No, Bo thought again, there was no taint of demon blood in Praz-El’s veins. But there was something else far more inherent within him.
He stared at the closed door.
Praz-El's appearance on the steps of the Magistracy had been by design. The boy's real parents had obviously wanted him trained by humans now rather than demons, though for the life of him, Bo had no idea why. Until now.
With a heavy heart, the Magistrate withdrew a letter from the pile on his desk. He'd meant to talk to Praz about it, but everything else had gone so awry he hadn't dared. With Praz angry and facing the ultimatum given him by the Magistracy—by unanimous vote—Bo knew his foster son well enough to also know that Praz would have accepted the invitation immediately.
The letter felt like parchment, but Bo knew it had been made from skin, though he dared not wonder what the skin had been taken from.
Bo remembered when Praz had first stepped into the Magistracy. He had been a reluctant student at best, but he was already versed in so many fighting forms that it was hard to know what to do with him. He could barely read, and made no friends, but he was brazen to the point of madness. He would fight with abandon, and no black eye or bloody nose could stop him from winning.
Praz-El had been intractable in that area. When he'd gone up against opponents in the Circle of Steel, he'd devastated them all, to the point that he could fight only with the instructors themselves.
The blood of gods, Bo thought sadly.
It was a sobering thought, but one he could no longer deny. The demon namesake, the power within him ...
Bo sighed and closed the letter. It was the final proof he needed. He leaned back in his chair and knew he had no choice. The letter had come. If he didn't give it to Praz, there could only be ill fortune to come of it, but if he did, he knew he would lose him forever.
He's my son, Bo thought fiercely. It's my son they seek to take away from me.
Then the Magistrate of Eldrar's Tower recalled Praz-El's simple question. How did you vote?
Staring at the closed door, Bo couldn't help wondering if he'd already lost him.
3
Praz-El slipped into the shadows behind the Hanged Man's Inn as a corpse-wagon clattered into the alley.
He had spent most of the rest of his day in the warrior's training tower, defeating opponent after opponent in an effort to calm himself after his defeat to Bo. But it hadn't worked. He was still riled up after a long workout, and when he finally met up with Telop later that evening, even the elf's good-natured air couldn't calm him.
Praz knew what would, though—a battle.
For some reason, a true fight to the death always made Praz-El feel more in control of his life, as if it was in some strange way a deeply ingrained part of him. When his sword cut into flesh and opponents fell before him, he felt calm, almost reassured. He knew his feelings were strange, and at times they even scared him, but now, he simply hoped they would be enough to help him forget the miserable day he had. As if being ignored by Lissella wasn't enough, but to lose a battle with Bo and then be given an ultimatum about the Towers—it was just too much.
Looking up, he watched as Telop stopped scaling the wall—nearly twenty feet above— and lay flat against the building as the corpse-cart rolled by.
The wagon's large wooden wheels smacked against the uneven cobblestones and bounced through great pits that continued to grow from neglect and hard use. A hunchbacked goblin, skin so green it almost looked black in the night, picked up an oil lantern from his seat. He held the lantern over his head and waved it from side to side as he slowly searched the alley for the dead.
Praz held his breath.
Once it had cleared the alley and the pale lantern light had faded, dank shadows returned. Praz turned his attention again to the climb, reaching for a higher handhold and pulling himself up easily despite the chainmail shirt and weapons he wore. He thought of his foster father again, and the anger at his betrayal moved deeply within him.
Another trio of stretches and pulls later, Praz found himself eye-level to the room. From the information they'd been able to gather, the thieves stayed in the big room together. Wine, women, and food were all delivered.
Three lanterns, the wicks burning down low, filled the room with illumination that was only a little brighter than the moonlight fighting the cloudy sky outside. The wounded man and one other occupied one of the room's two beds. Another man slept in the second bed, and two more lay passed out on the floor.
Telop waved at Praz from the other side of the window. The elf's eyes were bright with excitement. Dark green and black face paint striped his features, masking them so that he wouldn't be easily seen in the shadows or recognized later.
Praz pulled himself to the window, sliding his left hand into a fisted dagger. He stepped quietly into the room and drew his sword as well. Telop eased into the room behind without making a sound. Moving quickly, the young warrior knelt beside the nearest thief and cut the purse strings from the pouch at his side.
Judging from the heft of the money pouch, there weren't many coins left.
It was an inauspicious beginning at best.
The wounded man on the bed stirred.
Praz and Telop froze instantly. The young warrior shifted only slightly so that he could protect their retreat to the window.
Struggling with his bound arm, the wounded man sat up in bed. His eyes opened slightly, then he saw Praz and gasped.
"Ahhh! Wake up!"
The wounded man reached to the side of his bed.
Telop cursed colorfully as the besotted thieves managed to come awake almost instantly and reach for weapons.
Praz smiled. It was just what he'd wanted.
The nearest thief pushed himself to his feet and seized a battle-axe in both hands. He yelled a challenge and swung the blade.
Praz dropped into a crouch, feeling the axe skim through his long hair as he dropped. As quickly as he went down, he rose again, feeling the savage bloodlust explode within him.
They're murderous thieves, he told himself. Yours for the taking.
The young warrior blocked the return sweep of the thief's axe with his sword, then stepped in close before the man could move backward, and plunged his dagger into the man's breastbone. Dark blood erupted from the puncture wound.
Spinning, Praz faced the next thief. The young warrior's sword came up automatically. The thief standing before Praz wasn't as tall as the young warrior, but he was broader across the shoulders and thicker through the chest. His face was marked with scars from weapons as well as disease, and he wielded a short sword and a riposting dagger.
Without warning, the thief launched his attack, leading with the sword to draw out Praz's defense. Once he'd engaged the young warrior's sword with his own, the thief lashed out with the riposting dagger, driving it straight at Praz's left eye.
Praz reacted instantly, yanking his head to the right to protect his eye. He then tried for the thief's exposed left side, thinking to take advantage of the man's vulnerability. Instead, Praz's sword rasped the thief's sword. Immediately, the young warrior knew he'd been foxed and drawn into the attack. Before Praz could defend against it, the thief stepped into him, bulling him backward. Praz tried to keep his balance, but the man's strength and impetus couldn't be denied. Praz fumbled for a step backward, cursing the fact that he had to retreat, then caught only a glimmer of steel that warned of the riposting dagger.
Cold steel slashed Praz's left cheekbone, narrowly missing his eye, and warm blood wept down his cheek.
Rebelling against the instinctive urge to step back again and protect his face, Praz stepped forward and headbutted the thief, smashing his nose with a harsh crack.
The thief cursed but held his feet despite the pain. He drew back his sword and hit Praz along his wounded cheek with the blade's knuckle.
Bright lights danced inside Praz's head and he felt his knees tremble weakly.
Stupid, Praz thought a stupid mistake. Concentrate!
The thief came forward with his weapons bristling, obviously expecting Praz to give way before him. Before the young warrior could quite get his sword up to block, the thief directed a cruel blow at Praz's leg.
The sword sliced through the leather pants Praz wore and cut deeply into his thigh. The blow wouldn't have been allowed in competitions, but neither of them was fighting for a trophy.
The thief's breathing became labored as they fought, and the sound of it filled the room. When his defense slowed enough, Praz blocked the sweeping sword with his own, stepped through, and plunged the sword in the thief's guts.
The thief gave Praz a shocked look for just an instant, then fell to the floor.
"Come on," Telop urged frantically.
Praz yanked his sword free of the corpse and wiped it clean on the dead man's clothes. He looked around. Telop had taken care of the others and was now holding down the wounded one. Praz approached him, a bit weary, but feeling better already.
The wounded thief lay still in Telop's grasp and begged for his life.
"The gold," Praz said in a low voice. "Give us the gold and we let you live."
Someone pounded at the door, rattling it in its frame. "What's going on in there?"
Telop cursed.
"Go away," Praz said, completely calm and never letting his gaze wander from the thief.
"I've sent for the Guard," the man's voice warned.
"Good," Praz said. "Maybe I can complain about the conditions of this hovel."
"Open this door!" the man ordered.
Praz leaned down and pulled a dagger from the boots sitting by the bed. He threw it across the room.
The heavy blade stuck in the wooden door up to the hilt, where Praz guessed would be head-high to the man on the other side. A startled yelp of fear, followed by a blistering oath, filled the outside hallway.
Praz returned his gaze to the thief. "The gold." He placed the sword against the man's throat. "Now."
"The ceiling," the thief gasped, looking up.
Praz squinted and made out the small triangle cut-out in the corner of the ceiling over the bed. Someone had carefully trimmed the section out and laid the line where the shadows generally fell.
The young warrior stood on the bed and reached the section easily. He pushed it up and slid it aside. Five small leather pouches rested on the ceiling. He took them down one by one, loosening the strings and spilling out the contents into his broad palm.
Gold coins tinkled against each other.
"Well?" Telop asked.
"It'll do." Praz smiled. He looked at the wounded man.
"Don't kill me," the thief begged. "I'm a soothsayer. I can tell your fortune. I've got witch blood from my mother's side, I swear!"
Normally, Praz wouldn't have given the man a second thought, but after everything that had happened with his foster father, he was curious as to what his future might hold.
"Okay, witch," he said, shoving his hand forward. 'Tell me what you know."
Telop slapped his head. He couldn't believe it.
"Are you crazy?" he whispered.
Praz ignored him.
The thief took his hand and studied it closely. Suddenly, his eyes widened in shock, as if a powerful force had assaulted him.
"Darkness," he whispered. "I see darkness everywhere."
The words struck Praz. Angered, he balled his empty hand into a fist and slammed it into the thief's face.
"What the hell kind of foretelling was that?" he snapped.
"Kill him," Telop yelled. "I told him I'd let him live," Praz replied, turning for the window. Telop took out a knife. "I didn't," he whispered. Praz turned and faced his friend. "I gave my word for both of us." Telop held his gaze, but after a moment, he simply shook his head and muttered under his breath.
Praz stepped through the window, waited for Telop to join him, then started down the wall.
Praz and Telop washed the face paint off in a water barrel at the back of the stable, donned fresh clothing they'd left hidden among the straw, and divvied the gold.
Telop gazed at his share of the gold as he let it trickle into his pouch. "More than enough here to keep us in wine and women for a couple months."
Praz nodded, but he couldn't help feeling an emptiness in their raid. In the past he would have reveled with Telop, but the soothsayer's words had sobered him somehow, and he couldn't help wondering what it meant. He knew he was once trained in Darkness, but he thought all that was behind him.
Taking their blood-spattered clothing, they dropped it into a sewer.
When the clothing hit the foul water sluicing through the channel under the city, Praz heard the mad scramble of at least a dozen rats pursuing the blood smell.
Praz took only a moment more to cast a healing spell that closed the wounds he'd suffered at the hands of the thieves before heading toward the Silken Pleasures District.
The Silken Pleasures District lay just beyond Soronne's boundaries in the land of Gathis, one of the Six Shards nations that had formed Soronne. Gathis had been home to Hraldrake's Crossing, the Tower that was rumored to have once taught students how to walk through the various worlds open to those who learned the secrets of the Dragon Gates.
After he'd learned about the history of Hraldrake's Crossing, Praz had slipped off and explored the barren old tower that lay in ruins on the southeast section of Soronne. Beautiful friezes decorated the walls, showing dynamic battles between dragons and gods while dwarves, elves, humans, goblins, and all the other humanoid races served as their foot soldiers.
Dozens of worlds, Praz had been told, had been involved with the war between the gods and the dragons. But many of those worlds had been destroyed. The Six Shards were remnants of those that had survived. The Magistracy had been left in charge of the Towers and the learning, and everyone who lived within the Six Shards knew that they had to get along or perish. All shall stand together, the old prophecies had said, no one above the other, lest Darkness or Light rip the worlds apart again and leave only destruction in their wake.
"Now that's unusual," Telop observed, glancing skyward.
Looking up as well, Praz took in the storm clouds circling above Soronne. It was an anomaly, as harsh weather rarely came to their lands.
Praz drew his cloak more tightly around him, blocking out the cutting wind. "It's a good thing we've got gold in our pouches and a tavern nearby."
He led the way across the street, running for the Sage's Rebuttal, an alehouse made popular by the student body at the Towers.
But even as he crossed, Praz kept hearing the soothsayer's words. Darkness everywhere. He tried to push them from his mind, but they seemed as strange to him as the dark storm gathering overhead.
4
The Sage's Rebuttal remained in a constant state of disrepair. The wooden boardwalk in front of the alehouse rolled as precariously as an excited sea, and there were a few boards missing in places for good measure, which made getting drunk and trying to meander back to the Towers without a friend a bad idea.
Stools and benches lined the front of the building, and a number of groups were already seated, deep in their cups and whatever argument they chose to have for the night. Some of the students called out to Telop, but none of them called out to Praz, who was generally avoided throughout the Towers as heartless and unapproachable.
That fact had hurt Praz early on, as he wasn't so much heartless as he was awkwardly unemotional. He'd been trained in solitude and learned to break ties easily, and yet everything had changed in the Towers. Unaccustomed to making friends and laughing with others, he'd simply gone inward and tried to learn as best he could.
Pushing open the tavern's double doors, Praz stepped inside and avoided eye contact with anyone.
Inside, smoke wreathed the tavern in shifting layers that brought the scent of tobacco, spices, and some hallucinogenic herbs that were specifically banned by the Magistracy. The lantern light from the huge wagon wheel hanging from the ceiling was dim and allowed the tables and booths to have their privacy. A number of students crowded close to the bar on the other side of the room, playing games or arguing over books. The hardwood floor was stained and chipped, and the walls held names written in ink or carved with a blade.
Immediately, Praz started for a booth over to his left. The four students seated there quickly gathered up their books and evacuated without protest. Praz shook his head and got angry. He was glad for the booth, but it served only to remind him how removed he was from everyone else.
By the time he'd taken off his sword belt, a serving woman had joined them, ignoring a chorus of protests from other students who wanted to order drinks.
"Praz," she said in a low, throaty voice.
The young warrior looked up and tried to remember her name.
"Hello, Tasha," Telop greeted, with a knowing glance at Praz.
"Tasha," Praz repeated, raising his brows to Telop.
The serving woman beamed at Praz and ignored Telop. She was petite and dark-haired, with eyes the color of dark jade, and easily five years older than the young warrior. She wore a short, purple shift that left a healthy expanse of thigh in the open.
She placed her serving tray on the tabletop, then leaned on top of it, exposing a surprising amount of cleavage for a small woman.
Praz had no problem remembering either the cleavage or the healthy thigh. He gave her a small smile, thinking that since Lissella had been such a snob that day, maybe another romp with Tasha was all he really needed.
"So what will you have?" Tasha asked.
"Ales," Praz said, "with bread and stew, if it's from today and not the pot leavings from yesterday."
"You got it," Tasha smiled. She straightened suggestively and returned to the bar, ignoring the clamoring patrons she left in her wake.
"How do you do that?" Telop asked.
Praz looked over at him. "What?"
"Get these women to fawn over you like that?"
"I don't know," he said. And he didn't. All he knew was that he could have his pick of any of them, yet the only one he really wanted treated him like garbage ... and it only made him like her more.
"You make me sick," Telop said. "You do nothing and I do everything and they still never remember my name."
"That's ridiculous."
"No!" Telop said. "When I'm seated next to you, it's like I don't even exist."
The serving woman returned with a huge platter holding a loaf of bread, a huge bowl of stew, and a tall tankard of ale. She placed it all in front of Praz with a smile.
The young warrior looked at the single servings, then up at the woman. He held up two fingers and waggled them between Telop and himself.
"There are two of us," he said slowly.
"Oh," the serving woman said, looking at the elf as if he'd suddenly appeared. "Oh... I'm sorry. I'll be right back."
Telop sighed and watched her walk away.
"See what I mean?"
"It was an oversight," Praz said. "You can clearly see that the alehouse is busy tonight."
"I remember her name," Telop fumed, "and you don't, but she dotes on you hand and foot."
Without warning, a sudden gust of wind slammed through the alehouse's front door.
A chill pervaded the room, drawing startled curses from the tavern's patrons. One of the students got up and added a few more logs to the fireplace on the other side of the room, where two cauldrons hung.
All conversation turned to the strange weather. Students got up from the booths and tables and stared outside through the windows, as those who had been outside deserted their posts and came in.
"Hello, Praz," a seductive voice called from behind the young warrior's shoulder.
Praz paused in mid-bite.
"River," he said, glancing over.
Telop scooted from his side of the booth and stood respectfully. "Good evening, River."
The young woman stood at least an inch over six feet and was absolutely gorgeous from head to toe, molded of generous rounded curves. She reached up and freed a cascade of coppery-red hair that went well past her shoulder.
Her skin was dark from the sun, and the color made her gold-flecked eyes stand out even more. She wore ranger's leathers, a fringed hooded jacket, knee-high moccasins, and a leather shirt, all mottled green and brown so she could move almost invisibly in a forest.
"Well," River said with a smile, "are you going to ask me to join you or should I move along?"
"Please." Telop waved to his side of the booth. "You would grace us with your presence."
"Thank you." River slid the bow and quiver from her back and folded neatly into the booth.
Telop looked up as the serving woman returned to the table with his platter.
Tasha glanced at River with an air of irritation. "Oh? And now there are three?" She placed the platter on the table.
"Yes," Telop responded. "If that's not a problem." He watched as River pulled the platter in front of her and broke the chunk of bread.
"And we'll need another serving," he said.
"We could share," River suggested, passing the bread over.
Telop glanced at the woman ranger for an instant. "I've seen you eat. I'd starve to death before morning."
River smiled and then toasted him with his own tankard of ale.
"When there's a chance to eat, we're taught to take it because there's not always the promise of a meal any time soon."
Praz gazed at River, who met his gaze boldly.
He knew she liked him, but there just wasn't anything dark or mysterious about her. She was a good friend, but watching her only made him think about Lissella again.
"So what brings you here?" he asked, shaking those thoughts from his mind.
"The coming storm," River answered. "A group of us were deep in Burning Ash Forest only an hour ago when the storm started to roll in. I voted to tough it out. We had full packs, after all, including small tents. But you people aren't used to this kind of weather."
Burning Ash Forest was in Turrel, the Shard that contained Dragonskull, and was still talked about in legend as a place of ghosts and undead.
"We're familiar with storms," Praz objected. "All Magistracy students have gone on expeditions into the Shards where storms are commonplace."
All of the Six Shards, despite being so close together, possessed their own climates. The magical barriers erected by the dragons so that the lands could be unified guaranteed that.
"We're just not used to them here."
The serving woman returned with Telop's platter and the elf set to with gusto.
"Perhaps, then," River said, her eyes flashing, "you'd care to return to Burning Ash with me tonight."
Telop choked on a bite of stew but Praz ignored him. "We have class tomorrow," the young warrior pointed out.
"Are you so far behind in your studies that you can't miss a day?" River asked.
"I never miss class," Praz said seriously, although he missed out on sleep occasionally with all the carousing he did.
"We could be back before first call," River pushed. "Sleep is somewhat overrated, anyway."
Praz smiled slightly. He knew what that meant, but he didn't want any rumors getting around that might get back to Lissella.
"No, thank you," he said.
"Lose that sense of adventure you're so famed for?" River taunted.
"Actually, I've already had one adventure tonight," Praz responded.
"Care to share the details?"
Telop raised a hand and started to point a warning forefinger at Praz.
"No," Praz replied.
River returned her attention to her platter as if bored. "Pity, I would think that after today's events you'd be ready to blow off some steam. It must have been very frustrating."
"What events?" Praz demanded.
"Oh, the argument with Lissella Morely." River broke another piece of bread off. "All the Towers are talking about it."
Self-consciously, Praz glanced around the ale-house to see if anyone was paying too much attention to him. The few people who accidentally aught his gaze quickly turned away.
"They wouldn't be brave enough to talk to you about it," River said.
Praz turned to her. "You are."
"Yes." River's eyes sparkled. "But then, I've no reason to be afraid of you, do I?"
A sudden flicker of lightning glared against the alehouse's windows. It was followed almost immediately by an explosive blast of thunder that vibrated the table beneath Praz's forearms.
All the conversations in the Sage's Rebuttal instantly fell silent.
Praz stared through the alehouse's front windows and doors. This is not the rainy season. That won't be for another month or more.
More lightning streaked the dark skies, then heavy rain drummed against the alehouse's roof. Conversations started back up fitfully, and stayed a low-key counterpoint to the falling rain. A few of the students even gave up drinking in order to be more sober should they have to brave the unexpected storm.
After the serving woman continued to ignore her request for a refill of ale, River excused herself and headed for the bar. A half-dozen male students flocked around her before she'd made it halfway, all of them chatting her up.
"You know," Telop said in a quiet voice, "River is interested in you."
Praz mopped up the last bit of stew broth with a crust of bread. "I know."
Telop shook his head.
"I really don't get you. You ignore most of these women and they throw themselves at you. Some, like our dear serving woman, Tasha, you snap up like a quick snack, then move on."
"It's because women such as Tasha are looking for the same thing I am," Praz said. "A good time. They want to spend the night, not the rest of their lives. I understand that and I appreciate it." He pointed a bread crust at the elf. "You, however, want to fall in love."
Telop blew out a disgusted breath. "And you don't look for love?"
Praz drained his ale tankard. Amazingly, Tasha saw it at once and immediately refilled it, ignoring Telop's outthrust tankard.
"Then," Telop said, "what are you looking for from Lissella Morely?"
"A chance to conquer her virtues," Praz answered quickly. But he really wasn't sure what he wanted from Lissella. He knew only he was more attracted to her than he'd ever been to any woman.
"Lissella's virtues have already been conquered," Telop said.
"What do you mean?" Praz asked, genuinely shocked.
"Nothing," Telop replied. "All I'm saying is that any woman as confident and ornery as she is can't be innocent of the things that go on between a man and a woman." He paused. "You didn't think she was ... uh, unskilled, did you?"
"Actually," Praz lied, "I hadn't given it any thought." But he had. Some of the dreams he'd had about Lissella Morely included awakening her to the carnal pleasures of the world.
"Well, I have," Telop admitted.
"I thought you said she's a snob."
"I did," the elf said with a grin, "but she's a damned pretty snob all the same."
Jealousy panged in Praz's heart, and he was about to say something when Telop turned.
Praz followed his gaze, and who should he see entering the tavern but Lissella Morely herself.
5
A lighting flash lit up the swinging doors behind Lissella, followed instantly by a crash of thunder that rattled the glassware on the tables and shelves. Startled curses came from around the room.
River returned to the table with a full tankard of foamy ale. "Well, well," she stated quietly, "look who's decided to go slumming."
Lissella stood in the doorway for a moment and spoke an incantation that flashed silvery faerie fire through her clothing. When the glistening spell finished, her clothes were dry.
"Why do you think she's here?" Telop asked.
River lifted her tankard and looked over at Praz.
"I need only one guess."
Dismissing the stares of the student body, Lissella raked the alehouse with her cold gaze. When she spotted Praz, she started forward immediately.
"Well,” Lissella mused. "What do we have here?"
"What do you want, Lissella?" River asked first, attracting her gaze. Her voice was sweet, but it barely covered the edge Praz heard in the young ranger's words.
"I certainly don't want you," Lissella smiled, "but if I ever need a second-rate ranger I certainly know who to call."
"Ohh," Telop whispered, squinting his face at the low blow.
"Excuse me?" River snapped. "You don't know anything about me."
"Oh, but I do," Lissella said calmly, angered at having her attention taken from what she'd come for, "I know that you were born into a ranger's family, and you'll be a ranger just as your father and your mother were before you."
"There are less honorable trades," River countered. "Take someone studying to be a mage, for instance. Did you know that roughly half of all mages are drawn to the Darkness rather than the Light because it's supposed to be more powerful?"
"It is," Lissella replied with a dark twinkle in her eyes. "And if you were good enough to study in Eldrar's Tower, you would know that. Instead, you study to learn what grubs are good to eat while you're nursing a sick animal. How noble ... but there aren't many who follow a ranger's ways these days, young River. There's no glory and very little gold. So I'll sleep on feather beds, thank you, and not ever in the mud or weeds."
River's eyes narrowed. "Stone walls don't make a world."
"That depends on what you cover them with. And if you grow rich enough, you can cover those walls with the wealth of worlds."
"I'll take the forest over your ivory towers any day," River responded. "Give me a morning to watch the sun come up and a chill in the air that makes you stay rolled up in the bedclothes."
Lissella's eyebrow arched. "And perhaps someone to share those bedclothes with? Someone other than the vermin that may have crept in with you during the night?"
She glanced at Praz. "Perhaps someone at this very table?" Praz started to say something but Lissella's gaze held him cold.
He certainly didn't want her yelling at him again, so he kept his mouth shut and shared a knowing glance with Telop.
River's face flushed red. She started to speak and couldn't.
"Your little bout of puppy love hasn't gone unnoticed," Lissella said coldly. "I've seen how you've sidled up to Praz in the halls. And tonight I find that you've even wheedled your way to his table."
Telop cleared his throat. "Actually, I invited River to our table."
Lissella turned her white-hot gaze on the elf and Praz looked away, happy he hadn't been the one to interrupt her. "Silence!" Lissella snapped. "When I want to hear anything from you, I'll let you know."
Stifling his anger, Telop broke his locked gaze with Lissella and looked down at the empty platter before him.
Praz smirked and looked away. What is she doing here? he thought, And why is she so angry? And why do I still find her so fascinating?
He looked around and noticed lots of people were now listening to the conversation.
"For your information," River declared, "I don't have to wheedle my way anywhere. In fact, I'd bet that I'm welcome at a lot more tables in this room than you are."
A chorus of cheers followed her words. Furious, Lissella turned and her right hand shot upward. Coils of shimmering power wrapped around her arm, like a nearly invisible octopus.
Praz felt the hair on the back of his neck standing stiffly erect. He started to reach for Lissella and caught himself just in time.
Lissella closed her fist and yanked it down.
The shimmering power exploded from her grasp and seized the wagon wheel that hung from the ceiling. Wood shrieked as screws and mounts pulled free, breaking through oak planks that had weathered decades of neglect and hard use.
"Move!" someone shouted.
The wagon wheel of lanterns broke free and dropped. Luckily, everyone seated at the two tables below got out of the way, diving into other nearby groups as they all fought for safety. The tables shattered beneath the weight and lay crushed on the floor. Oil splattered across the hardwood floor and blue and yellow flames danced about.
Rolloph, the bartender who worked most evenings, cursed and reached behind the bar for the bucket of sawdust. Before he could get around the bar, though, Lissella gestured again.
A cold wind bearing a heavy mist that gleamed like a rainbow raced through the two doors and extinguished the flames clinging to the floor.
Immediate silence filled the darkened alehouse. With the wagon wheel of lanterns gone, gloom settled into the tavern.
"My name is Lissella Morely," Lissella announced in proud contempt. "Send the bill for the damages to me at Eldrar's Tower."
Hair billowing from the wind that still cascaded through the alehouse, Lissella turned back to face River.
To her own credit, the young ranger didn't appear frightened.
"You'll never be what I am or what I will be," Lissella told her.
River returned the woman's icy stare full measure, remaining silent, but one of her hands had disappeared below the table. That worried Praz. On occasion, he'd had the chance to see how good the young ranger was with her knives, and a mystical shield was good only if the mage saw the attack coming in time.
"I do what I want to do," Lissella said, "and I'll take what I want to take." With blinding speed, she reached out and grabbed a fistful of Praz's hair, pulling some of it out in the process. The unexpected move caught the young warrior completely off guard.
The next thing he knew, Lissella was pulling him toward her, her lips parted and only inches from his face.
6
She’s going to kiss me! Praz realized. And he was surprised at how unsettling that thought was.
"Do you see?" Lissella asked River.
Lissella's breath ghosted gently against Praz's cheek, filling his head with improper thoughts that he found immensely appealing. "I can take Praz whenever I want."
Well, Praz thought, I guess I don't have a problem with that.
River looked ready to attack.
"Magistrate!" someone yelled.
The cry got the attention of everyone in the alehouse. Tower officials, much less full-blown Magistrates, were rarely seen in the Sage's Rebuttal. Students left their tables like a covey of quail and headed for the alehouse's back door.
The bartender didn't look too happy about being left to face the Magistrate alone.
Footsteps sounded out on the rolling boardwalk in front of the alehouse. Suddenly, they sounded more ominous than the cracking thunder.
Effortlessly, River stood up in the booth seat and strode across the tabletop without asking Telop to move. The elf remained frozen, not daring to intrude on Lissella's personal space or get between the two women.
River stood for just a moment looking down on Lissella.
"Did you ever notice," Lissella asked, moving away from Praz and sizing River up, "how much time a little dog spends barking and yet never seems to find the occasion to actually bite whatever they're threatening?"
Dark fury and embarrassment flushed across River's face. She gathered her bow and quiver, and strode to the alehouse's front door, passing Magistrate Bo on her way.
Bo entered the tavern slowly, as if trying to make sure he had the right place.
"Magistrate Bo," River said in passing.
A jagged streak of lightning ignited the sky, illuminating the outside street as River stepped out.
Despite his foster father's unexplained presence in the Sage's Rebuttal, Praz couldn't help but smile and look up at Lissella.
"What are you grinning at?" Lissella demanded.
"You," he said.
"That," Lissella promised intently, "would be a grave mistake."
"I can't help it," Praz said. "You're attracted to me. I knew it all along."
Magistrate Bo stared at the darkened interior of the tavern. Rolloph called out a greeting and Bo walked over to him.
"I'm looking for a student," Bo said.
"Just a minute ago," the bartender replied, "you could have had your pick of them."
"I'm not attracted to you," Lissella stated with angry conviction.
"Then why this?" Praz asked, spreading his arms at the destruction around them.
Telop nodded in approval.
"That's true," he said, "you really did a number on this place."
Lissella turned angrily to Telop, who hid his head the moment she looked at him.
Clutching a lock of Praz's hair in her hand, Lissella turned to Praz with a tight smile.
"You'll know why soon enough," she whispered. And with that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the tavern.
"Sheesh!" Telop sighed when she left. "You've got your hands full with that one."
Praz wondered what Lissella had meant, but he couldn't help thinking about the way she had strode from the alehouse. Only intense feelings could make a woman's back that straight, her head that high, and cause her to roll her hips at the same time.
"I think she likes me," he said, "I mean really likes me."
Telop gazed at him in open-mouthed disbelief. "You're sick. Demented. Brain-dead."
Praz grinned and took a swig of ale.
"Good evening, Praz, Telop," Magistrate Bo said.
Praz looked up.
"Magistrate Bo," Telop said formally. Bo turned to Praz.
"I wonder if I might have a moment alone with you," he said, watching Praz carefully.
"If you must," Praz said. But then he began to wonder exactly why Bo was there. Was he in trouble somehow? Had Bo found out about their trip to the thieves' hideout?
"Here," Telop said hurriedly, sliding out of the booth and getting up. "You can have my seat, Magistrate. I was just leaving."
Praz watched, scarcely breathing, as Telop crossed the hardwood floor.
Bo sat and looked uncomfortably around the alehouse. "I'd always heard there were students at this place. That's why the Tower Masters all clamor somewhat ritualistically that this den of iniquity be closed forever."
"Usually," Praz admitted, "there are more students." He watched Telop wave to him from the door, then step out into the rain. "Though I've never seen a Magistrate here." He lifted his ale tankard and drank rebelliously. If there was any trouble coming, he wanted to earn every bit of it.
Bo smiled wanly. "I'm sure you haven't. Although, back in the old days when I was attending the Towers, the Magistrates made it a point to raid these places upon occasion. Usually around quarterly finals."
Praz let the conversation come to an awkward pause and waited. After all, he had nothing more to say about the earlier argument. However, he couldn't imagine anything else that would have made Bo find him, and he was getting more curious by the moment.
"I realize our earlier discussion wasn't pleasant for you," Bo said quietly. "And you know how I hate to let things hang between us. I came looking for you because there's something I couldn't tell you earlier, something I couldn't bear to give to you inside the Towers."
Praz knew the encounter hadn't been very pleasant for his foster father either, and he looked up now, sensing the distress and worry in Bo's voice.
Bo sighed and reached into the large scholar's bag he habitually carried whenever he was away from Eldrar's Tower. "I tried to force you into making a decision today," he said quietly as he drew a letter from the bag, "because I didn't want to give you this."
Praz glanced at the letter, noting the unfamiliar purple wax seal.
"If you had made a decision about which Tower to study at," Bo continued, "I would know that your time here wasn't done."
Wasn't done?
Suddenly, Praz's breath caught in the back of his throat. He made himself remain calm through sheer willpower. All his life at Soronne, he'd felt certain that Mistress—or someone else—would come for him one day just as he'd been called on once before. He had soon come to dread that day though, especially since he'd gotten along so well at Soronne. But lately he'd felt restless, as if another change was right around the corner.
Is that what this is about? Even as that question consumed his mind, pushing thoughts of Lissella away, Praz felt a momentary pang of guilt. If his time among the Towers was done, then perhaps his time with Bo was done as well. It was one thing to walk away from the Towers, but he found the thought of leaving his foster father— like leaving his mistress—hard to contemplate.
"Someone has called for me?" Praz asked.
"Yes," Bo responded, "they have. I just never thought this would come so soon."
"It's been fourteen years," Praz said.
Bo smiled sadly.
"A lifetime for you, I know, but when you get to be my age, you find that fourteen years passes swiftly."
Praz looked away, not sure how to take it all in.
"What happens now?" he asked, but in the back of his mind, excitement reigned.
Bo grimaced and drew the letter back to the edge of the table.
"I wish you weren't so eager," he said.
"I knew this was a possibility all my life," Praz pointed out. "How could I not be excited? Did you ever really think I fit in here? Didn't you ever wonder why I was here and what my true destiny might be?"
"A destiny isn't always a good thing," the wizened elf stated. "Every destiny comes with a price, and I fear yours comes with a price that's even greater than you know."