and got them all in trouble. That wizard was prone to accidents and acts of stupidity and Brask wouldn't be surprised if he crossed someone wrong or said something he was not supposed to. Though that seemed like a viable option, Brask trusted Dex and Jannda to reign in the young wizard. They would keep him in line and watch him closely.

That left a third option, and the one that seemed most likely, given their battle with the thieves guild. Dex had probably run into trouble with thieves or some other associates of the assassin they were tracking. He could not imagine the assassin attacking them or sending blades against them in the open, so he most likely waited until they were by themselves, but they had gone to see a wealthy merchant. Where would they go that had them isolated from the public? Could they have wandered through the alleys, trying to avoid the Pillars? He could not believe Dex would be so careless. He trusted the man and Jannda to be able to overcome any odds for they had done so many times before, but the assassin was resourceful. There was no telling what he could send against them. Brask quickly thought about his recent battle. They had been outnumbered, but they were four and had been expecting betrayal. Dex and Jannda were only two. Well, three if he counted Druzeel, but Brask wasn't counting on him to do much should battle find them. If someone like a merchant betrayed his companions, Dex may never have seen it coming.

"What do we do now?" Vistalas asked, looking at Brask.

"If he's not here by now," Ristil said, "he's not coming." It was a hard statement but it was the truth. By now, if Dex was even able, he knew he had missed the meeting and would be looking for other places or contacts to help him find his missing Knights.

After a few moments of tense silence, Brask took his hand from his chin and looked out into the street. He knew Dex would continue his search for the assassin, but he would also be looking for them at the same time. They needed to do the same, and Brask knew exactly who to go to to help them do both.

"We'll go see Piyus," he said, thinking they probably should have done that to begin with. Though the man was difficult to get an appointment with, Brask knew if they mentioned Graeak's name, it should get them in to see him. Though he hated using an employer in that way, they were slowly running out of options. He thought using anything else besides what those who had hired him had already given him made his group look weak, ill prepared, and unreliable, but this was a special case. Considering Graeak had stuck them with his annoying apprentice, Brask thought using him to get to Piyus was justified.

"That doddering old wizard?" Ristil asked. "He's crazy."

"True," Brask said, "but he may be able to help us find the assassin. He would definitely be able to find Dex and Jannda."

"I'm all for it," Vistalas said, "but you know it will be difficult to see him, let alone make it to his home without being seen. The Pillars are all over the city and they know why we are here. They will certainly see him as a potential contact and have his home watched."

"Then we'll just have to be careful," Brask said, signifying the decision had been made. Ristil and Vistalas remained quiet and nodded. They would do whatever Brask decided. They trusted his decisions and had done so for many years. Thorstar didn't make any sort of gesture. They all knew he would agree with Brask, regardless of the decision.

The Knights made their way through the alleys, heading toward Piyus's home. Often times, the alleyways were too narrow for the horses to move through so they had to find alternative routes. Luckily, the Pillars in the area suddenly seemed scarce and they were able to move around buildings and other obstacles without being noticed. It usually would have taken about a half hour to reach the odd mirrored dome, but moving as they were, it took only an hour. They had yet to figure out how to make it into Piyus's home without being seen, but as soon as the strange building came into view, they knew they would have much bigger problems than avoiding a few guards.

"What the hells?!" Brask said, pulling his horse to a stop as he rounded the corner. His sudden halt almost caused Thorstar and the others to run into the back of his mount, but they managed to avoid him.

"Back up!" Brask quickly said, pulling on his reins. The others said nothing and did as ordered. They knew from the tone of their leader's voice that something was very wrong and obeyed without question.

They backed their horses deeper into the shadows of the passage. When Brask dismounted, they did the same and followed him as he edged his way to the end of the alleyway. They kept their backs against the wall but leaned over in order to see what had alarmed Brask. What they saw made them all thankful they had not just run out into the open.

Diagonally across from the alleyway, sitting less than a hundred yards away, was the home of the archmage. At this time of night, the grounds and area around the building should be empty, devoid of everyone save a few stragglers who for some reason hated to sleep, but at the moment, that was not the case. Now, the mercenaries were staring at over two dozen Pillars surrounding the entrance to the reflective dome. Many of them sat on horses while others stood nears the gates and lined the trail leading up to the large archway that led inside the building. Brask tried to see inside but his view was blocked by a mass of bodies, so he turned his attention back to the front gates, where a large wooden carriage with two small windows filled with bars waited. Four horses stood tethered to the mobile prison and the thick door was being held open by a single Pillar. Because it was facing away from him, he could not see if anyone was inside. It appeared that it was empty but by way the guards were acting and the swords in their hands, it would soon be occupied.

"What the hells is going on?" Ristil asked, staring at the scene before him. No one answered for they could not even begin to guess what could have possibly brought so many guards to the home of the archmage. None of them thought that someone would be stupid enough to try to break into the wizard's home. Whatever happened, it looked serious.

Could something have happened to Piyus? Brask asked himself silently, his eyes never leaving the prison carriage or the gates. Did a thief really try his hand at the archmage? Perhaps a spell went awry, but if that was the case, why all the guards? It could be any number of things.

"By the gods!" Ristil suddenly blurted out. "Dex!"

Brask tore his eyes from the carriage and looked toward the entrance. There he saw three guards walking out of the dome. Directly behind them, with his hands bound together by manacles, walked Dex, followed closely by two angry looking Pillars, each holding a sword at his back. The man held his head down and wore a look of utter defeat and frustration. There were no wounds on him or signs of struggle. Not a single spot of blood or torn clothing marred his body. He looked like he was walking away from a funeral.

"What the hells?" Brask said, clearly shocked. He had expected to see a thief or someone dressed like an assassin being escorted out of the building, not one of his own men. What by the god of mischief was going on?

"Damn it all!" came Vistalas's voice next. "There's Jannda!"

Brask moved his head and saw Jannda being led out next, in much the same way Dex was. Her hands were bound as well, but she wore leather straps for the Pillars did not seem to have manacles in her size. A single guard walked behind her, a crossbow aimed right at her head.

"What are they doing here?" Ristil asked. Like the others, the sight of his fellow Knights was a complete shock.

"Perhaps they thought along the same lines we did," Vistalas answered. "They have both been here many times and know of Piyus. They may have come here seeking help as well, but that doesn't explain what we are seeing now. And where is our young wizard? Where is Druzeel?"

As if wanting to answer his question, Druzeel was the next figure that came out of the archway, but instead of walking out, he was being carried by a pair of Pillars. The men held his arms and dragged him along the ground. His head was down and his hands were manacled behind his back. His entire body was limp, as if he was sleeping, but the mercenaries watching the spectacle knew better than to think the Pillars had just dragged him out of bed. The way they were handling him and the looks on their faces said that one of them had been the cause of Druzeel's current state.

Brask's eyes narrowed as another figure suddenly appeared in the dark opening, barking orders and waving his thick arms at the surrounding Pillars. The guards immediately jumped to obey the High Captain's orders and soon the area was alive with activity.

Xavdak continued to shout at his men as he followed the Pillars that were escorting his prisoners. The dwarf wore a furious look, his eyes burning into the back of his captives. He was clearly angry, but Brask had no idea why and really didn't care. Though he loathed the pretentious dwarf, his only concern now was freeing the others. Once they did that, they could figure out what was going on, but first he had to free them and, at the moment, he had no idea how to do that.

None of them spoke as the Pillars led Dex and Jannda to the prison carriage. The pair never struggled or tried to get free. They just walked into their movable cell. Druzeel came next, but he was treated with much less respect. When they reached the carriage, the guards carrying him picked him up and threw him inside. The carriage rocked back and forth from the force. After they were all inside, the man holding the door open shut and locked it. He waved his hand at the man controlling the horses. The driver snapped the reins and the carriage jolted forward, slowly making its way toward the dungeons.

Brask didn't say a word as the carriage pulled away. He just turned and walked to his horse, anger burning in his eyes. The others followed his lead. When they were all saddled up, every eye went to Brask for orders. They all knew what their next step would be but waited for their leader to speak.

"Ristil," he said, looking at the half-elf. "Follow and find out where they are taking them. Once you know, see if you can get a layout of the place. Vistalas, make contact with anyone else you know. We need people we can use to get close to Dex and the others. See if anyone has connections to the Colonnade as well. If they go before them, that will make it easier to get them free. If not, we may not be able to free them from the dungeons, but they won't keep them locked up forever."

"Where should we meet?" Ristil said, checking his weapons, making sure they were secure. He would soon be skulking through the shadows and wanted to make sure nothing was loose.

"The Wilted Rose," Brask replied. "Thorstar and I will meet you there in three hours. I have some inquiries to make about what we just saw. Something like this won't stay quiet for long. People will know about it soon and I intend to find someone with a loose tongue."

Ristil and Vistalas nodded and turned their horses around. They moved to complete their tasks and disappeared into the alleyway. Brask gave one last look towards the archmage's home and gave a curse. Somehow, he knew this was all Druzeel's fault. Somehow, the idiot and gotten them into this mess. Now, instead of a find and retrieve mission, it had turned into a search and rescue.

"Damn kid," he said. After that, he urged his mount forward and, with Thorstar following close behind, went to go find someone he could vent his anger on.

* * * * *

He awoke to a painful throbbing in his head and something cold and hard against his cheek. The slow drip of water and the flickering of flames slowly came to his ears as he came to, but his hearing was not the first thing that concerned him. His entire body ached and his shoulder felt as though a blacksmith had taken a hammer to it. He tried to move his head and arms but every movement, however small, sent needles of agony up his spine and into his brain. Even his eyelids hurt as he attempted to open them, but open them he did. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust, but as they did, a dark stone floor slowly took form. If not for the glow of a nearby torch, he would have seen nothing but darkness. Instead, the flames allowed him to make out an almost black, rough stone floor and a few pieces of hay. He looked past the strands, which made his eyeballs ache, and his gaze came to thick iron bars sitting not three feet away.

Druzeel's eyes remained locked on the solid poles in front of him as he pushed himself up. As his head came off the floor, it felt like someone had suddenly thrust a dagger into his brain and shoulder. He let out a groan and paused, waiting for the intense pain to subside. It faded only a little, but it was enough where he managed to sit up.

He thought it was a dream, a terrible nightmare that he was going to soon wake up from. Piyus was certainly still alive, he was in his bed at some inn, and what he had seen had been some vision brought on by stress and worry. Xavdak had not arrested him and hadn't him knocked unconscious. But feeling the pain and seeing the very real bars in front of him told Druzeel that those things had happened. Piyus was dead and he had been arrested, accused of killing his mentor's friend. Someone had hit him in the head to silence his protests and...and what? What happened to him? How had he become so sore? Did one of them beat him? Did they run over him with a horse? It sure felt like it. And where was he anyway? Grimacing against the pain, Druzeel scanned the area in front of him.

The bars were built into the ground and they rose about ten feet to a ceiling made of the same colored stone as the floor. They looked strong and solid, too solid for even the mightiest warrior to break. A small door, also made of iron bars, set with a thick lock, was framed into the columns of metal. The wall of his cage was only six feet wide, with a stone wall on each side, which looked just as hard and strong as the floor.

Druzeel leaned forward and looked past the bars. He saw what looked like a long hallway, decorated with walls made of iron bars. A torch was placed every six feet, sitting in a sconce on the two-foot section of wall that divided each section of bars. The flames illuminated little and he saw more darkness than anything else, but he did hear shuffling and a few moans of agony, coming from somewhere down the walkway. A cold sense of fear shot through him as he suddenly realized where he was. He was in a room full of prison cells. He was in the dungeons of Pelartis.

The sound of shifting hay came from somewhere close behind him. Druzeel spun around, a new sense of dread filling him, and saw that he was not alone in his cell. Two other forms sat against the back wall. One was the size of a man and looked vaguely familiar. The other was tiny, almost childlike and also stood out in his mind.

"Jannda?" he asked. He looked at the other figure. "Dex?"

"Well who else would it be?" the halfling said in a voice filled with bitterness and anger.

She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest and Druzeel could see that all of her weapons and traveling gear was gone. The only thing she wore was a plain brown shirt and simple gray pants. Both looked to be a size too large on her diminutive frame. Druzeel's gaze moved to Dex then, who was also dressed in a similar fashion, though his cloths fit better. His eyes quickly fell to his own body and he found that everything he owned was gone, just like the others. Drab clothing was all that remained.

Suddenly, the ring that Graeak have given to him sprung to his mind. Druzeel quickly went to search his pockets but found that he didn't have any. He looked to the floor, his eyes wide in fear, but all he found was stone.

"They took everything," Dex said, his voice drawing Druzeel's gaze. "Our swords, daggers, rings, even your staff. They have it all."

"How..." Druzeel began, but his words suddenly failed him.

"You've been out for about five hours," Dex said, guessing Druzeel's question. "The guards knocked you unconscious when you started to struggle and weren't exactly gentle when we were transported here."

That explains the soreness, Druzeel told himself. "Where are we?" he asked, looking back to the hallway.

"In the same building we were taken to when we first came to the city, only many floors higher. They keep the prison cells up here to prevent escape. Anyone managing to break free would have a long way to go before reaching the outside."

"How do you know that?" Druzeel asked, looking back to Dex.

"Overheard the guards talking on the way here," he replied. "Many of them don't know when to shut up."

"How far up are we?"

"No telling," Dex said, stretching his legs. "Lost count of the steps and didn't see any windows. My guess is at least ten floors, probably more."

"Might as well be a hundred," Jannda said in frustration.

"What? Why?" Druzeel said, confused.

"This place is locked down tight," Dex replied. "And the lock is solid. Vistalas would even have a hard time opening it. Magic runs thick through this place. It's in the walls, the iron, and even in the air."

Now that Druzeel thought about it, he could feel a slight tingle all over his skin, in his head, and running down his spine. He first thought that it was from the pain from the way the guards had handled him, but now he recognized it for what it really was: magic emanations. With hardly any concentration, he could feel the power and mystical energies in the floor beneath him. It was even in the air he breathed. It was all around him. Whoever had built this place used a lot of magic in the process.

"Have you heard...from the others?" Druzeel asked. Dex's comment made him think of the others for some reason. Since they had not made the meeting, he assumed the worst. As far as anyone knew, they had been arrested as well and were sitting in a cell not far from them.

"No," Dex answered, shaking his head. "Based on what I heard, they are still somewhere in the city, but Xavdak is looking for them. Seems they were caught in a confrontation of their own."

"Are they all right?" Druzeel asked, concerned. He never would have thought he could care about the well-being of someone like Brask, but the man was one of his companions and based on what had happened to him, he needed to know that at least some of them had escaped harm.

"As far as I know," Dex responded. "I overheard some of the guards speaking of a small massacre in the slums. A bunch of thieves were killed, one had almost been chopped in half. I'll bet that was Thorstar's doing. They mentioned that a wanted bandit by the name of Drisk had also been killed. He was their leader. I'm guessing that he was the one Vistalas knew. It's too much of a coincidence."

"So," Druzeel said, suddenly seeing the pieces of a puzzle coming together. Even though they had figured this out before going to see Piyus, he had to say it out loud. "They were attacked by thieves, you two were attacked by stalkers, and Piyus was..."

His voice trailed off. He felt sorrow and sadness suddenly over taking him at the thought of Piyus and the vision that had suddenly come to his mind, a vision of the archmage's body, lying in a pool of blood. He thought of the pain and agony the man must have felt before he died. Then Graeak appeared before him and Druzeel almost broke into tears, but he steadied himself, took a deep breath, and forced his mind to clear. Though the pain he was feeling at Piyus's death was still fresh, still extremely real, right now was not the time to wallow in such emotions. He had to remain calm and figure out exactly what was going on if he were to prove their innocence. He could not let his emotions or sense of guilt control him. Once they were free, only then would he grieve. He just could not spare the time right now. His life, Dex and Jannda's lives, depended on it.

"And Piyus was killed by an assassin," Druzeel continued, his voice steady, "most likely the same assassin we've been tracking."

"We already figured that out," Jannda said, a sharp edge to her voice.

"I know," Druzeel said, too lost in his thoughts to take notice of Jannda's tone. His mind was spinning, trying to put everything together. "But you two were attacked directly, as were Brask and the others."

"So?"

"So," Druzeel said, "why wasn't I? Why didn't the assassin come after me? I was alone and on my own. Why not kill me when I was by myself? Why go after Piyus instead, a powerful archmage and well-respected man of Pelartis? It had to have been more than just talking to me."

"We were set up," Dex said, his eyes wide. Druzeel and Jannda looked at the man, their faces pleading for an explanation.

"That damn assassin set us up. He knew the Pillars' eye would be searching for him after we told Xavdak about what we were doing in Pelartis. The dwarf is too cautious to let even a rumor like that go without checking in on it, so he watched us and waited for the perfect moment. And we walked right into it."

"What do you mean?" Druzeel asked.

"The thieves that Brask had killed would cause no big uproar for they were all probably wanted by the Pillars anyway. Even Brend's death would hardly bring the city down upon us for the man had his own shady dealings and less than civil behaviors. True, his death made Xavdak concentrate more on us then finding our assassin. But the death of a prominent figure like Piyus? That would make the dwarf forget all about a dangerous murderer running loose among the citizens. It would solidify his gaze on the supposed true killers and real threat to the city: the Knights of the Chipped Blade."

Druzeel's mouth dropped open and Jannda's face went slack. Dex just took on a disgusted look, shook his head, and turned his eyes toward the cold, hard ground. The assassin had been playing them since the moment they arrived, and in a single, masterful stroke, implicated them all in various murders around the city. None of them saw it coming because they had all split up, going their separate ways to find the man that had somehow been watching them the entire time. Worst of all, the man had managed to make Druzeel, the seemingly most innocent of them all, seem like one of the most ruthless, dangerous killers to walk the streets, the one personally responsible for the death of Piyus the Magnificent.

"Well it's not like it was difficult!" came Jannda's angry voice a few moments later, after the revelation. The loose look on her face had disappeared, replaced with one of rage. She jumped to her feet and stormed over to Druzeel, pointing an accusing finger right at his face. "He practically gave the Pillars everything they needed!"

"What?!" Druzeel said, surprise jumping to his face.

"Jannda," Dex said in a calm voice, rising to his feet. "You can't blame him. It could have been anyone of us."

"The hells I can't!" she spat. "It was so blindingly obvious I don't know how we missed it. The assassin knew exactly how he would react when finding out the archmage was in danger. He knew he would come running back to warn him, to protect him against potential attackers."

"I would have done the same thing," Dex said, trying to defend Druzeel's actions. "And would hope you would have as well."

"Yes," Jannda said, her voice lowering. "I would have, but I wouldn't have been so stupid as to remove my own damn stolen dagger from the body!" She was shouting now, her voice filling the hallway. "But then again, I wouldn't have let it been taken in the first place. I certainly would have noticed."

Druzeel was on his feet now and he almost said something in his defense, but her last two statements brought a fresh flow of guilt and shame coursing through him and his comment fell back down his throat. He had been holding the dagger, his own dagger, when the Pillars happened upon them. Even he had to admit the scene looked damning.

"You can't blame him for that," Dex said, still trying to defend their young traveling companion. "He's never been in a situation like that. He could not have known."

"But he should have!" Jannda said, throwing up her hands. "He basically handed his head to Xavdak himself! What the hells did he learn while in that tower of his? I would think common sense would be a requirement just to start learning under Graeak."

"Jannda!" Dex said, trying to calm her down, but before he could continue, she cut him off.

"No, Dex," she said, her voicing lowering. "You can't keep defending him like this. Last time he did something less than intelligent, I backed you, thinking he would learn, but he hasn't. Now look where his actions have landed us? Maybe Brask was right," she said, bringing a shocked look from Dex. Druzeel just kept his head hung. Her words stung him, but he could not bring himself to repudiate what she was saying.

"Maybe–" she started to say, but the sound of keys and a door opening down the hallway silenced her. They heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Someone, presumingly a guard, was coming towards them, so they separated and faced the bars of their cell.

Xavdak suddenly appeared before them. He was dressed just as he was the night before, in full armor. The large hammer they had seen strapped to his back when he had them arrested was gone, be he looked like he still carried a heavy weight on his shoulders. His beard was dirty, his eyes dark, and his face worn. The dwarf looked like he had not slept in many days.

"Keep it down or I'll have you gagged," he said, his rough voice echoing throughout the room.

"Did you come all the way up here just to tell us that?" Jannda asked, her anger at the situation still fueling her words. Her better judgment told her to watch what she said but she was still angry and wanted to vent. The dwarf seemed a good target.

"No," he said flatly and without emotion. It appeared he had overcome his anger from the other night. "I came to inform you that you will be held until your trial, two days from now."

"Two days!" Druzeel exclaimed. That left virtually no time for them to prepare their defense or even for an investigation to be done, at least a proper investigation. They would surely be talking to witnesses and calling on wizards to use magic and spells to find out the truth. How could they put them on trial in just two days?

"Justice moves swiftly in Pelartis," Xavdak said, as if hearing his thoughts. "Trials usually commence a week or two after an arrest, but given the strong evidence and the nature of your crimes, the Colonnade feels it is in the best interest of the city to bring you before them as soon as possible."

"But two days?!" Druzeel said in distress. "That leaves hardly any time for us to–"

"It is time enough," Xavdak said strongly, showing them that he thought they were guilty. "You will be able to question witnesses and explain your side of the story to clear yourselves of crimes at that time, so I suggest you take what time you have to think about what you are going to say. I also warn you that showing disrespect or unruly behavior will not be tolerated while before the Colonnade. Behaving yourselves before the justices will only benefit you. Doing anything else may cast you in a more unfavorable light, more than you already are in any case."

"Wait," Jannda said, her face cracking a smile. "You're giving us advice?" she asked incredulously.

"I am informing you of your rights," Xavdak said, once again without emotion. "Pelartis is a city of law and even accused criminals are provided a certain amount of rights until they are found guilty."

"How high and mighty of you," she replied with sarcasm.

"Jannda!" Dex exclaimed. Xavdak's nostrils flared.

"Please," Druzeel said. He took a step towards the bar but stopped, not wanting Xavdak to think he was threatening him. He doubted the dwarf held any fear of him whatsoever, but he gave the High Captain room anyway. "We didn't do this. We are being set up by the assassin that–"

Xavdak held up a hand. "You will have your day before the Colonnade. Save your words for them."

"But you can't think that we are responsible for those murders?" Druzeel pleaded.

"It doesn't matter what I think," Xavdak said. "I am not in charge of dispensing judgment. Your guilt or innocence is not my decision to make. My job is to arrest those who may have committed a crime. I have done that. Now my job is to make sure you reach your trial. The Colonnade will decide your fate based on the evidence presented."

"But–" Druzeel said, but the High Captain once again raised his hand.

"Save your words," he said. This time his tone was hard, indicating that Druzeel had best listen to his advice. After that, he turned and started walking away from their cell.

"Wait!" Druzeel said, running to the bars. The quick movement made him grimace in pain, but he was able to ignore most of it. He wrapped his hands around the bars and pushed his face against the barrier, finding the back of the High Captain. "What happens if we are found guilty?"

Druzeel didn't know why he asked the question. Perhaps it was his inquisitive personality or his need to know his possible fate. Whatever the reason, his heart beat rapidly in anticipation, but it slowed, almost to a stop, as Xavdak turned. His hard, unforgiving eyes fell upon him.

"If you are found guilty of the crimes you are accused," the dwarf said in that level, dispassionate tone, "then you will be executed."

With that, the dwarf turned and left. The sound of a door shutting echoed throughout the room, but Druzeel did not hear it. He only heard those final, punishing words.

He slowly backed away from the bars with an intense cold feeling flowing through him. His flesh paled, beads of sweat rose to his skin, and his heart rumbled in his chest, threatening to burst. He tried to get a grip on what Xavdak had said, but his mind no longer worked. There was nothing in his head but tangled, horrible thoughts. Soon, he feared, if they were found guilty, there may not even be that.

* * * * *

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Christopher Lapides started writing in 2004. The first draft of his first novel, Dragons Plight, was finished in less than a year. After many, many revisions, he finally decided to self-publish in 2009. Since then, he has finished his first trilogy, the Slayer Series, and continues to work on many others, bringing to life characters that do only what many of us wish we could–go adventuring in a world filled with magic, wonder and mystical creatures.

Chris works as a graphic designer and during those precious moments of free time, when his two daughters allow it, he likes to draw, sketch and write. Though he writes for himself more than anyone, he hopes to one day make a living spending his time locked in a basement, bringing his characters to life. Until then, he continues to write for fun. He currently lives in Georgia with his wife Jenna and two daughters, Kaylee and Anna, where they spend the days as all families should, playing and laughing as if nothing else in all the world matters.
