Chapter 1

Soft footfalls sounded through the tower's spiraling stairwell, the sound of someone slowly and deliberately making their way up the five-hundred and fifty steps to the very top floor. It was a sizable tower, with at least a twenty yard radius and five stories high, a prominent edifice composed of solemn grey stone over-looking Theramore Island's west coast, not a dozen paces from the city's outer-most wall. The lone figure passed closed doors where men's voices were reduced to whispers, not that the figure would be able to understand them even if they could be heard clearly. They spoke of magic, and of the things both light and dark found within that arcane study, things that the single ascender knew nothing about, and wanted no part of. Magic. It suffused the very stones and mortar that the building was composed of, it fairly hummed just beyond the range of hearing possessed by mortal men. This then, was a tower of wizards, a tower of learning, of discovery, and a self-imposed prison for some. Greymere Tower.

The figure carried a lamp with them, the small flame burning straight and true, protected by a fluted glass barrier from gusts. It was repressively dark in the tower, even with the faintly glowing bluish crystals that hovered above ornate gold stands every twenty-five steps. All windows were found in the chambers at the core of the tower, all which spiraled in a graceful dance alongside its smaller partner, the stairwell. The monotony of the grey walls, black doors and light crystals was interrupted on occasion by a large purple banner that hung limply against the wall, dyed a dark violet with an elaborate golden 'D' centered near the bottom, and emblem that used to fly free in magic-laden air in a land so distant from this one.

At long last the figure moved past the final stair, finding themselves on a curving balcony that offered a panoramic view of the bustling and slightly cramped city below. Arches drooped down into smooth columns which then met with the short wall ringing the balcony. The ledges were clear of the bird droppings which adorned the upper reaches of most other buildings, a simple warding spell forcing the avian interlopers to land elsewhere. The figure paused, taking in a deep lungful of air tinged with sea-salt and wood smoke, the ascent taxing even for the young.

A thin sheen of sweat coated the brow of the figure, who wiped it away with a cream-colored sleeve. Sarah took in another draught of morning air and fluffed her skirts, allowing a cooling breeze to waft past that cotton barrier. It was humid today, and made more so by the enclosed tower. These wizards and their cavern-like homes. It wouldn't do any of them a bit of harm to come out into the sun once and awhile. Her free hand pushed away the loose strands of wavy, coppery hair that hung about her round face, escapees from the bun she had fashioned earlier that morning. Finally satisfied she was presentable she walked over to the weather-worn door opposite the balcony and almost grasped the handle, then quickly jerked her hand back. She couldn't believe she had almost forgotten the last time. 'Tsking' herself for being so absent-minded she stamped her foot three times on the stone floor and spoke one word aloud; "Beslak. "

Threads of blue electricity suddenly snaked around the door's golden handle with a light crackling noise and then ceased. It wasn't lethal, but it had kept Sarah bed-ridden for nearly a full day afterwards the one time she had forgotten about it. Grasping the now slightly warm door handle she pushed it open.

The room was dark, part of the reason she had brought the lantern. Thick forest green drapes with slim piece of iron sewn into a pocket at the bottom covered over the high windows, which were also shuttered tightly. The cloistered room reeked of potent alcohol and sour vomit, a smell that wrinkled Sarah's nose and cast her mind back to some of the less pleasant days of her youth, waking her father from a similar stupor. Her first order of business was to open the windows and let some fresh air and sunlight in. The copper curtain rings rasped over the metal rod supporting the drapes as they were slid open, and with a twist of a latch and a solid rap with her open palm the shuttered swung open, allowing the air and light to come rushing in. The chamber's only other occupant to offense to this, however, groaning unintelligibly at the cheery onslaught. Sarah ignored the room's owner, her skirts rustled as she went about her next task, filling a copper basin with water from a smooth-lined mother-of-pearl pitcher, which could endlessly produce cool, clean water. She also used it to fill one of the plain copper goblets found sitting up-ended beside the pitcher, then sprinkling in some dried mint leaves and stirring it around by jostling her hand. Such items, most notably the pitcher, were worth a small fortune to most, but were common place in a finely appointed room such as this.

To one side of the room, a large table lovingly carved from golden oak still managed to shine despite a dulling veneer of dust, the marble-smooth finish the mark of an expert craftsman. The legs were bowed gracefully and gilded with a thin layer of gold, the base carved to resemble oak leaves. It was piled high with scattered papers and scrolls, as if a small twister had taken up residence there in the recent past. Two high-backed chairs of a style matching the large table stood angled towards the fireplace which occupied the curved northern wall, padded with green velvet cushions, and a small round table set between them. Book shelves in various states of disarray and a sideboard crowned with thin-stemmed crystal goblets and a decanter containing a vestigial amount of amber liquid covered most of the wall space, along with a large tapestry stretched across two wooden shafts depicting an idyllic sylvan city of white marble towers amidst a lush old-growth forest. Silvermoon, as it was. The room's master had gone to extreme lengths to obtain that tapestry, hunting it down all the way to Ratchet far to the north, and even then he paid a lord's ransom for it, the avaricious goblins seeing that it held special meaning to him. Rotten little dastards.

The round chamber was sectioned off along the south wall, the owner's bed chambers behind a wooden door stained a deep green. A pity he couldn't have made it there last night, it would have been far more comfortable than lying slouched against the right side of the fire place, surrounded by the tattered pieces of a torn up book and an empty glass bottle laying just beyond his open palm. Copper cup in hand Sarah walked over to the man who still tried to fight off consciousness.

He was an elf, his angular face, high cheek bones and tapering, pointed ears more than evidence of that fact. His hair was shoulder length and shone like burning gold with a tint of red in the sunlight, even if it was in a terrible tangle at the moment. Dried vomit caked his chin and the collar of his amber robe, most of it still managing to find a resting place on the flagstones of the hearth. A collection of fine blonde hairs cradled his cheeks and chin, the elven equivalent of stubble.

" Rash talna! Peelot amaneth! " the elf slurred, eyes fluttering open and arms pushing away at the air in front of her. Sarah pursed her lips and waited. Like the language of magic, she didn't understand a word of elven, but she knew well enough the gist of what was being said. Eventually the elf relented and stopped his flailing, sitting limply like a puppet without any strings.

" I'm…sorry, " he croaked, gazing at her through slitted eyes.

" Quite alright, dear, " she responded, handing him the goblet.

The elf took the metal container and gulped the contents, swished it around in his mouth and spat it out into the fireplace, wetting the ashes there. One more swig and spit and the goblet was empty. Taking it from his hand the elf got shakily to his feet and looked out to the window.

" What time is it? Not evening to be sure. "

" Nay, but it's approaching noon and every other resident of the city is up and about by this hour. "

Taking the jibe with the fortitude of a man suffering a hangover he walked stiffly over to the wash basin and began to douse his face with water. When he was at last satisfied he ignored the cloth beside the bowl and dried himself with the hem of his robe, drawing a frown from Sarah. She looked about the chamber once again, noting the tomes pushed to the floor, the trampled scrolls, torn pages.

" Another bad night for you, eh dear? "

Surveying the destruction as if it was for the first time the elf finally nodded sagely, a look of grief passing over his handsome features. His blood-shot eyes regarded the human before him, the irises still as sharp a steel blue color as always.

" Why? " he finally asked, his fingers idly tracing over the stubble on his face.

" Why what, dear? " she returned, cocking her head slightly at the vague question.

" Why do you do this, day after day? Why do you care? "

Sarah contemplated the question, choosing to ignore the slight accusatory edge it held.

"I do it because I've seen men far less than you turned to beasts by a hard life and hard drink. It's a right shame. I'm just a simple serving woman, always have been, but if I can help someone who's down on themselves and who has fought to protect the likes of me in that awful war, well, it's my way of saying 'thank you'. "

The elf looked a little shocked by her words, and then he bowed his head apologetically.

" Then allow this simple man to thank you in turn. Charity, freely given, has a kind of magic to it as well, and you, gentle madam, are an arch wizard of it. "

Sarah flushed a bit and curtsied, looking coyly at him.

" Your most welcome, m'lord. Your thanks are all I ever looked for. "

The elf twisted his upper body about until his vertebrae popped audibly, the fine paid for a night sleeping on unyielding stone.

" Be you needing anything else before I depart? "

The elf smiled slightly, and shook his blonde locks.

" Nay. Return to your daily routine, and stop by the paymaster downstairs on your way out. He'll give you a fair sum in my name for your troubles. "

" I couldn't accept…" she began, but he interrupted her.

" Putting up with me is nasty work, and dangerous besides. You deserve the wage of a guard captain at the very least. I insist. "

She opened her mouth to protest again, but then just smiled broadly.

" Aye, m'lord. I'll do as you say. Good day to you, and try to eat something. "

Again he nodded, " I will, promise. "

Sarah was nearly out of the door and the elven male was considering what to wear that day when she suddenly stopped and wheeled about, reaching down to the wide sash around her waist. " Oh m'lord, I nearly forgot! A page handed this to me, said to deliver it to you when you roused yourself this morning. It looks frightfully important. "

The servant produced a slim folded paper, and as she handed it to him, he saw that it bore the white and purple marbled wax seal of the Theramore ruling council, most specifically its head, one Jaina Proudmoore. Frightfully important indeed.

" Thank you again, Sarah. I'll read it the moment you've gone. "

The human woman curtsied again and left, closing the door behind her.

Crys'annadath Skychaser held the letter up into the light and regarded it with some interest. What could they need him for now?