It was a cloudless autumn day, and the sun was shining brightly. On days like these, even the buildings of Antere looked a little less tired and decrepit than usual. There was a chill in the air and people dodged carts brimming with grain as they walked the busy streets. Peasants all around the kingdom were working to bring in the harvest, and much of it came here, to feed the capital’s people.

A river wound its way through the city on its way to the sea. The city docks were located at the river mouth where ships of all sizes lay at anchor lay at anchor. Upstream, mills were built along the banks, harnessing the power of its currents to turn wheels which in turn ground grain, blew air into furnaces, and worked saws for lumbermills.

Inside one of these mills, Philip rubbed a handful of freshly ground oats in between his finger and his thumb and grunted before making a minor adjustment to the grindstones. He then closed up the freshly ground sack of oats and moved it to a pile. The grain would be good enough for the master of this mill, but not for him. He took pride in working his father’s profession.

The air in the mill was still and humid. He was alone, but he preferred it this way. It was a stifling, noisy place, but he felt at home here. Sacks of raw grain were piled high on one end of the room and that pile would only grow over. He knew from experience that the bulk of the harvest would arrive in the coming weeks and there was little time to spare. However, Robert, the master of the mill was nowhere to be seen.

Philip had been working for Robert for less than a month and was already trusted to run things on his own. He had the experience and the know-how, having helped his father in their own mill ever since he could walk. Despite telling the master that he would only be working here a short while and that he would be leaving the city soon, Robert either seemed not to believe him or was trying to make the most of having good help while he could. He was probably already four drinks deep in the tavern up the road.

Philip lifted a sack and poured its contents into a hopper that fed the grain into the millstone. He then tossed the empty sack aside before pausing to stretch his back. The work was tiring but fulfilling. It was nice having his labour appreciated. He had spent the last five years being reminded that he was wasting a lot of important people’s time and money in his failure to do as he was told.

“Are you in there, Phil?” came a voice from outside.

Philip paused and looked at the door. It was Devlin. He worked as an assistant cook at the Siren’s Call, an inn near the docks which served the merchant sailors and dockworkers. The Antere docks were fairly busy, mainly servicing ships that plied between the Celethir capital and the free port of Veltine across the Loros Sea which was the gateway to the Oren Empire.

“I thought Robert told your boss that his barley wouldn’t be done til tomorrow evening,” Philip said through the door as he tied up another bag of ground oats and tossed it into the pile.

“It’s your girlfriend,” Devlin called through the closed door, and Philip could just see the sly smile on the younger boy’s face, “she’s sent for you.”

Normally, Philip would have dreaded summonses from his ‘girlfriend’. Today though was an exception. It would be, with luck, the last time he was summoned to see her.

“Coming,” Philip called out, trying to keep the excitement from his voice as he hurried to the door. He paused to pull on a heavy coat before stepping outside.

“How the likes of you bagged a rich, pretty girl like that, I’ll never know,” Devlin groused with mock irritability. He was a year younger than Philip and stood a full hand shorter. As the youngest person working at the Siren’s Call, he was often sent on minor errands such as this.

“It must be my rakish good looks,” Philip remarked, flashing a cheeky grin, “let’s get going then, shall we?”

Devlin made a face. “Are you really going to meet her looking like that?”

Philip inspected his reflection in a nearby puddle. He was tall for his age. Something he had only realised once he’d left the Academy. Ungainly would be a nice way to describe his build, though he was beginning to grow into it. His face and hair were caked with grain dust, but he did not care about that. He was looking at his eyes. They were brown eyes. Normal eyes. Something he was still getting used to.

He fingered the seal on his chest through his clothes absently. It had been applied a month ago and the process had been excruciating. It had been worth it though because now, for the first time in five years, he wasn’t as cold all the time and more importantly, his eyes didn’t glow red whenever he got emotional. It was strange, however, not being able to feel the orb in his chest.

Tearing his eyes off his reflection, Philip dusted his hands and his hair briefly before turning to Devlin. “She likes it when I’m a little grubby.”

“Gods know what she sees in you,” Devlin retorted, rolling his eyes, and noted that Philip was locking the door, “do you think old man Robert will mind you leaving the mill unattended?”

“There are no deliveries scheduled for today,” Philip shrugged, “besides, he won’t be back til dusk and I need to have lunch, don’t I?”

They made their way up the road and Philip lowered his head as they walked past a stone building at the end of the road. A wooden sign with three wavy lines etched into it, representing the currents of the water, hung above the door. It was the hydromancer’s office. Something that only existed in the kingdom’s largest cities. They would be busy at this time of the year, using their Gift to ensure enough water flowed through the river to power the various engines that were vital to the everyday lives of the kingdom’s people.

“So who’s her father then?” Devlin asked, lowering his voice. He raised a hand and rubbed his finger and thumb together, “he must be loaded for her to be able to book a room every week for your trysts.”

Philip shrugged. It wasn’t the first time he had been asked this, but keeping the secret was one of the conditions of him being allowed to leave.

“I bet he’s a noble,” Devlin continued, his eyes dancing, “he’d probably string you up by your bollocks if he finds out what the two of you have been up to.”

“I beg your pardon,” Philip said, feigning indignance, once they were a good distance from the hydromancer’s office, “I’ll have you know that I have been the perfect gentleman.”

Philip took his surroundings in as the two boys picked their way through the bustling streets, pleased that he would soon be able to say goodbye to this dreary city. He always felt that there were too many people crammed together here. He also didn’t like how most of the buildings were centuries old and in various states of decay and disrepair.

Not the Academy though, that place was immaculately maintained, Philip reminded himself, an army of cleaners had been employed to keep the place spotless. Gods knew how much money was spent on that alone. Unconsciously, he found himself looking to the west at the low hill in the heart of the city. Built atop that hill and surrounded by high stone walls was the castle complex which contained among other things, the royal palace. Its spires soared over the walls and stood vigil over the city. On the opposite side of the castle complex was the cylindrical tower of the Academy, its conical white roof was just ever so slightly shorter than the palace’s tallest spire. It was where all the kingdom’s Gifted were sent to train when their powers manifested, which was around the time they reached puberty.

As he stared at the tall stone tower, he recalled his days in its halls when his only responsibility was to learn and to conjure fire. Now that he had dropped out, he found himself forced to earn his own bread for the first time in his life. Not that he minded, rather, he was thankful he hadn’t been asked to repay what it had cost to room, board, and teach him over the last five years.

“My gaffer can’t bear looking at that place,” Devlin remarked, following Philip’s gaze, “proper waste of money he says.”

The existence of the Academy and its upkeep was a sore point for many in the kingdom. To them, the sight of the tower soaring into the sky above them was the symbol of extravagant waste, a bottomless pit into which their hard-earned tax money was poured even though few could deny the services those trained there rendered to the kingdom and its people.

Philip shrugged and cast a sideways glance at an opulent carriage making its way down the street, pulled by four freshly groomed white horses. A pair of outriders in fine clothes and gleaming swords at their hip shouted at the common folk to make way. “I can think of a few bigger wastes of coin,” he muttered under his breath.

Devlin’s eyes widened and he looked around worriedly. “They’d have you in the stocks for a week for even thinking such a thing.”

“It’s a good thing they can’t read minds then,” Philip grinned.

Devlin was the first friend Philip had made after leaving the Academy and he enjoyed the younger boy’s company. He also happened to be the first friend he had made since arriving in the city who was not from the Academy. The pair bantered as they made their way through the city and until the scent of salt air and rotting fish filled the air. Soon, they came to a tired looking three storey building on a busy street lined with tired looking buildings. A sign hung over the door identifying it as the Siren’s Call Inn. Beneath the words was a hand painted picture of a mermaid calling from a rock. The boys paused to let a group of burly men enter before following them in.

“I’m back gaffer!” Devlin declared as he walked in. The main room of the Siren’s Call was dimly lit and lined with tired tables and chairs. A handful of tired looking men sat at their tables, nursing drinks. It was still early in the day and the place had a reputation of getting rowdy in the evenings.

Standing behind a long bar that dominated the far end of the room was a bald, burly man. He looked up at Philip and placed both his meaty hands on top of the well-polished spruce bar top.

“Master Steven,” Philip said, bowing his head politely, “I understand one of your guests sent for me?”

Steven, the master of the Siren’s Call did not reply. He merely continued boring his eyes into Philip who stared back expectantly. The innkeeper’s mouth twitched irritably under his moustache.

“I don’t know what the two of you plan to do up there, but I must remind you that I run a respectable establishment,” he said, not taking his eyes off Philip.

Philip looked over at the two painted ladies sharing a table in a quiet corner of the bar pointedly and hid a smile. “As I told young Master Devlin, I am a gentleman and would do nothing of the sort,” Philip said innocently.

Steven grunted and cocked his head towards the stairs. “Top floor, last room on the right.”

“Much obliged,” Philip said, tugging his forelock as he made his way up the stairs.

He paused at a table where two painted ladies in low cut frilly dresses were seated. They fluttered their eyelids at him playfully and he tried not to gag as a waft of their perfume assaulted his nostrils. “Doris, Wendy, you ladies are looking lovely today.”

He had gawked at the ladies the first time he encountered them a month ago, having never seen anything like them before. It was Devlin who told them what they did for a living. They were resting now but would be busy whenever a ship pulled into the docks and their sailors were unleashed upon the city. Sailors who had spent weeks without knowing the touch of a woman.

Wendy, the lady closer to the stairs motioned to Philip who leaned in obediently. “Choose your words carefully when you meet her, dearie,” she said kindly, “your lady looked to be in a bit of a mood.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Philip replied brightly.

“Nothing new there,” he muttered under his breath as he made his way up the rickety stairs.

On the first floor was a narrow corridor. Four doors on either side led off to the guest rooms. He walked down the threadbare carpet that ran the length of the corridor to a set of stairs on the far end that led to the next floor. A burly man blocked the stairs. Large, hairy arms crossed his chest, and a truncheon hung from his belt.

“Sam,” Philip nodded in greeting. The man returned the greeting and stepped aside to permit him access to the top floor.

He walked down the plusher carpet that ran down the length of the corridor on this floor which was known to the locals as Steven’s Folly. The inn was popular with ships crews, and he had decided to renovate the top floor at great expense in an attempt to attract ship’s officers who came from nobility or rich merchant families and had more money to spend. The only problem with this plan was that the ship’s officers would not be caught dead carousing in this part of town, and certainly not in the same watering hole that their men frequented.

Philip came to a halt at the last door on the right. He took a moment to gather himself. Would they really grant him permission to leave the city if the seal held?

“And what if they did?” the pessimist in him asked. What then? He’d be on his own, fending for himself for the first time.

No that’s not right, he told himself, trying to raise his spirits, he had spent the last month fending for himself, and it had been grand. Besides, the Academy had made it clear they would no longer support him if he wasn’t going to perform.

“You could go back, beg the dean to let you back in,” the pessimist in him pressed, “swear that you’d be able to do what needed to be done.”

“No,” Philip said aloud, surprising himself at the strength in his voice. He shook his head. That would be a waste of time. For five years he had tried, and despite the teachers at the academy trying everything, being gentle, being harsh, cajoling him and consoling him, his fear ran too deep.

“Philip is that you?” came an impatient voice from the other side of the door, snapping Philip out of his reverie.

Philip took a deep breath before replying, “yes, may I come in?”

“Enter,” she said, her tone imperious.

Philip sighed and pushed the door open.

The room was well appointed and in a lounge chair by an open window that offered a sweeping view of the harbour sat a petite girl who was two years older than Philip. Her deep blue eyes were hostile and fixed on him. She was dressed as a common girl, in a plain pale blue dress that brought out the colour of her eyes. Her blonde hair was in a braid that hung over her shoulder.

“Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it, Grace?” he began in a rush as he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

He stopped in his tracks and broke out in a cold sweat as he noticed the fire burning in the stone fireplace. Memories came flooding back from that faithful night, and it was all Philip could do to not collapse into a trembling heap.

Grace’s eyes bore into Philip expectantly. When he remained frozen, she rolled her eyes and snorted with disgust. Her eyes glowed white for a moment and a gust of wind blew in from the window, through the fireplace and up the chimney, extinguishing the fire.

“Useless as ever,” she spat.

Philip took a moment to compose himself before collapsing in the chair across from Grace. “That was unpleasant,” he panted, “I see your love of antagonizing me hasn’t changed.”

Grace scrunched her face. “Me, the antagonist? How dare you!”

Philip held his tongue. Grace was a fiery one and enraging her now would do him no good. He instead focused on the fact that he could not sense her aura as she ranted. Even after a month, it felt strange to be so close to Grace without being able to sense her aura. The Gifted emitted an aura that other Gifted could sense. The aura grew as they used their powers, and the stronger the aura, the further away it could be felt. When in the same room, the Gifted could perceive one another’s aura even at rest. However, due to the seal, it felt as though he was sitting across from a normal person.

“Thanks to you deciding to squander the incredible gift that was dumped in your lap, I’m destined to spend my life on decrepit ships surrounded by even more decrepit men!” she roared, half rising out of her chair, “I’d be lucky to not be raped within a week!”

“They wouldn’t dare touch their aeromancer,” Philip said with a quick smile that he hoped looked reassuring, “after all, you could blow them overboard and have the ship be miles away before anyone noticed.”

He did a twinge of guilt. Grace was an aeromancer who had mastery over the wind. One of the most prestigious role available to them was to assist pyromancers who controlled fire, enhancing their powers with their own.

Grace was the daughter of a smith from some backwater town and thus lacked the clout for a prestigious role in the military where only a handful were needed. Grace had been chosen to be Philip’s partner by virtue of being enrolled in the Academy at roughly the same time as he. The dean had theorized that having them train and grow up together would improve their synergy. It was a heaven sent opportunity for Grace.

Unfortunately for her, Philip’s crippling fear of fire had made training him in the art of manipulating flames impossible. It had taken five long years for the dean to give up on him. Truth be told, Philip had given up on himself long before.

Grace turned red at the face. “It’s that carefree attitude of yours that drives me up the wall most of all!” she ranted. Her eyes glowed white as her rage grew.

Philip sank deeper in his chair and held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Do you know how many resources have been squandered trying to make something useful out of you?” she continued. The air around her swirled as her eyes glowed brighter, “even Sir Frederick of the Flame was sent back from the Eastern Marches to personally see to your training!”

Those born with the power to control the elements were rare and most in the kingdom would live their entire lives without ever meeting one. There were fewer than fifty Gifted living in Celethir and every one of them used their powers to serve the crown. There were the hydromancers who manipulated water and the geomancers who had power over the earth, though the usefulness of Celethir geomancers was limited, unlike those from the kingdom of Morovin.

The most sought after of the Gifted were those who were able to control fire, such as Philip. Their value was purely for war. Philip had learned of past battles at the Academy, where pyromancers cut down great swathes of their enemies, single handedly turning the tide of battle. However, those with the Gift of fire were the rarest of all. Most kingdoms went centuries without having one born in its borders.

“You know the pressure I was under,” Philip said, turning serious, “if I didn’t learn to shrug things off and adopt a carefree attitude, I’d probably have thrown myself from the top of the Academy’s tower.”

Grace paused mid-rant. The glow in her eyes receded. Eventually, they turned blue once more and the air grew still.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were being serious for once,” she said at length.

“We’ve been through too much together for me to be able to put one past you,” Philip replied, holding her gaze.

She had seen first-hand the amount of pressure the teachers at the Academy had placed Philip under and truth be told, she had her fair share of pressure placed on her to influence him to perform.

“Let’s get this over with,” Grace sighed, “take off your shirt.”

Philip swallowed a witty remark that would surely have resulted in Grace summoning a gust of wind to hurl him out the open window. He removed his jacket and his shirt to allow her to inspect the seal on his chest. The main part of the seal was a circle inside a square. Archaic runes were etched inside and out. The dean himself had spent two hours carving it into his bare skin with a hot blade and it had been agony. Philip had thought that it was punishment for wasting their time, but since the seal had been completed, his powers had vanished, and he could no longer perceive the orb within his chest. The Academy was not about to let master of the elements, and a pyromancer no less, out of its grasp, without first sealing their power.

Satisfied, Grace then drew her face close to his. Philip felt his manhood stir at her closeness as she looked deep into his eyes. This was all part of the weekly inspections which had started when he left the Academy. It was to ensure that his powers were truly sealed away. Telling people she was his girlfriend and meeting here in the inn was all part of a ruse to keep what they were doing secret. The Academy couldn’t risk anyone knowing that they had allowed a Gifted out of their grasp. Especially not a pyromancer. If such news were to become public, surely every kingdom in the world would send agents to abduct him and attempt to turn him to their service.

“It appears that the seal is working and intact,” she said, getting to her feet.

“That’s good to hear,” Philip beamed as his hopes soared.

Grace looked at Philip one more time and sighed before fishing a folded paper out of her pocket.

“You’re free to go,” she said, tossing the paper onto the table between them, “that’s your letter of passage.”

Philip’s eyes widened as he grabbed the paper and unfolded it quickly. His heart skipped a beat as he saw that was indeed what she said it was, signed and sealed by the city bailiff’s office.

“Are you happy?” she asked bitterly.

Philip tore his eyes off the paper that represented his freedom and looked up at her. “I am.”

“Where will you go?”

“South,” Philip replied quickly, “where it’s not so cold.”

“You’re really leaving then?” she demanded. Philip gave her a confused look and he saw her lip tremble.

“I really am,” he said carefully.

“Fine, waste your talent!” she cried as she stomped towards the door, “you’d better pray to the gods that we never cross paths again!”

She slammed the door behind her, and Philip winced as he heard her stomp down the hallway. He stared at the door and then down at the paper in his hands. His excitement soared and Grace’s tantrum was quickly forgotten. He had spent the last five years living as others told him to and now, for the first time in his life, he was truly free and on his own.

He lost himself in his thoughts until he felt it was safe to leave. He’d have to tell old Robert that the day was finally here. He’d be surprised, for sure. But before that, he’d have to say goodbye to Devlin and the rest of his friends. There would hardly be enough time for all the goodbyes. He wanted to be off first thing in the morning before the dean could change his mind.

The sun low in the sky the next morning when Philip stepped out of the old mill for the last time. His head was still pounding. Devlin and his friends had taken him drinking the night before. A night that had ended for him only two hours ago. Probably the last ditch effort to force him to stay.

“You’re really leaving then,” Robert remarked, rubbing his face He was a ruddy faced middle aged man who had not risen this early since Philip had started working for him, “I have to admit, I’ll be sorry to see you go.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Philip replied.

“Are you sure you need to leave this early?” he asked, “you’ll get to the gates long before they open.”

“I have a long journey ahead of me and I want to get started as soon as possible,” Philip said. He hefted a basket of bread baked by Robert’s wife, “you’ll have to thank Kim for me.”

“She’d be here, but she didn’t think she’d be able to contain herself,” Robert said with a rueful smile.

Philip turned to the older man and offered his hand. “Well, thanks for everything.”

“You’re the best chance I ever took,” Robert sighed. They shook hands and Philip slung the small sack containing all the clothes he owned over his shoulder before walking down the street.

The traffic was already picking up as Philip made his way down the King’s Avenue. The wide stone paved road that ran the length of the city, connecting the South Gate to the palace complex. The buildings lining this avenue were in slightly better condition than those throughout the rest of the city. After all, King Storin Soumair himself often used the King’s Avenue whenever he was travelling in state. However, they were still in poor condition, their faces bearing chips in places, and their roofs missing the odd tile. Philip walked past one which was boarded up. Signs declaring that it had been confiscated by the city bailiff due to non-payment of taxes were nailed to several of the boards.

The kingdom of Celethir was not a wealthy one, or so he had been taught at the Academy. It was not blessed with an abundance of resources, unlike Morovin, their smaller neighbour to the south. Their territories included mountains that were rich with iron and gold, which was found with the aid of their world renown geomancers trained at the prestigious Guild of Morovin. Much of the iron used in Celethir was bought from Morovian mines which was of a much higher quality than that dug up from Celethir’s only mine in the hills that lay to the west of the capital.

The South Gate was still not open when Philip arrived. He took his place in the queue of merchants and other people who had business outside the city as they waited patiently for the city guard to decide it was time to open them.

“Come on, I have to get to Southill and back before dusk,” groused a man from atop an empty wagon pulled by a tired looking horse.

Philip looked through the crowd and a man standing by the gate caught his attention. It was the man’s cloak that drew his eye first. It was a plain grey travelling cloak, but the threads were immaculate, and the cutting of the cloak fit the man well. The hood of the cloak obscured the man’s face, but Philip immediately recognized the broad shoulders and posture. Quickly, Philip averted his gaze and wondered what he should do next.

No, he admonished himself, it was obvious what he had to do. He was a man he owed more than he could ever hope to repay. A man who had made time in his busy schedule to come see him off in person. He was not someone he could just walk past, pretending he had not noticed him.

Taking a deep breath, Philip stepped out of his place in line and walked towards the man who looked up as he approached, revealing his craggy, eyebrowless face.

“I had a feeling you’d be here the moment the gate’s opened,” Frederick grinned.

“I thought you were supposed to be in the Eastern Reaches,” Philip remarked.

“I am,” the older man said, shifting his shoulders, “so let’s take this somewhere more private, shall we?”

Frederick cocked his head at a large inn close to the gate. “Got time for a pint?”

“Lead the way,” Philip sighed. His head was still pounding from the drinking the night before and he wanted nothing more than to be past the gates and out of the city, but he couldn’t turn his teacher down. Well, former teacher now, he mused to himself and felt a little sad coming to that realisation.

The pair pushed their way through the growing crowd who were waiting for the gates to open and entered the inn. A half faded sign identified it as the Gateshead.

“Master,” Frederick called out to the man behind the bar, “have you a room where a pair of gentlemen could share a drink in private?”

The man looked around the deserted main room theatrically and raised an eyebrow. Frederick smiled back sweetly and placed a silver penny on the bar. The man raised his eyebrow higher.

“We’ll take two of your best ales, please and thank you,” Frederick said.

Philip and the man stared dumbly at the silver penny until the man swiped it off the table and inspected it suspiciously before shoving it into his pocket. He pulled a pair of ales from the taps at the bar and placed them on the bar.

“Over there,” he said, cocking his head at a door to his right.

“Much obliged,” Frederick said, tugging the top of his hood.

They took their drinks and pushed the door open to find a darkened private dining room. It was dominated by a large table and seats for twelve. A young girl of no more than eight pushed past them and lit the candles in a three armed silver holder that sat on the table. Philip averted his eyes from the flames and focused on his former teacher’s face as the candles bathed the room in a warm light.

“If you need anything, just ring the bell,” she beamed, pointing at a brass bell by the door.

Frederick gave her a copper penny and her smile widened. She curtsied politely before excusing herself. Once she closed the door behind her, Frederick considerately placed the candle on the mantle behind Philip. They then took their seats and looked at each other in silence.

“Shouldn’t you be at the Eastern Reaches?” Philip asked again.

Frederick smiled coyly and threw the hood of his cloak back, revealing his bald head. He took a sip of his drink and sighed contentedly before replying, “I should be, yes.”

“You know, I half expected to be executed or imprisoned when I told them I wanted to drop out,” Philip confessed.

“And you were going to be,” Frederick agreed.

“I expect that I have you to thank for being allowed to leave,” Philip said, levelling his eyes on his Frederick’s and taking a sip.

“That you do,” Frederick nodded. He paused to take a long pull from his drink, “I told them I would not return to the Eastern Marches unless you were allowed to leave.”

Philip choked on his ale upon hearing that. “Isn’t that treason?” he spluttered.

“I suppose some might say it is,” Frederick shrugged and looked up at Philip with a mischievous glint in his eye, “but what are they going to do, hang me, Frederick of the Flame?”

“I suppose not,” Philip conceded.

Frederick was now Celethir’s only pyromancer and was often deployed to the kingdom’s Eastern Reaches to deter the Galataens, with whom they shared a border, from attacking. Neither the Galataens to their east nor the Morovians to the south had any pyromancers they could call upon. However, the kingdom of Galatae was massive, and their standing army alone was five times the size of anything the Celethir could hope to muster.

“Do you really intend to leave?” the older man asked, “you could live a comfortable life in the city, you know. I have connections.”

Philip nodded, not able to meet his mentor’s gaze.

Frederick sighed. “I suppose part of me was looking forward to the exploits of Phil the pyrophobic pyromancer,” he smirked.

Frederick paused before continuing, “however, I am glad that the boy I pulled from the wreckage so many years ago did not have to grow up to be a mass murderer like me.”

“It was Ben who pulled me out,” Philip pointed out.

“But I was the one who told him where you were,” Frederick snapped with mock irritability.

“And I thank you for it,” Philip grinned, “truly. If you hadn’t come along, I’d probably have starved to death or been burnt at the stake as a witch.”

“Probably drowned,” Frederick remarked, “once they figured out setting you on fire would do nothing to harm you.”

All pyromancers also had a high tolerance to heat. This tolerance had a limit which set a ceiling on the intensity and thus the destructiveness of the fire they could manipulate. Philip had an abnormally high tolerance for heat even amongst pyromancers. Placing his hand into the hottest forge in the city barely singed his skin. Frederick’s tolerance, on the other hand, was low, which was why his eyebrows vanished whenever he used his power.

They sipped their drinks quietly. Philip noted that Frederick’s gloved hand still trembled slightly when he held the cup. He had seen the burns his master’s power had caused and couldn’t help but admire the lengths he was willing to go to serve their kingdom.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Frederick ventured at length.

Philip hesitated.

“I’ll keep it a secret, don’t worry,” Frederick sighed, “knowing you, you’ll probably be heading south where it’s warmer.”

Philip nodded.

“I can’t elaborate, but you’d best stay north of Gelt’s Pass,” Frederick said, looking Philip in the eye.

Philip nodded thoughtfully. Gelt’s Pass was a strategically important stronghold in the kingdom’s southern regions about forty miles north of the Morovian border, or so he had been taught in his military strategy classes at the Academy.

“Are we going to war with the Morovians?” Philip ventured.

“It’s too soon to tell now,” Frederick replied, “but our king does covet their lands so I fear it may be inevitable.”

“Thanks for the information,” Phillip said. He took a thoughtful sip of his drink before looking up at Frederick, “when are you going back east?”

“I’ll wait half a day after you’ve left the capital,” Frederick smiled. They both knew that as long as Frederick remained in the capital, he would not be pursued, “I’m afraid that’s as long as I can wait.”

The older man then drained his cup and set it down delicately and got to his feet. “Now, I expect that you’re raring to get going.”

Philip stood, and Frederick removed his glove, revealing his severely burnt hand. The skin was bright pink and there were sores all over. He offered it to Philip.

“Thank you for everything,” Philip said. Frederick winced as Philip shook his hand gently, “Gods watch over you.”

“And you,” Frederick said, “now if you’ll excuse me, I should go before I get tied up in a sack and hauled back to General Gallinfeld.”

“Oh, one last thing,” Philip said, not quite sure how to broach the subject.

Frederick paused. “Yes?”

“Is there uhm…” he began, “any chance you or anyone you know needs a support aeromancer?”

Frederick blinked. “Well, I’m the only pyromancer in the kingdom and Rupert and I go back ages… didn’t we stress the importance of learning to work as a team at the…”

Frederick’s lips curled into a sly grin as he came to a realisation. “Are you asking on Grace’s behalf?”

Philip nodded sheepishly.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Frederick said, shaking his head.

“Oh,” Philip said, slumping his shoulders.

“Do you feel bad for her?”

Philip nodded. “She thinks she’ll get raped if she serves on a ship.”

“Hah,” Frederick laughed, “they wouldn’t dare.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please, I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Frederick scoffed, “she isn’t the first female aeromancer to serve on a merchant ship and she certainly won’t be the last.”

“They will worship the ground she walks on, don’t you worry,” he continued when he saw that Philip still looked unconvinced, “after all, she’ll make their journeys quicker and safer.”

“If you say so,” Philip said dubiously.

“She’ll come to love it with that personality of hers,” Frederick grinned, “believe me, she’s just scared because it’s all so unknown to her.”

“Well then, I shan’t keep you any longer,” Philip said, “travelling all the way to the Eastern Reaches in a sack doesn’t sound terribly comfortable.”

“If you ever need anything, just ask for Frederick of the Flame.” Frederick clapped Philip on the shoulder and strode out of the room. Philip watched his former mentor leave and then looked down into his half-full cup. He did not particularly want to finish it, but he gulped it down all the same. It would probably be the last drink he ever bought for him. Now that he thought about it, Frederick had also bought him his first drink.