Author's note: Okay, I think I've got this thing fixed--the site replaced the text for this chapter with the text from Chap. 2. Anyway, thank you to everyone who has sent in a review--I appreciate it!

--Emily

Despite many years of seeing through Altra's eyes, Karal always felt disconcerted when he saw himself in a mirror. He had gotten used to simple things, like walking, sitting, and even reading and writing—but there was something eerie about seeing the back of his own head, then the reflected image of his face pressed close to the Firecat's. He had always tried to accept his hardship gracefully and with dignity, as befitted a priest of Vkandis, the Sunlord—but tiny details like that continuously reminded him that what he saw was not coming from his own eyes. Sometimes, when Altra had gone to sleep for the night, and Karal's sight was dark, he could still faintly make out the silhouette of a horse etched against the blackness—Florian.

::You've got some new gray hairs around your temples,:: Altra helpfully pointed out, washing a fire-colored paw while Karal contemplated. ::Who put them there this time?::

The priest shrugged his thin shoulders and smiled slightly, coming out of his reverie. ::Who knows? It could be the handiwork of any number of my students.:: He leaned forward to examine the spot in question, and Altra leaned forward to oblige him. Sure enough, there were a few more strands of silver in his dark, Karsite hair, a few more lines at the corners of his hooded, unfocused eyes; his face had grown a little harder and more angular, losing the softness of youth.

::If I were in a position to place a bet, my money would be on that unruly young Markev. I'll give him a good swipe next time he's in range...:: Altra interjected.

::Don't bother, Altra. He's not worth soiling your dainty little claws with.::

The Firecat made a "harrumph" sound in his throat to emphasize just what he thought of that.

::Besides,:: Karal added, stroking one of his friend's bright, pointed ears and turning away from the mirror, ::the years will just add more anyway.::

Altra leapt down from the priest's shoulder, briefly disorienting Karal, then led the way down the hall towards the Heraldic College.

----

"And he's got this weird cat, with fur that looks like fire, and it follows him everywhere...and if you give him a wrong answer, he'll make it jump on you and claw your eyes out!" Markev sneered unpleasantly and watched the new boy's reaction. Young Alaric's sharp, pointed face registered a defiant skepticism, but there was a healthy fear in his blue eyes that the older boy liked to see.

"I think you're lying," Alaric retorted, tossing his head in a way that made a brown curl of hair fall over his eyes. He brushed it back hastily. "If that had really happened, everyone would have heard about it."

"They keep it hushed up, or else nobody would let their sons or daughters take a class from him—and they have to have him here, to keep Karse happy."

Another boy, a blue-clad young man whose face wore a kinder expression, gave a snort of laughter.

"They keep him because he's a good teacher, Markev," he said. "Of course, you wouldn't know that, since you never do the assignments and you're asleep half the time you're here."

Markev's back stiffened, and he was about to throw the first punch at the other boy when the click of nails on the marble floor caught their ears.

An enormous cat had stepped into the room. Their teacher stood in the doorway, one arm folded around a pile of books and papers, the other reaching down to touch the being that strode at his side.

"Good afternoon, everyone," he said with exquisite irony, the faint smile on his lips betraying the fact that he'd heard every word of the conversation. Alaric did not see this, though—he stood frozen in place as the Firecat approached and sniffed him with delicate nostrils. All of the temper he had shown a moment ago to Markev vanished. Breaking his paralysis, he gracelessly stumbled back a step, only to find himself pinned between the creature and one of the tables near the front of the room.

The priest was strangely motionless as the Firecat examined Alaric from head to toe, and the dark, unseeing eyes narrowed, as if watching something from a distance. Then, slowly, he turned, set his books and papers down, and used his hands to find his way to the seat. The cat turned away and leapt up beside him, suddenly dwindling in size. Karal slowly stroked him, and turned his head vaguely in Alaric's direction.

"I apologize if Altra alarmed you," he said gently. "You are a new student, I take it?"

Alaric felt his heart begin to beat once more, and he nodded weakly. "Yes sir...I'm...I'm Alaric sir," he said, some of his spirit and vitality returning. "I was chosen by my Companion, Corsen, maybe two weeks past...and they've just now put me in your class, sir..."

Karal smiled again. "Well, my congratulations to you, then," he said. "Here's a copy of our last reading—you can follow along for today, and finish the next section tonight. Why don't you sit with Perian?" He gestured to the boy who had stood up to Markev earlier. Alaric nodded, and took his place.

The papers Karal had given them were an epic detailing the struggle between an early Karsite hero and a Valdemaran "infidel" riding a white demon-horse. As interesting as it was, however, Alaric could not concentrate upon it—his attention was drawn to the man who sat before the class, with a book in his hand and the cat at his elbow. Naturally, Alaric had heard something of Karal—word of the uneasy peace with Karse and the stilling of the Mage Storms had spread to even the tiniest towns and farmsteads of Valdemar, and this man's name with it. But seeing him in the flesh, being in the same room with him, had changed Alaric's perspective considerably. Karal did not look quite as austere as he'd imagined him—he was older than the youth who had shaped history, to be sure, but he wore it well. The face looked weary and careworn, but the lines of age and worry would disappear when Karal smoothed them with that slight smile. Alaric had known him for less than an hour's time, but he felt like they were old and comfortable friends. The boy chewed his thumbnail idly. Was it simply that the man was a good teacher, or was there something more to it? Why did that kindly dark face seem so familiar?