A/N: Sorry, I accidentally posted the next chapter instead of this one which was probably pretty confusing if anyone read it before I got it deleted. So now you get two chapters!

Balkan had been a Warrior for thirty-five years, and there was very little that scared him. However, the prospect of speaking alone with his predecessor, a man whose power was unmatched even before his use of black magic, terrified him. Deep down, he did believe that Akkarin's loyalty lay with the Guild, but at the same time, Balkan could not help but wonder how he could reconcile that loyalty with certain decisions he had made, particularly his decision to abandon the Guild after the Battle of Imardin. "Speak," Balkan said as soon as they had exited the building.

Akkarin turned to him, his face expressionless. "As I am sure you have guessed, that man was an Ichani."

The fear in Balkan's stomach increased in intensity, but he forced it back. "Are there more of them? Are they planning another attack?"

"Yes but not immediately. That man—Arlo—is working for another man, Wyvern. He was supposed to be patrolling the Steelbelt Range, keeping an eye on our defenses, but when he saw how much magical potential was in the villages without anyone to protect them, he could not resist the opportunity to attack and increase his power even though he knew it would make Wyvern angry."

"So he was acting alone?"

"For this attack, yes."

"And this Wyvern. Is he also an Ichani?"

"No."

Balkan relaxed slightly. "So he's not a black magician then?"

"I did not say that. Wyvern is. . . well, he is calling himself a warlord though I do not know that all of Sachaka would agree with that term. He was at one point—and in some ways still is—an Ashaki, a wealthy landowner. However, he is one who does not support the rule of the current King, and he has managed to gather quite a few others who feel the same.

"How many others?"

"Arlo was not quite sure, for Wyvern is careful and does not let any one person know his full plans nor even all his associates. In addition, Arlo was lower in the ranks, thus his assignment to the Steelbelt Range. However, he is nevertheless intelligent and ambitious. He has been watching carefully over the years and knows of at least a dozen Ichani and Ashaki who are ready to follow Wyvern. In addition, he learned recently that Wyvern is recruiting women to his side as well, releasing their magical potential and training them in black magic. Traditionally, women in Sachaka have subordinate roles and are not allowed to use their powers, so he has access to a good deal of untapped potential."

"More than a dozen? But there were only eight before. . ."

"Yes."

Balkan felt his heart racing again. Eight Ichani had nearly destroyed the Guild five years ago, and that was with two black magicians fighting for them. He could not even imagine what destruction more could bring. His mind rebelled at the thought. "Why should I trust you?"

"What possible reason would I have to lie to you?"

"You could want the Guild to bring you back."

A dark eyebrow rose. "If I wanted the Guild to bring me back, I would have stayed five years ago." Balkan knew it was the truth, but he still struggled to accept the news Akkarin had given him. It shook him to the very core.

"I will take what you have told me to the Higher Magicians," Balkan said finally, trying to infuse his voice with authority though standing before the tall, imposing figure of Akkarin, he felt like an impostor. "We will discuss the likelihood of what you have reported and determine what action we will take."

Akkarin watched him carefully. "From what I read in Arlo's mind, Wyvern has been planning this attack for many years. He is quite intelligent. He will wait until he can be assured of victory. That likely gives you some time, but it also means that you should be prepared for an overwhelming force."

"And you?"

"You have made it painfully clear that I am no longer a part of the Guild."

"The Akkarin I once knew would not have hesitated to join in the fight, no matter what others said."

"Perhaps I am no longer that man."

Balkan studied the man in front of him closely and realized that his statement was likely not an exaggeration. Though still dark and imposing, the Akkarin in front of him looked more relaxed than he had ever seen the former High Lord despite the revelations of the day. There was also a gleam in his eyes that he had never seen before. "What about the prisoner?"

"That is your decision. If you have no further questions you would like me to extract from his mind, I can drain him of all power now so that he is no longer a threat. Or I can accompany you until you and the other Higher Magicians can block his powers."

"I thought you were not going back to the Guild."

"I never said that."

Balkan ground his teeth together. He was much too tired for Akkarin's mysterious statements. They had ridden hard from Imardin, taking only a single night's rest on the road. "We cannot kill him without a trial, and the others may have other questions for him. There will also likely be questions for you as well as renewed discussions on the appropriate consequences given that you have disregarded our previous edicts."

"No." Even now, his tone carried such authority that Balkan felt compelled to agree with him. "I will ride back to the Guild with you if only because someone needs to take this man's power frequently to stop him from being a danger, but I will not agree to the restrictions you wanted to place on Sonea and me."

"You would defy the Guild?"

"I accepted the Guild's judgment before and will continue to do so."

Balkan knew he was not going to win the argument, so he decided to put it off for another time, perhaps when he could get the weight of the King behind him. "We will discuss this when we arrive. You can travel with us, but I will not allow you to practice such vile things in our midst. I do not see how a magician, even a black magician, could defeat fifteen of our best Warriors while magically bound and watched."

"Because you are blinded by your prejudices." It was the closest Akkarin had ever come to insulting Balkan outright, and he bristled.

"I would rather have the prejudices than a black magician among us." With that, Balkan spun on his heel and stormed back into the building. Surprisingly, Akkarin did not follow.

They set out early the next morning. Their prisoner woke up an hour before they left, but he only spoke in his native, guttural language. Balkan had reluctantly looked to Akkarin, the only person among them who spoke Sachakan, and the black magician had seemed somewhat amused. "Believe me, you do not wish to know what he is saying." Given the expression in the man's eyes as he spat on the ground beside Balkan, Balkan believed Akkarin's words.

They magically bound the prisoner to a horse they had found in the village, and one of the Warriors led the horse while three others surrounded him on the other sides. Akkarin rode at the back of the group, his eyes never leaving the small cluster of people around the prisoner. Though Balkan and one of his stronger Warriors had magically bound the prisoner, Akkarin insisted on adding his own bonds, and Balkan eventually relented, reasoning that it could not harm anyone.

Balkan had noted that while the Warriors definitely had a hint of fear when they looked at Akkarin, they nevertheless treated him with respect and awe. Balkan supposed it was not surprising—even in the loose riding breeches and simple linen shirt Akkarin currently wore, he exuded a power and authority that was impossible to miss. With a bit of jealousy, Balkan noted that while the past five years had aged him prematurely, leaving him more gray around the temples than he would have liked, the same years had been much kinder to his predecessor. Akkarin's body had filled out, and he no longer looked as gaunt as he had when he was High Lord. In addition, he looked much younger—Balkan was not sure if it was the haircut or the lack of robes or something else entirely, but for the first time in a long time, Akkarin looked like the man in his thirties that he was.

They could not ride as fast with their prisoner, but it was no longer necessary to make as much haste as they had made from Imardin, so Balkan accepted the more deliberate pace without a fuss. They stopped well outside of villages to camp for the night, and Balkan assigned three shifts of four Warriors each to watch the prisoner. None of them were enthusiastic about the task, but in addition to picking strong Warriors for the trip, Balkan had made sure to pick those who he knew were loyal to him. No one questioned his orders; even Akkarin merely gave him a long, disapproving look before settling down a short distance away from the others, his eyes returning to the prisoner. Balkan did not bother responding to the black magician—he was well aware of what Akkarin wanted, and he did not feel like arguing again about whether Akkarin should be allowed to continue his barbaric practices.

For three days, events unfolded in the same pattern—a quick morning meal followed by breaking down the camp, lunch in the saddle, and then camping for the evening in a remote location. By the fourth night, Balkan could sense the growing restlessness among the others and knew they were all eager to return home. No one complained when he continued the journey after twilight, only stopping when it was so dark that it would have been dangerous to keep riding. The camp was relatively subdued that night, and as Balkan settled himself onto his bedroll, he felt grateful that they would be in Imardin within the next two days.

A commotion awoke him sometime later. He sat up, blinking sleep out of his eyes, turning toward the sounds that he had heard. His eyes widened when he saw the magical battle occurring on the other side of the camp, and he quickly pushed himself to his feet. As he ran over, he noted that the prisoner had somehow escaped his bonds and was bending over one of the Warriors assigned to watch him. A few meters away, Akkarin battered the Ichani's shield with a series of powerful strikes. As Balkan watched, trying to formulate his own strategy, a particularly powerful strike managed to punch through the shield, knocking Arlo away from his victim. Akkarin took advantage immediately, surrounding the Warrior with a shield as he advanced on his opponent. "Heal him!" Akkarin commanded, and two of the shell-shocked Warriors standing nearby scurried over to do what Akkarin had said.

Deciding that it was time to intervene, Balkan reached into his own source of power, sending a single Forcestrike which disintegrated into many at the Sachakan's shield, searching for a weakness. His opponent seemed not to notice Balkan, instead focusing his attention on Akkarin who sent such a complicated series of strikes that Balkan had trouble understanding what he was doing. Suddenly, the Ichani gripped his head tightly, his shield wavering. It took a moment for Balkan to realize what Akkarin had done. He had used Mindstrike. While strictly forbidden in the Arena, it was certainly effective, and Akkarin was able to use the man's distraction to punch through his shield and knock him to the ground. Immediately, Akkarin drew his knife and cut the man's arm, drawing his power. Balkan did not even have time to object, and given recent events, he was no longer sure he wanted to do so.