Arram Draper walked down the darkened hallway of the royal university of Carthak. It was very late, but he had been working on a project with his teacher, Linhall Reed, and he had lost track of all time.
Heading back to the room where he was staying at the university, Arram knew that the reason he wanted to work so hard on his project, was, ultimately, to make sure that his was better than Ozorne's.
Closing his door behind him, Arram sagged into the chair at his desk. He couldn't help trying to keep outdoing the Emperors heir, and he knew that eventually, it was going to get him trouble, but he just couldn't stop. Neither, it seemed, could Ozorne.
The two were almost exact polar opposites. On one hand, there was Arram Draper, a tall, dark haired common born who had already received a black robe, marking him as one of the most powerful and skilled students in the university.
On the other, there was His Highness Ozorne, the heir to the Carthaki Empire. He surrounded himself with the wealth of Carthak, and you only had to look at him to know that he was of royal blood. One glance, taking in his braided red-blonde hair, and gilded eyes, and the clothes that were so decorative that they were almost gaudy, would tell you all you needed to know.
Despite this, the two had become friends quickly. Soon enough, they were attending the university. And, as is so common in such situations, the two young men began a quiet rivalry that was never spoken of, nor even truly acknowledged. They fought to outdo each other in every way, quickly becoming the universities strongest students.
In the end, however, Arram was simply more powerful than his friend. It was he who had received the black robe that was so coveted by his friend. Their rivalry turned into loathing, and they openly despised each other.
It didn't help matters any that he was required to wear his black robe to his classes. Ozorne, of course, could wear anything he wanted to.
Arram sighed. It wasn't his fault that his teachers had pushed him to become the youngest black robe in a century. After all, the only real perk was that he could speed through projects that the other students were forced to do slowly.
A knock on his door brought Arram back to earth. He stood to open it, and smiled as he saw the woman standing there. Varice Kingsford was a student at the university, but she loved the work she did outside of it-creating elaborate foods for a wealthy catering business. She had been, on several occasions, asked to help with banquets at the royal palace, and it was at one such party that she had met Arram, almost a year beforehand.
She was one of the most beautiful women Arram had ever seen. But right now, her blue eyes shone with worry, and her blonde hair fell around her face as though she had just run a very long distance in a short deal of time. Varice wrung her hands, and looked up into his eyes.
"Mithros Mynos and Sakith." Arram whispered reverently. "What is it?"
"Arram, you have to leave, and quickly!" Varice whispered urgently.
"Whats wrong?" Arram asked. "Whats happened?" Varice glanced around her, eyes wide, as though seeing invisible ghosts.
"Can we talk inside?" She asked. Arram nodded, stepping back to allow her into the room.
"You don't need to worry about being overheard here." Arram said. Varice nodded, swallowing.
"Arram, I don't know what you did, but you went too far this time! You're going to be tried for treason!" Varice lost all semblance of control, tears spilling out of her eyes, smearing her mascara.
"What?" Arram whispered. True, he had only expected something like this, but the punishment for treason was death. If Ozorne was accusing him, he was as good as dead.
"How did you find out?" He asked as he offered her a tissue.
"I heard two of the nobles talking about it last night." Varice said. "Arram, you must leave! Go to north. To Tortall, Scanra, Galla, it doesn't matter, but you have to leave NOW!" Varice told him, grabbing him by the front of his robe. "I don't want to watch him kill you!"
Arram nodded. "I will. But you must be back at the palace by the time they find out I am missing, or Ozorne will suspect you." He warned.
"I don't care!" Varice whispered fiercely.
"I do." Arram told her, gently prying her hands away from his robe. Varice looked at him for a long moment before turning away.
"Goodbye Arram." She whispered, fleeing through the door. It banged shut behind her.
Arrams blood was ice as he gathered the most important of his worldly belongings in a travel sack. The black opal pendant that his mother had given him as a present for his acceptance into the university, he placed around his neck.
The last thing he did before he left the room was utter the magical syllable that would turn him invisible. This done, he took a deep breath, and pulled open the door.
Arram had made himself turn invisible several times, but it was still eerie to extend his hand and see nothing. It wasn't something you could get used to, like shape shifting.
He ran down the hallways, trying not to knock anything over. He had walked through them maybe a half-hour before, but now he imagined he could see guards in every shadow, and a threat behind every corner. He had to use every bit of his willpower not to send black fire in every direction just to be sure.
Not willing to risk taking a horse, Arram left through the main gate on foot. He looked around automatically. The moon was shining brightly directly above him, illuminating the banks of the river Zekoi
Arram smiled to himself as he saw a figure making its way up the opposite bank. It was Varice.
Turning in the opposite direction, Arram began to walk. He was pretty sure that if he just followed the Zekoi away from the palace, he would come to the great inland sea in a matter of days. He could cross it into Tortall, and from there, he decided he would find a future for himself. He would keep moving, making sure that he was never brought to the attention of anyone who might alert the Emperor of Carthak where he was.
Arrams heart sank. How much chance did he really have? He probably wouldn't even make it to the inland sea. Not with the royal guard of Carthak after him. He would be chased wherever he went, with its soldiers closing in all the time. They weren't tireless or deathless, but the Emperor was a persuasive man.
He could change his name, part of him argued. They'll be looking for someone named Arram Draper.
The next few minutes, Arram spent thinking of possible names. He went through a list of all the names he knew, and some he had just made up, and tried several combinations before he found something that worked.
Numair. Numair Salmalin. Arram rather liked it. He whispered it aloud, as if by doing so, he was officially changing his name.
Numari Salmalin glanced over his shoulder before beginning to trot along the road, raising a cloud of dust that would appear, to a casual observer, like it was being stirred by nothing but the wind.