Chapter One: "You're Henpecked, Evrael."

author's note: still getting the hang of this place, so yes, prologue is chapter one and chapter one has become chapter two in that little selection box up there. don't mind. XD please do point out mistakes in anything, and thanks.

Sylvaene Isengarth Firefeather opened her eyes.

The world was a fuzzy blur of shadows and half-light, with the early-morning sun just appearing over the eastern horizon, its faint rays barely touching the edge of the curtains drawn together inside the bedroom window. She sighed contentedly, then turned over on her side and rested her head against the hard pillow of her husband's shoulder. Evrael was still asleep, snoring up a mild gale, his chest rising and falling in a soothing, rhythmic pattern. Last night had been fairly exhausting, but definitely in a good way. If they kept it up for a time, their daughter would soon have a little brother or sister toddling about in the house. Sylvaene basked in the memories of the past evening until several shouts from the street below informed her that something was amiss.

She got up and peered carefully out the window. A crowd was gathering at the west gate of Prontera, and her sensitive ears caught cries of "A healer! A healer! Someone go fetch an acolyte!" and "Is he dead? Great Odin, he's bleeding all over the cobblestones! He hasto be dead!"

Sylvaene shook her head in disgust and donned her sage's cloak. "Ev?" she said.

No answer.

She bent over the bed and shook her husband. "Ev! Wake up, love. Someone's hurt."

Evrael opened his eyes and peered blearily into his wife's violet ones. "Wha-?"

"Get up, love. Grab the healing potions you've got in that backpack of yours and let's go."

He grumbled a bit but got up anyway and forced himself into his jeans and white shirt. Not bothering with buttons, he snatched up his backpack and followed his wife downstairs and into the street.

Getting through the crowd was no problem, not with Evrael. The big blacksmith simply shouldered everyone aside (sending several novices sprawling) until he and Sylvaene got to the wounded man. A chill ran through Sylvaene as Evrael knelt and turned him over. She sucked in a quick breath. "Oh, gods. It's Bosh."

Evrael swore soundly and reached into his pack for a white potion. "Damn fool swordsman! What did he take on this time?" With a gentleness that belied his rough hands, he lifted Bosh's head off the street and poured the liquid down his throat.

At first nothing seemed to happen. And then, magically, the swordsman's wounds began to knit together and heal. Seconds later, Bosh Lightfoot opened his eyes and blinked up at them. "Yo."

Evrael glared at him. "Idiot! What monster did you attempt to chop up? A Baphomet? A succubus? I'm betting on the latter, since I haven't seen you with any girlfriends lately."

"Evie, be nice." Sylvaene scolded lightly. She was kneeling next to Bosh, a concerned hand on the swordsman's brow. "All right, Bosh, tell us…did the succubus attack you or did you try to seduce it?"

Bosh sputtered indignantly. "Neither. It wasn't a succubus." He groaned, rubbing the back of his head. "It was a wizard."

Sylvaene's brows shot up in surprise. She and Evrael exchanged glances.

Evrael got to his feet and extended a hand to Bosh. "Come along, Bosh. We'd better talk about this in private."

Bosh looked up at him plaintively. "Can't I have another white potion?"

"You'll have to pay for it."

"You'd charge a good friend?" Bosh asked incredulously.

"I'd charge anyone who was fool enough to rush headlong into something the way you do," Evrael retorted. "You're healed enough. You can sit down at the house."

Sit down was a common phrase in Rune-Midgard that meant rest and recovery. Most people thought it was a gift from the gods; that sitting down or squatting on the ground could actually heal you from even the gravest of injuries. Sylvaene knew better. Sitting down—having better commune with the earth—would help ease your fatigue and rejuvenate you, but you still needed an acolyte or healing potions if you wanted to save yourself from certain death. Some people, she thought with a hint of exasperation, will believe anything they hear down at the Pub.

Which brought to mind Bosh Lightfoot. She peered sideways at the red-haired swordsman, wondering if he'd gotten himself into trouble simply because he believed some prattling, mead-soaked idiot's drunken tale.

At the house, Bosh told them all about his battle with the creature that guarded a chamber deep within the Payon caves, hidden far away from the usual routes other warriors took. He told them about the wizard that was lurking about inside the cave, and then about the object that he'd found.

"You found something?" Evrael repeated, lifting his dark brows inquiringly. "What was it?"

"Not sure," Bosh said, groping about his belt for the item. "It looks like a blue enchanted stone or a blue gemstone."

Evrael groaned. "Bosh! If you wanted an enchanted stone, I've got bucketloads of 'em! All refined! You could have asked."

"I'd have to pay you for it!"

"Well, of course! I have to make a living!"

"You don't pay me when I offer to bodyguard you."

Evrael's eyes twinkled. "Whoever said I needed a bodyguard? I'm a battle-smith, Bosh, not a wuss."

Sylvaene listened to the banter, smiling to herself. Evrael most definitely did not need a bodyguard, and even if he did he would have died first than admit it. There was a time when he struggled at being a merchant; strong and determined as he was, monsters at the Byalan underwater caverns still wore him down. She knew that the embarrassment he'd felt that day was with him still, and sometimes she wondered if he wasn't already overdoing things.

Bosh let out a muted "Whoops," and the thing that had nearly cost him his life slipped out of his grasp to land with, Sylvaene found herself thinking, a kind of sullen defiance on the low coffee table.

It did look a lot like a crystal blue or a blue gemstone that acolytes used to open warp portals. It was slightly bigger than either crystal or gem, however, and within it glowed a bright blue flame.

Evrael whistled. "Gods, Bosh, that is something."

"It must weigh a ton," Sylvaene commented, reaching out with one slender hand and picking it up. Her eyes widened in surprise. "Oh…my mistake. It weighs hardly anything at all."

Evrael held out his hand, and Sylvaene dropped the stone into his palm. He blinked. "Itis light. Almost as light as air, and yet…" he squinted intently into the blue stone. "Doesn't seem hollow to me. Is it breakable?"

Before Sylvaene or Bosh could stop him, he flung the stone to the floor. Bosh shouted a belated "No!" and Sylvaene waited calmly for the sound of breaking crystal. What greeted her ears was the splintering of wood.

Evrael harrumphed. "Well, it's definitely magic. No ordinary gem this light could possibly shatter a good plank of oak floor."

"Which, my dear husband, you will immediately fix, correct?" Sylvaene asked pointedly. Evrael sighed and retreated to the back of the house, where the forge was.

Bosh went over and retrieved the stone. "Well, if Evrael can't appraise it, I suppose no one else can."

Sylvaene nodded. She had enormous faith in Evrael's ability to identify items and place its cost. He obviously didn't know what this strange, blue stone—orb would be a more likely term—was.

Bosh let out a sigh. "Then that trip to Payon was an absolute waste."

"Wait a minute," Sylvaene said, "If you found that thing in the Payon caves, how on earth did you manage to get all the way back here without finding the halls of Valhalla first?"

Bosh grinned impishly at her. "I dived into a warp portal this acolyte had just set up. I'd seen him earlier, and he was offering to warp people to Prontera for a thousand zeny."

Sylvaene stared at him. "You mean you just walked right into the portal, not even certain where it would land you?"

Bosh nodded.

"Oh, you idiot. What if that thing was meant to drop you off at Glastheim? Honestly, Bosh!"

"Hey, I'm here now, aren't I? And back in the pink of health, too, thanks to you and Evrael."

Sylvaene rolled her eyes, then smiled and patted Bosh fondly on the arm. "It's nice to see you again, Bosh."

Bosh grinned again. "Well, now that Evrael's managed to tell us that this thing's magical, we might as well set off to Geffen. I want to know why that wizard attempted to send me off into the halls of Valhalla, and I'd like an opportunity to get even."

"We?" Evrael repeated mildly, coming back into the house with a hammer, a fresh plank, and some nails.

"We. You, me, and Sylvie. I'd like some company."

Sylvaene thought of the wizard. Even a strong swordsman like Bosh would need some help against a wizard who could wield a formidable set of spells and was crafty enough to have eluded the creature guarding the chamber. Bosh wasn't stupid, but there were times when he was simply too impulsive. "Evie, why don't we? I'm curious about the whole affair as well, and this stone might actually turn out to be a most important find."

"We-ell…" Evrael hesitated. There was business to attend to, and a shop to run, but then he supposed he could always do some vending while he waited for Bosh and Sylvaene to figure out what exactly the stone was.

"Please, Evrael? Besides, you need to stock up on some blue gemstones for Evaene. Youdid say you'd provide her with some." Sylvaene knew that her husband could hardly resist her when she asked for something; throw Evaene into the mix and you could get Evrael to do practically anything.

Evrael let out another sigh and scratched at his dark brown head. "All right. I'd better go upstairs and pack our things."

"You're henpecked, Evrael," Bosh told him matter-of-factly.

Evrael aimed a nasty scowl at him and headed for the stairs.

It took them about a day and a half to reach Geffen. Somewhere along the way, someone—most probably a novice—had used a dead branch and summoned up a sandman, which had run around the countryside terrorizing people. Sylvaene, Evrael, and Bosh had made quick work of him, ending the problem.

"Strange, though, that a sandman should last so long out here where it's hardly dry," Evrael muttered thoughtfully as they drew closer to Geffen.

Sylvaene abruptly turned to Bosh. "Bosh, would you go on ahead? There's something Evrael and I have to do. We won't take long."

Bosh was about to ask why when he caught a faintly nostalgic look in Sylvaene's usually steady eyes. "Right-o. I'll go straight to the Tower of Magic."

"We'll meet you there." Sylvaene promised, and Bosh strode off, whistling.

Evrael looked at his wife, puzzled. "What do we have to do? I can't remember making any—"

Sylvaene linked her arm with his and laughed gently. "You'll see, Ev. You'll see."

Some time later they found themselves standing at the edge of a platform. The platform itself was made of rock, and it was set at the end of a flight of magical stone steps at the mouth of the drawbridge west of Geffen. It was a high place, a secret place, as are most places where one could find the rare shining plants that sometimes yielded emperium. The wind was cool and soothing, and Sylvaene looked out over a clear lake towards the Tower of Magic.

"Remember when I first brought you here?" she asked, her voice soft.

"How can I forget?" Evrael replied. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Wasn't this where I proposed?"

Sylvaene giggled. "No, love, I think you proposed in the Prontera culverts."

His green eyes bulged. "What?" he exclaimed in disbelief.

She giggled even harder. "Just kidding, love." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the nose. "Shall we rejoin Bosh?"

Evrael nodded. "Are we done here?"

"All I wanted was to feel what it was like to stand here with you again." Sylvaene smiled as she led the way down. "People may know me as the Ice Queen, but I'm really just as vulnerable as the next woman. I wanted to be sure that my heart would be safe with someone I could really love, and when I found him, I never let go."

Evrael had turned bright pink. "Sylvie…"

She had to laugh at his expression. "What? Don't you agree?"

Evrael grinned. "Love, I used to be a merchant. I appraise everything—and everyone. Between the two of us, love, I think you got the worse end of the bargain."

"Are you saying you got a very good deal, then?" she asked dubiously.

He pulled her to a stop and gave her a short, sweet kiss. "Oh, yes. You could say it was a once-in-a-lifetime offer."

Bosh Lightfoot glanced up at the Tower of Magic and frowned.

He'd never really liked mages. Or archers, for that matter. There you were, making your way to a certain monster you were intending to cut up, and suddenly 'Kaboom!' or 'Thwack!' and some pansy-ass mage or archer would come prancing along to collect the loot. It was annoying, to say the least. Sylvaene, however, he liked. For a mage-turned-sage, she was pretty kick-ass. 'Probably the only sage that actually uses her staff to hit something,' Bosh thought, chuckling. Amusing himself with the imaginary scenario of Sylvaene marching imperiously into the Tower of Magic and beating up mages left and right with one swing of her staff, he entered the tower.

'The sad thing about this stupid set-up,' he grumbled silently, 'is that the head mage is up at the very top. Why couldn't she have set up office downhere where it's obviously more convenient?'

He finally reached the top. Puffing a bit, he raised his fist and banged it against the door. "Oi, open up! Someone's here to see you!"

When several moments passed and no one had answered, Bosh knocked again. "Stupid mage," he growled softly. "Come on, I ain't got all day!"

Still no answer.

"Coffee break?" Bosh wondered aloud. He tried the latch.

The door swung silently open.

The hairs on the back of Bosh's neck suddenly stood on end. He knew this feeling all-too well; the feeling that something wasn't quite right, or that someone was watching you intently from the shadows. Carefully, he unsheathed his sword and advanced into the room.

The chamber was dark, lit only by weak torches set on the walls. Bosh noted that the fires were just about ready to burn out. He squinted through the gloom and saw a figure sprawled out, facedown, on the desk in the center of the room.

Still cautious, he tread slowly toward the figure. There was just enough light for him to identify the unconscious woman. She was the head mage that resided in the Tower of Magic, the one who authorized a novice's advancement to the status of mage…

And she was quite possibly dead.