Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places, etc. created by Mercedes Lackey.
CHAPTER 5: RedScythe
In the end, Akakios had to scrap all of the weapons ideas contained in the spell-book as heavily flawed in theory, and unfeasible in practice. Even the least ambitious of the theories contained therein he dismissed as each carrying with it its own dire set of consequences. He had no intention of being charred alive, for example, or of having his internal organs inverted or sucked into a portal leading to the Abyssal Plane.
But the idea remained with him. Throughout the end of winter and into early spring he worked, drafting diagram after diagram, using mental and magical simulations to test each theory. Until, the day after the first big spring rainstorm, he narrowed it down to one.
Now he just had to choose which type of weapon he wished to use.
The excitement and anticipation Akakios felt permeated all of his daily routines. Even his aunt and his teachers noticed an overall improvement in the wayward youth's behavior, though they didn't openly comment on it for fear it would evaporate as quickly as it had formed. Not even Ciryl's rude though timely observation could spoil his mood.
"Erm, Aki?"
"Yes, Ciryl?" came his idle response. A pencil shaded in the picture of a broadsword in the margins of his history notes.
"What's happened to your hair!"
So it was after perfecting a spell to hide the state of his silvering hair and lightening eyes that Akakios began his weapon-search in earnest.
o.o.o.o.o
People always commented about the spring: how beautiful the flowers looked in the parks, how lovely it was to take one's horses out for a delightful gallop out in the balmy weather. How the change in seasons, from the last winter blizzard to the first scorching days of summer, made people so happy and carefree.
Akakios thought this all so much rubbish.
My classmates wouldn't say those things if they ever visited Exile's Gate. Not any bloody time of the year.
Even Lady Spring couldn't reach through the filth, the hopelessness of Haven's dregs. The Heralds had all but given up on that place, apparently smart enough to realize that all the dirt and debris they swept out of the better areas of the city had to settle and collect somewhere. Even Haven had its dangerous, dirty and rat-infested slums.
Welcome to Exile's Gate.
This was where he and his parents had lived, on the edges of the squalor. A shabby-genteel flat rented out by two hard-working shopkeepers and their perpetually in-trouble son. "That Akakios," folks used to say. "No ambition but the streets. Boy's goin' ta break his mother's heart one of these days."
Not that I meant to; that's just the way it was. I didn't mind, even had some fun. Every time a gang fight'd start, I'd show up, knock a few heads around, and make it clear just whose territory they were on.
There was the thrill of the challenges between the rival groups, the fights. The power plays. The occasional job—intimidate a shopkeeper, retrieve a stolen item, ensure packages arrived where they were supposed to. And he could always pick up a valuable skill, a bit of knowledge or two.
Like where to get a quality weapon for a cheap price.
No sense in rummaging around the upscale armories. Akakios was perfectly aware he didn't know which traders carried the worthwhile stuff, and which catered to empty-headed nobles' brats looking for an impressively designed, but otherwise useless dress-weapon to hang at their sides. And researching the problem among his peers would only draw unwanted attention.
Dear gods, I can imagine it now...Ciryl would jump all over me with those obnoxious questions of his, the other students would nervously ask why I'm interested in a weapon. The headmaster would get wind of the whole matter and assume that I had a plan involving taking out the entire teaching staff. Not that I haven't ever daydreamed of doing just that.
Another consideration was money: Akakios's aunt had a lot of it, and Akakios had almost none. He knew it, his aunt knew it, and each was perfectly aware of the other's knowledge. His aunt made no bones about the fact that she considered her delinquent nephew to be a charity case, and an ungrateful one at that. But as long as Akakios attended class, didn't permanently injure anyone (or at least wasn't caught), and for the most part left her alone, his aunt would continue to support and provide for him until she deemed her familial obligation finally met.
And if she knew that I was being trained as a mage, and in the more unsavory Arts at that, I'd be cut off without a ha'penny. But I'm not half as terrified at that prospect as she probably believes. I did do all right for myself that winter after mother died, up until my aunt decided to take an interest in me. I can take care of myself if I have to.
But that didn't mean he much cared to find himself out on the street, which would happen if his aunt discovered several valuables missing, pawned so that he could afford a fancy weapon.
So I need an alternative source.
There were two good weapons dealers in Exile's Gate that Akakios knew of. The first was located near some shops where his Master often went to purchase items for use in his spells, which was why Akakios had chosen the second, down in the most dangerous section off of Exile's Road. He turned the corner onto a street lined on both sides with closely-packed, dilapidated buildings. Prostitutes leaned out of brothel windows to display their wares, heavily painted faces showing signs of age and wear both. Beggars half-slept on doorsteps, every once in a while lethargically waving away the flies buzzing about in the dusty air.
It's like coming home again.
o.o.o.o.o
The weapons dealer, Egon, had set up shop in the remains of an old temple to Kernos, which rumor said had been abandoned by the priests sometime around the reign of Elspeth the Peacemaker. Looking at it, Akakios told himself that the building remained standing entirely by the divine grace of that god himself.
But the inside suggested that the building was of sounder architecture than it appeared from the outside, and Akakios suspected certain cleverness on the part of the owner. As a dealer in weaponry, from crossbows to the occasional shipment of explosive powder, Egon preferred to keep a low profile. He didn't need to advertise; his reputation for both quality products and discretion meant that his customers would come to him.
Too bad he's out of his bloody mind.
"So, sir, what instrument would you be playing, then?" This expectant query was being directed to Akakios by a rather pompous-looking man in his early sixties. He had bright, black eyes set in a relatively unwrinkled face; graying hair was neatly combed away from his forehead.
As far as Akakios was concerned, this code of referring to each weapon as a type of musical instrument was completely absurd. Keeping a low profile was one thing; going to this sort of extreme was ridiculous. Most likely everyone in the entire neighborhood knew what this man really sold, and just as likely they didn't care. But Egon truly believed that this game was providing sufficient cover for his little operation and, either way, he did know his merchandise. Perhaps he should have some respect for the man?
Unfortunately, respect for any type of authority figure went against Akakios's better nature. "Well, with most stringed instruments, the quality of tone often relies on the age of the wood. Oh, and it should probably be very, very sharp." And it should be worthy of a powerful, feared and respected mage. Would you carry anything like that, shopkeeper?
Egon pointedly ignored the sarcastic jab, and turned to face the collection mounted on the store's eastern wall. "Perhaps I should be a bit more specific, sir? Do you play a wind instrument—" Here he waved at an assortment of longbows, crossbows and the like. "—or perhaps your skills lie with something more resonant?" He nodded at the displays of broadswords and rapiers.
"Neither," said Akakios between clenched teeth. Is this man insane? No one in his right mind would open a music-store in this part of Exile's Gate! "I do not have such refined tastes, nor do I have the skill. I prefer the—simpler melodies, played on a simpler instrument."
Egon put on an affronted expression. "Then why are you even here? I cater only to the finest musicians, and I would hardly want to do business with an amateur who has no appreciation at all for fine craftsmanship! 'Simple instruments,' my f—"
That was it. The last thread of Akakios's patience snapped, and he hauled the weapons dealer forward by his collar. "Now let's get one thing clear, old man," he hissed. "I'm here to buy a weapon. Something sharp, and something dangerous. You know that, I know that. So let's cut through this annoying little charade and get down to business."
Eyes wide, Egon quickly nodded. Akakios dropped him. Now we'll have an end to this 'music' garbage.
The weapons dealer gulped and cleared his throat. "What are you interested in, then?"
Akakios frowned. "I know very little of sword- and bow-work. Just enough to make a halfway decent attempt at defending myself. Street fighting, however, is more my way of doing things. Knives, daggers, chains, clubs, hand-to-hand. But I'm looking for something a step up, something more impressive. Do you carry anything like that?"
Egon seemed to brighten a bit and regain some of his confidence at this challenge to his skills. He led Akakios to another section of his store.
"Whatever you decide upon, you will still need to dedicate time to learn how to use it effectively," he began sternly. "But if you have the fighting skills you claim, and the discipline and patience necessary to master your weapon, I may be able to help you. Perhaps something a bit…less subtle is what you need." He opened wide a display case, and removed an object from inside. "Now this instrument be more to your liking, lad?"
Egon proudly held out his find for Akakios's perusal.
"It's a scythe."
The weapons dealer looked pained. "It's not a scythe, boy, it's a battle axe. Can't you tell by looking at it?"
"I am looking at it, old man. It looks like a farmer couldn't decide whether he wanted to chop wood or reap hay. I may be a city-bred brat, but I know a basic farm implement when I see one."
"And it's precisely because you've never reaped hay in your life that you can't tell the difference, boy. It's obviously too heavy for farm work, and the wrong shape besides. You could use it to chop grass, but it's meant more for chopping heads. 'Sides, you see here? It's thick at the base and tapers down to a sharp but wide edge. That's where you do your business. Here, swing it at that practice block, over there."
Akakios gingerly grasped the iron shaft and took a couple of practice swings. The weapon was unwieldy at first, but then he found the balance of it. Oddly feeling as though he had done this many times before, he completed an over-head swing, and then swiftly aimed the blade down sideways at the practice block. With a quiet thwock! the wood split into two smooth-edged pieces.
Egon nodded with satisfaction. "Thought as much. A street-fighter like you, you need something less subtle. Less parrying, like a rapier, and more chopping and bashing, like a club. But lucky for you, you're more graceful with that thing than I anticipated."
"It's not too heavy, but it's long. So how, exactly, would I carry this through the streets without arousing any suspicion from the constables?" Not to mention my aunt's servants, Akakios thought to himself.
Egon shrugged. "Not my problem. But you said for yourself it looks like a scythe, and probably not too many people here in the city could likely tell the difference." Wonderful, thought Akakios with no little sarcasm. Like people stroll about the streets of Haven with farm-gear in tow. I don't know how to make things invisible. But—wait! I can exaggerate it a little bit; disguise it somewhat like I did my hair. Make it look like a walking stick; they're in fashion. And my clothes under my cloak are just rich enough to pull it off. "It came all the way from Seejay" the weapons dealer was saying. "They have warriors there who put on ceremonial battles with those things. You seem to catch on quick."
"It's still the oddest thing I've ever laid eyes on."
"But you like it, right?"
"I like it."
"Then you'll be willing to pay forty for it?"
Akakios fixed the weapons dealer with a cold stare. "I don't like it that much, old man."
And so it was that Akakios left in good cheer with a new purchase, and only slightly lighter pockets. But one little thing niggled at the back of his thoughts. Egon was a man who dealt with some of Haven's most dangerous criminals, parties responsible for messes it often took the Guard plus several Heralds to clean up, if they even could. One young thug grabbing his tunic and shouting in his face must be insignificant compared to the types he had to handle on a daily basis.
So why had he seemed so frightened by Akakios? He just couldn't understand it.
But what did it matter, anyway? He finally had the weapon he wanted, strange as it looked, and now he could begin the spell. Akakios shrugged and continued on his way with a jaunty little whistle.
Behind him, in the shop just off of Exile's Road, Egon rubbed at his arms, shivering with reaction. That boy—his eyes had glowed! Bright red, his irises had flamed scarlet like the very Hellfires themselves…
Perhaps he was growing too old for this line of work.
o.o.o.o.o
It was a good thing he had taken the time to bargain down the weapons dealer, Akakios reflected to himself some time later.
I had no idea garnets cost so much, even one this size. I thought they called them semiprecious stones for a reason. Good thing my primary focus-stone isn't diamond or ruby. I'd have to take on jobs again, or steal it. And if I were caught doing either one—well, my aunt would probably put me under house arrest and I'd have to wait even longer to perform this Working.
Akakios had to admit that the garnet was a fine one; he couldn't complain he hadn't gotten his money's worth. It was a huge specimen, about the size of the circle he could make with his thumb and forefinger. Its multi-faceted sides did not sparkle in the same way a costly ruby would have; but instead seemed to shiver with a translucent red.
I finally have my focus stone now, as well as a weapon. The equations check out, and I've simulated every part of the spell barring that last, critical part. Time to work my sorcery.
His aunt insisted that the townhouse be kept spic and span, from the attic to the basement, but the servants could only concentrate on one level at time. This meant that the basement could serve as a workroom five days out of every seven, so long as he cleaned up after himself, and barring his aunt ever hiring a maid with Mage talent enough to sense the shields he'd set on floor, ceiling, and every wall. He'd spent the last year building up the magical protections on this place; anything that happened would be contained inside the basement, or he'd have his own hide for the consequences.
With a muffled grunt, Akakios pushed the last traveling chest out of the way. He took a moment to rub the kinks out of his shoulders, and then crossed the floor to the carved cherrywood table left standing off to the side of the workspace. He visually assessed each item on the table: focus stone, weapon, a large brazier and coal. No further implements would be needed, as the workroom preparations had already been completed. Much of today's Working would require little more than his Gift; the channeling and directing of vast amounts of energy.
Good thing I faked illness; I can stretch it out a se'nnight if I need the extra time to recuperate.
First came the focus stone; Akakios had filched an old copper chain from which to hang the garnet; this he fastened around his neck. One spoken word and the floor's surface began to glow: lines of yellowed white formed the familiar shape of a compass rose. The geometric shapes of collectors, refractors, and reflectors set into the floor were revealed in burning greens, oranges, and reds. With his Mage Sight, Akakios watched as the basement room was revealed as a location suitable for a powerful Working. Not even his Master knew he had designed this place. The man had seemed apprehensive enough about the progress his knew his apprentice was making; no doubt the old bat'd have a coronary were he to discover Akakios's efforts to hone his skills on his own.
Akakios dragged the brazier into the center of the compass rose. He made a few adjustments in positioning the item, and then with an easy flick of his power set the coal to burning with a cheerful blaze. Next came the weapon; grasping the shaft close to the blade, he lowered it slowly down into the coals. Closing his physical eyes while simultaneously expanding his Mage Sight, Akakios envisioned the fire's energy moving up along the metal shaft, spreading to the very edge of the blade. His palm and the pads of his fingers began to warm, and Akakios let go. He opened his eyes.
Good. The weapon remained standing erect in the center of the brazier, and the metal itself was beginning to glow a warm red. The iron could turn molten, but the weapon would keep its form.
Akakios nodded in satisfaction. This was the only alternative to crafting a weapon from scratch, and Akakios was no blacksmith. Best to begin with a weapon already forged, so long as his improvisation worked.
Now came the hard part.
Akakios backed away from the brazier and took North position on the compass rose. He commenced his relaxation exercises, quickly falling into a shallow trance. His eyes remained open as he used his Mage Sight to see the energy fields overlaying the physical world. Even now, threads of power were wrapping themselves about the scythe, drawn by the seed of energy he had planted within the iron blade. One thread was connected to Akakios himself; it was through this line of power that he would work his will on the weapon, molding it into the magical tool he desired.
A weapon to gather power, a weapon to direct power. Make this weapon into a conduit for my power, make it enhance my energies.
The metal turned white-hot, then blue. The energies coursing through it were reforming the matter, molding it to the young mage's specifications. His will, his energies flowed through to imprint each and every molecule.
But it wasn't enough, not for Akakios. This was to be a weapon for the ages, a weapon that did not need to feed solely upon the reserves of its owner. It must be able to draw upon the masterless energy fields all around it, and for that it needed its own power. Which meant that Akakios needed even more energy.
The nearby nodes were still weak, due to the Mage Storms of several years ago, as well as the constant drain on them by the Palace mages and their new Collegium. Only blood-energy could compensate, but there was a slight problem: Akakios had no sacrifice to offer, nor was he ready to offer one up. Not yet at least, he told himself. For now Akakios was willing to take that particular aspect of his magical education one step at a time.
But that had still left him with a dilemma so far as power sources were concerned. He'd obsessed over the matter night and day, until one day the upstairs maid had to be sent to bed with a head cold. And then the answer had sprung upon him, so obvious once he saw it.
There were plenty of injured and ill people in Haven already; why invoke more suffering through a blood sacrifice? All that life energy spilled out, all shamefully going to waste. Why not put it to good use?
Which was exactly what this mage was going to do. Making certain that he was properly grounded and centered, Akakios expanded his awareness, thinning the shields around the workroom just enough so that he could examine the energy-lines running through Haven, searching for those tinged with blood.
Exile's Gate was a prime target; no surprise about that. But the energy-threads were spread out too thinly, and the power hardly amounted to what one would find in a similar urban area outside of Valdemar. Those Heralds do indeed do some good, though they can hardly solve everything.
Some place more concentrated; more potent in acute physical suffering was what Akakios was looking for. In other words, a House of Healing. There were several in the capital city, but the largest by far was near the Palace. And if Akakios was smart and very, very cautious, he just might be able to get away with what he was about to do, with not a single Herald, Healer or Mage any the wiser.
One dying human released a great deal of potent energy; several injured and wounded, if not dying, patients gathered together in a matrix of power would produce just as much energy.
Akakios stretched out a mental hand and gathered together the strands of blood-dark power. He deftly wove them into a single line, directing the energy flow back through his own channels to be concentrated within the crystalline structure of his focus stone. And from there to the weapon itself.
He breathed out slowly in relief; the hard part was done, and he had not been caught. Now all he had to do was wait until the scythe had been imbued with enough energy, and then cut off the power supply. The key spell had already been set around the weapon; once sufficient energy had built up, the weapon's own energy field would form and it would be able to access any leyline within a local radius. He could relax.
It was at this precise moment that all of his careful preparations fell apart.
What in the nine hells?
The power line from the House of Healing to himself was fading, and with it the energy directed toward the scythe. Akakios frowned. He could only guess that the Healers had noticed that energy drifting away, and had put their own Gifts into play in reaction. But this was not too large of a problem; only a little more energy was needed, and with one strong pull he could obtain the rest without the Healers catching on. He reached out once more and began to tug…
And grabbed something entirely unexpected.
W-what?
Too much power, too much energy ripping through his channels, searing them with agony. He tried to let go, but the blood-energy held him in that location. He then tried tugging some of the power away with him, hoping it would detach from the rest, but the power balked as though it had built-in resistance to a foreign presence.
Akakios gritted his teeth, feeling his physical self fall forward to land hard on the basement floor. He lifted up, bracing himself forward on his hands, and fought back with all the power in his magical reserves.
What do I do? What do I do, dammit? Think, Akakios, think! Then it hit him. That demon-summoning spell you were so fascinated by, you worked on the theoretical structure. You have to Summon a demon—that means first reaching through to the Abyssal Plane with your own magic, because demons need your power, or that of your sacrifice, to take corporeal form here in the physical world. Punch through to that realm with your magic—and the creatures there take hold. Then shut the doorway closed. And you don't need to bother with coercion or binding spells because you're not looking to hire a demon, anyway.
It's crazy, but it just might work!
Head pounding, mental channels on fire, Akakios forced his mind and his power into the structure he needed. Power at least is no problem here. I can't get it to let go of me! Body tensed, mage senses tested to the limits, he painfully forced that rampant energy into the direction he commanded.
Grudgingly, it complied. The mage-lit diagrams of the basement floor flared, and then there was a sudden, quick disorientation of both time and space as Akakios felt the workroom energy shields buckle and shift. With his Mage Sight, he could see—something, right in front of him, before the brazier. Almost like an empty doorway into a place where all was chaos and an endless, fearsome hunger. Something within it latched on to the excess power holding Akakios in thrall and pulled it away. Akakios waited until the foreign power let go of him to slip into the other realm, and then he let the spell disintegrate. With a flash, the doorway disappeared, the glowing diagram faded back into the floor, and everything had returned to normal.
Akakios let out a deep sigh, and felt himself collapse back on the floor. He remained there for several breaths as the pain in his head receded somewhat, thoughts racing through his brain.
I-what happened? I know that I touched something I shouldn't have, but—oh, I hurt. A new thought occurred to him, and he forced himself to his feet. My weapon! Is it—did it work, at least?
To his relief, the scythe was still there, standing straight and tall in the middle of the brazier. Over the next few breaths, it faded from white to red, and then the glow disappeared altogether. When he deemed it safe to touch, Akakios lifted the weapon out of the brazier, and then lowered it until its end clanged against the basement floor. Cautiously, using both his eyes and still-sore magical senses, he inspected the still-warm weapon.
Something happened, that's for sure. Just look at it. Indeed, the color had changed: the weapon was now a uniform dark, dark red—almost black—from the tip of the blade to where the end of the long pole rested on the floor. There was a glimmer of otherness about it, too, and when Akakios tightened his grip, he thought he felt the shaft resonate with its own power, in tune with his own.
But I can't experiment with it tonight—ow, my head—my channels sustained serious damage, and my reserves are almost entirely depleted. I doubt I'll be able to light a candle for the rest of the week, and I'll be damned if I move everything in this basement back to where it's supposed to be until I've had a good night's sleep.
This resolve firmly in mind, Akakios clenched the weapon and snuck upstairs to his room. There, with a torpor brought on by his exhausted state, he performed his nightly ablutions, undressed, and crawled under the bedclothes after propping the scythe up against the wardrobe door. But he found himself unable to fall asleep immediately, and spent several minutes staring at the weapon in the flames provided by the one remaining lit candle.
"What should I call you, anyway?" he mumbled sleepily. The candlelight picked out the scarlet and crimson highlights of the dark metal. "Like blood," he muttered to himself. "Red like blood. Made of blood-magic, red. Red…scythe."
Yes, Redscythe.
The candle blew itself out a few minutes later, but Akakios was already fast asleep.
o.o.o.o.o
In the Queen's Palace, in the heart of Valdemar's capitol, there was someone who was not quietly asleep in bed. Several someones, in fact, but the person who had called the unofficial meeting was none other than Herald Mage and former Heir to the Throne, Lady Elspeth herself, recently returned from an ambassadorial journey to Shonar.
"So?" she said to the gathered group. "What the hells was that earlier this evening?"
"Unfortunately, none of us were able to find out," said her spouse, Tayledras scout Darkwind. "I wasn't able to trace the interference back, either."
:Chosen: That was Gwena, Elspeth's Companion and the herd's second Groveborn. :We investigated the matter ourselves, and you were right. Someone's definitely been tampering.:
"But how?" the Herald-Mage wondered aloud for the others' benefit. "The Palace Heartstone is keyed to approved individual mages. It should lock out anyone else."
"Orrr the backlash could frrry them," suggested Treyvan, who was included among the hastily-assembled group. "Perrrhapss the rreasson we could not find the intrrruderr isss becaussse he iss not longerrr among the living?" The gryphon snapped his beak shut with a clack and regarded the room with what, in a human, could be considered an uplifted brow.
Another member of the group, a girl of about sixteen wearing Grays, shook her head in negation. "I don't think so," she told the gryphon. "Herald Elspeth was helping me run through a drill at the time, and I had to access the Heartstone. I was drawing on its power when I felt that other person grab at it. But whoever it was, they didn't just disappear. I felt something else."
Darkwind frowned. "What did you feel?"
The trainee shook her head. "It was some kind of spell, that I know." She paused for a moment. "And it felt dark."
"What do you mean, darrrk?" This came from Hydona, Treyvan's mate. The girl hesitated, and Elspeth stepped forward put a hand on her shoulder.
"It's all right, Taika," she said gently. "How was the spell dark?"
The trainee shrugged. "Just…dark. Powerful. Like a shadow crept out into this world from someplace else. And that's all."
Elspeth had a thought. :Gwena:
:Yes, sweeting:
:A shadow creeping out into Valdemar…does this seem to you like the feelings some of the Foreseers and Companions were experiencing earlier:
A mental shrug. :It could be, or it couldn't. What we felt before seemed more like it was coming from outside Valdemar. That doesn't mean this isn't related; Shanta in particular feels wrought-up about this and she's usually so calm. But she's been so uneasy lately, in general. In other words, dearheart, we're stumped.:
Elspeth turned back to her own group in the Palace. "Do any of you have any ideas where this could have come from?" Everyone shook their heads in shared bafflement. "Wonderful. Well, the Companions are as mystified about this as we are."
She sighed and stretched her muscles a little. "The only action I can think of taking right now is vigilance, plain and simple. We mages should keep an eye out for anything unusual in the city, in case our magician is working locally, and we'll alert the Guard to step up their watch for unusual signs. I'll go tell the Queen; someone tampering with the Heartstone is serious enough to warrant her immediate knowledge."
"I'll also send a notice by teleson to the Vales," Darkwind added. "If someone's going around interfering with Heartstones, they should be aware, too."
"And mention it to Captain Kerrrowyn, asss well," Treyvan said. "Herrr Skybolts arrre familiarrr with magesss and how to handle them. If thisss originated frrrom Haven, they could help with the cssity invesssitgation."
Elspeth grinned. "No need, Treyvan. I told her the minute Taika and I sensed something amiss." She gave everyone an encouraging nod. "Well, that's all that we can really do right now. Tomorrow we mages will start investigating further. I'll help the first group two candlemarks past sunrise."
"Aren't you attending that meeting of the Healers' Circle then?" Darkwind asked.
Elspeth shook her head. "No, they cancelled it. Apparently some of the patients starting showing unusual symptoms right before the Heartstone incident. Nothing too bad, but the Healers are worried and want keep a close eye on the patients all day tomorrow. So I'll be free to help investigate."
Darkwind nodded. "I have no class to teach at that time, so I'll be joining y—"
Everyone jumped as a crash of thunder shook the room.
"Hellfires and damnation," Elspeth muttered. "That's a magicked storm, all right. Not only has someone been tampering, but that magic's definitely been put to use, too."
o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.
A/N: Spot the Fiddler Fair and Family Guy references! (Hint: mafia and "bunnies")
Author talkback! (Sorry for getting back to you so late)
Cat McDougall: The Adept's reasons for taking Akakios on in the first place will be shown later on. My reasoning being, even the nastiest of blood-mages will put up with crap from a teenager with an attitude problem if the rewards are great enough. And the Master isn't all that he appears…but don't worry; I won't take as long to explain stuff as "Invasion" seems to be doing right now (ah, cheesy sci-fi…).
Hiro No Tsuki: Thanks! Already this story looks like it's going to turn out a lot longer and more complex than I'd originally envisioned. I appreciate the encouragement, as it keeps me going.
FrequencyQueen: Thank you, too! Ever read L.J. Smith's Night World series? Lots of shapeshifting there, especially in Black Dawn and Witchlight. I was interested in seeing what would happen if two sentient beings ended up being caught in a Changecircle. There will be indication of even greater consequences later on. (Consequences being spelled A-N-G-S-T, of course! This is an ML fanfic, after all.)