Sar strokes his hand over his moustache as he stares at the man across the room. The man is covered in wounds, dirt caked all over his muscled frame, obscuring his extensive tattoos.

“Run that past me again.” Sar says, shifting in the chair, the ornate lantern and eye sigil carved into it digging into his back.

The man bows his head deferentially. “Yes, my lord Seeker. I was travelling with Telac, the tax collector, and in Littlestream we were attacked by a pair of mages. They killed Telac and forced us out of the town right before nightfall. I barely made it to the next village alive. I travelled between a few other villages to get here.”

Sar stares at him, his eyes hard. “That does sound most unfortunate, but I do not see how this concerns the Seekers.”

The thug quickly continues, stumbling over his words in his haste. “Well, no noble would have attacked Telac, they know he has the right to this province, so they must have been free mages. You want to know about those, don’t you? Maybe there’s even a reward?” He looks up at Sar hopefully.

Sar goes back to stroking his moustache, thinking deeply. One of his colleagues, a Seeker named Isabella, had travelled out that way, to investigate the ruins of Srinaber. Since her departure almost a month ago he’d heard nothing from her, and now this claim of a pair of mages murdering another. Maybe the thug’s accusations had some merit.

“Describe the mages for me.” Sar asks the man.

The man nods desperately, words once again spilling from within him. “There’s a man, really distinctive. He has hair the colour of bone and sickly pale skin. He seems to control some sort of walking skeleton. There’s also this woman, long black hair, carries a sword. She cast some sort of spell that covered her skin in white light, and made her move faster than the eye can follow. They killed Telac like it was nothing!”

Sar perks up at the mention of the woman. A black haired female mage, just like Isabella, aiding one of these backwater nobles to kill another. Over the long years of his life as a Seeker Sar has developed a number of instincts. Normally, they aid him in discovering when families try to hide the children that have just awakened to their magic. Now, however, his instincts were identifying something else. Something new and dangerous.

The man interrupts his thoughts. “My lord Seeker? About the reward?” He asks, eyes shining greedily.

“Oh yes, your reward. You truly believe that those two were free mages?” Sar asks.

“Fully, my lord. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He responds eagerly, completely missing the edge to Sar’s voice.

A savage smile spreads on Sar’s face. “In that case, you know the law. Zero tolerance for free mages, and what did you do? You fled. You did not fulfil your duty.”

The smile drops from the man’s face, replaced with horror as the realization of what he said dawns on him.

“No, my lord, I didn’t… I couldn’t...” He drops to his knees, clasping his hands, begging.

Sar ignores his pleas, raising his right hand. “In the name of his Holiness, I judge you guilty of the crime of tolerating a free mage.”

“My lord, you can’t do this!” The thug squeals.

Sar flares his magic, an intense blue flame springing into life in the air above his open palm. The cowering man scrambles backwards until his back touches the wall, his eyes wide and fixed on the blazing orb floating in the air.

With a thought, Sar sends the globe shooting across the room. The man on the floor raises his arms, shielding his face. A futile gesture.

The orb slams into the man, engulfing him in flames. Desperate screams fill the room as he writhes over the floor.

Sar watches until the screams fade, and the body goes still. If he had his way they would have scoured all the filth from this country. Just like with a forest fire, once the old has been burnt away the new can grow in its place, clean and pure.

Sar turns on his heel and strides out of the room, stroking his moustache. A young man stands to attention outside the room, eyes fixed forward at the opposite wall.

“Initiate Romelo, gather the mess in there and scatter it for the plants in the terrarium. It will provide excellent fertilizer.”

“Yes lord Seeker!” The young man snaps a crisp salute.

***

Sar walks along winding corridors before emerging into the large open courtyard at the heart of the fort. Out here the air is filled with the sounds of training soldiers, the crash of the wooden training blades, to the yells of the instructor. Sar looks over the men under his command with a critical eye, noting their inexperience. All the men with any talent were snapped up by the enclave in Avonford, leaving him with only the runts. Such was His Holinesses will, however, and Sar would perform his duty with even these imperfect tools.

To one side of the courtyard stands a huge black wagon, its wooden surface reinforced with metal bands, a prison for the young cargo currently slumbering deep within its depths. The two young magelings uncovered in Littlestream currently lie within, kept comatose by a dosage of the Manathief Elixir. It won’t be long before it would be time to transport them to the enclave in Avonford, then the little devils would no longer be his concern. He’d never had a taste for reforming these uncultured people, and thankfully he was never asked to do so. No, there were more than enough experts back in the homeland who could take these children, and teach them to love Lightire, to become true agents in the great work. His task was simply to seek out those with an affinity. And to make sure people don’t forget who really rules around here.

Sar crosses the courtyard and climbs the stone steps up the wall to stare out over his assigned province. A worrying feeling, a twinge of uncertainty, builds in the pit of his stomach. Free mages, fully grown, roaming the lands. Seekers disappearing. Mages killing one another. What was going on? He raises his eyes, glaring at the dense forest that covers this hated land. So different from the rolling hills and gentle rivers of his beloved Lightire. Absent-mindedly, he raises his hand and strokes at his moustache once again. Maybe once the magelings were delivered it would be time to make an example of another village. If they were truly harbouring a free mage they would only have brought it onto themselves, and if they had a hand in Isabella’s disappearance then only purging fire would absolve them of their sins.

Sar smiles to himself. One way or another he was going to find out the truth.