“Sir,” Jack said, the politeness of his words marred by the scowl on his face. “The book. Love it. Favourite piece of fiction this year.”

Maze smirked, arms folded across his chest. “You expected me to write down a list of my Will expressions for you to peruse and learn at your leisure?”

“...no,” Jack muttered, the tips of his ears red. He had believed it, if only for a short while.

“How far have you read?” Maze asked.

“Only partway through the section on preparing and moulding your Will channels,” Jack said.

“You need not look for errors in the theoretical chapters, only in the Will expressions,” Maze said, confirming a hope Jack held. “I take it you have explored the basic fireball?”

“Yeah, just a bit,” Jack said.

“Show me,” Maze demanded.

Jack turned away from his mentor and drew his hand back over his shoulder, calling on his Will, and a long tongue of flame sprouted from his palm. His arm snapped out and the ribbon of fire lashed the ground, leaving a blackened score on the path.

“Interesting,” Maze said, observing the flame whip Jack held. “Most would try to merely fix the expression as it was detailed.”

“I did that too,” Jack said. “I can conjure a ball of fire that can be thrown and will explode on impact.”

“Good. Basic, but good,” Maze said.

“Basic?” Jack asked, frowning as he let the flame whip fade. He had thought himself to be doing rather well.

“There is a reason most children's fantasies and Bards' tales of magic revolve around conjuring fire and frost, or summoning lightning,” Maze said. “It is because they are simple expressions, easily achieved, and nature itself does not fight them...overly much, at least.”

“Fight them?” Jack asked, puzzled. “Oh. Because they already exist in nature.”

“Correct. What sets spellweavers like you and I apart from mere Will using Heroes is the lengths to which we exert our Will upon the world,” Maze said, expanding on his impromptu lecture. “Observe.”

Jack watched as his mentor faded from sight before his eyes. Footprints appeared in the dirt, the only sign of the Guild leader's presence. Abruptly, Maze reappeared—ten feet to the side of where his footprints said he stood. Another Maze appeared, then another, and another. They faded after a few moments and then the original reappeared, eyeing his student.

“Control of the elements is all well and good, and there are some Heroes, like Thunder, who have gained mastery over one or the other to an extreme degree, but they are but stepping stones,” Maze said, the Will patterns on his face glowing slightly.

“You call me a spellweaver,” Jack said, “but what makes that so? If my fire expressions are so basic, I mean.”

Maze eyed him dryly. “Your very first expression of Will was of a sort some Heroes never think to explore or attempt.”

“So because my wraith form is something not found in nature, it's of a higher level?” Jack asked, turning over the concept in his mind.

“To a point,” Maze allowed, quirking an eyebrow at the name of the expression. “The elements – these are base things, akin to the building blocks of the world. They can be defended against or avoided with relative ease. Your 'wraith form', as you call it, is different. Not due to anything as plebian as 'power', but—I can recall a spellweaver who could turn their form to smoke and avoid almost all harm. They could even be inhaled by their foes and attack their bodies from the inside. Do you see how this expression and your wraith form are alike? How they differ from the ability to throw a handful of flames at your enemy?” Maze asked, watching as Jack put the pieces together.

“It's not about power,” Jack said slowly. “It's about..how you use it? Using it for more than just force?”

“Close,” Maze said. “Keep going.”

“Conjuring fire is like hitting someone in the face with a club. Manipulating the world,” Jack said. “But my wraith form is exerting my Will on the world, changing it. It's more...refined?”

“You have the beginnings of the concept, which is more than some Heroes ever realise,” Maze said approvingly.

“I think I have it,” Jack said, taking in the new information. Any Hero could fool about with the elements, but Maze seemed to be saying that true Will users used their power in ways that could not be simply guarded against.

“Of course, there are many who say that sort of distinction is the highest form of magical snobbery, and that Will is Will,” Maze said, scratching his chin. “Very few of them are spellweavers, however.”

“What happened to the Hero who could turn themselves to smoke?” Jack asked, feeling slightly queasy at the idea. He had never heard of a Hero known for that ability.

A far away look came over Maze's face. “She tried it on me,” he said, as if that was all that need be said. And it was. The archmage coughed slightly, coming back to himself. “Interesting as this lesson might be, I did not come all the way out here to give you a lecture,” he revealed.

“Hod did you find me?” Jack asked.

“Your Guild Seal,” Maze answered.

“Can every Hero be tracked by their Seal?” Jack asked, not sure how much he liked the idea.

“Only by those with both a link to your Seal and the affinity to do so,” Maze said.

“So you're the only one who can use it to track me?” Jack sought to confirm.

“I cannot,” Maze said, looking briefly irritated. “Weaver is the only member of the Guild with the necessary affinity.”

“Why is that?” the younger mage asked.

“The Guild Seals are of his make, and he is the one responsible for contacting individual Heroes when the need arises. I can only surmise that the affinity came from such extensive use,” Maze said. “I, however, have no desire to spend my time informing one Hero or another when they are requested for a Quest or have mail from grandmother,” he finished with the aggravated tone of a man repeating an old argument.

Jack wisely made no comment, although perhaps his grin was a bit telling.

“Regardless,” I have something to give you,” Maze said.

“Is it another book?” Jack said jokingly.

Maze ignored him. “During your time at the Guild, I kept an eye on your old hometown. Oakvale has recovered well since the night I rescued you,” he said. “In particular, I have been looking into the fate of your family, specifically your sister.”

Jack stilled, and all expression was wiped from his face. He had seen what one group of depraved bandits had done to a girl he knew and played with. Her screams still featured in his nightmares, and he had lived in fear that his sister had suffered a similar fate ever since he started to remember details of the raid in his second year at the Guild. He didn't talk about or dwell on his home for good reason.

“Of your mother, I found nothing, and of your sister I'm afraid I have been unable to determine her ultimate fate,” Maze said, “although I did discover she survived the raid itself, with some injuries.” The archmage watched his student carefully. When he made no response, he continued. “My information has been stale for some time now, and I thought that perhaps a fresh mind might have more luck than I.”

Jack looked his mentor in the eye. “Thank you,” he said. He didn't want to return to Oakvale, but hearing his sister might still live had him feeling almost unbearably hopeful. The hope was tempered by fear, fear that he might follow her trail only to find a grave, or scattered bones. Despite this, he knew what he wanted to do. He would make his apologies to Klessan and go wherever the path to his sister led. “Where did the trail go cold?” he asked.

“A bloody clearing in the forest,” Maze answered after a long moment. “She was found there, and carried off some days after the raid. If the Fates were kind, it was by a hermit, or a hunter from another village.”

Jack ground his teeth. He had been safe and comfortable, settling into life at the Guild, while Theresa, his kind, loving sister was wandering through the forest bloody and lost. He didn't even want to begin to think what her life had been like these past years if it was not a hermit or hunter to rescue her, but more bandits.

“What is done is done,” Maze said quietly, easily following Jack's thoughts. “You were in no position to help her, even if you knew she still lived.”

Jack nodded once, not liking the situation any more.

“I've kept the records in my tower,” Maze said. “I can take you there now, if you like.”

“I'm making for the coast anyway,” Jack said, shrugging as he offered his arm to Maze so the man could teleport them to the Guild. “Or I was--”

Maze's hand shot out to grip his own with the speed of a cobra. He twisted Jack's arm over with surprising strength, forcing the younger Hero's palm to face up, the rune branded upon it revealed to the world.

“Who gave this to you?” the archmage boomed. “Who?!?”

Jack stared at Maze in shock. “No one,” he protested.

“Do not lie to me boy,” Maze said, his tone dark. “You have no inkling of what has been done.”

“I wasn't given it by anyone,” Jack said forcefully.

Maze snarled, and for a fleeting moment Jack thought he could feel the mountainside rumbling. “You found it, then? Stumbled across it in a book and thought it a flattering tattoo?”

“What? No! I was in--” Jack remembered his promise to Kel at the last second “--a place and I came across a great smooth dome--”

“So instead of a book, you claim you tripped over a Focus Site of the Old Kingdom?” Maze shouted. “And then you did what, compressed four weeks into one and miraculously rediscovered the only safe way of binding the rune to your Will without killing yourself?”

Jack stared at Maze, taken aback by his fury.

“Do you have any idea what you've done, fool boy?” Maze ground out. “You've bound yourself to whoever gave you that rune!”

“No one gave it to me!” Jack snapped. “I came across the dome, Focus Site, whatever it is, and a faerie wounded me. I touched the dome with blood on my hand and when I used a Will expression, something painful happened to me. When it was over, the rune was branded on my palm and on the dome,” the young Hero explained, scowling.

As Maze listened to the explanation, his expression went through a series of changes. At first it was thunderous, before changing to disbelieving, and then he paled alarmingly fast, his face pasty white. “Archon's Blood,” he whispered. “I had not believed...”

“Not believed what?” Jack asked sharply, too alarmed to be respectful. He had never seen Maze at anything less than composed. “What is the rune going to do to me?”

“Not here,” Maze said tersely. “Take my hand.”

Jack grabbed his mentor's hand and a piping whistle rose around them. The world went white, and when it cleared he found himself on the highest floor of Maze's tower in the Guild of Heroes.

Maze gestured to a pair of armchairs and a small table by the fireplace. Jack made himself comfortable in one, sword and packed placed to the side, as the archmage rummaged within a cupboard. He retrieved a glass decanter, half full of some amber liquid, and a pair of crystal tumblers. Maze then sank into the second chair, and placed the two glasses on the table, pouring several fingers into each. He took a healthy sip of his and stoked the fireplace to life with a brief flicker of Will.

“The Old Kingdom,” he began, “was a nation built by titans. Their arcane works are beyond anything we are capable of today. We dig in the mud and fight like savages over the last tattered remnants of their power, and all the while call ourselves 'great',” Maze said bitterly. He took another sip of his drink.

Jack sniffed at his own glass and sipped cautiously. It was not the juice distilled from exotic fruits like Maze normally served, but a fine brandy, worthy of a lord. “Like these Focus Sites?” he asked, ignoring the burn of the brandy as it went down.

“Like the Focus Sites, the Cullis Gates, the Archon's Shrine...all of them remnants of the Old Kingdom, some better understood than others.”

Jack almost questioned his mentor about the Archon's shrine, but held his tongue. He had the feeling the man wouldn't appreciate the interruption.

“The Focus Sites were built at places of great natural energy, siphoning it off bit by bit.”

“What do you mean by natural energy?” Jack asked. “What was their purpose?”

“Natural energy is just that, the energy of the world. Ley lines, chakra points, each culture has its own term for it,” Maze said. “As to the purpose of the Focus Sites? We have not an inkling. But like children apeing their elders, we discovered one use for them.” The archmage paused, glancing at Jack's branded hand. “Have you noticed the rune having any effect on you yet?”

“I can control Will expressions easily with my right hand that I'd struggle to with my left,” Jack answered.

“Likely anchored to the Will channels in your arm then,” Maze said, more to himself than to Jack. “And what of your wraith form?”

“I haven't noticed any changes as dramatic as my improved control, but I guess it's easier to maintain for more than a brief rush of movement.”

“So you've gained an appreciable increase in your control over your Will, and all you did was brand a rune onto your body,” Maze said, smiling humourlessly. “What do you think would happen if word got out?'

Jack grimaced, imagining the furore that would come of it. Part of being a Hero was constantly improving oneself, and the idea of a tattoo granting power...blood would be spilt over the chance to possess it.

“You see the problem,” Maze noted. “But there is a deeper issue. There was a Hero, over a century ago now, who discovered what you discovered, on the isle of Witchwood. After some experimentation and many deaths, he even discovered how to graft these runes onto another. He became..influential, as you can imagine.”

“Experimentation?” Jack asked. “Why? Gaining the rune wasn't complicated, just painful.” He grimaced at the memory.

“There were...compatibility issues, you might say. You should count yourself thankful that you did not encounter them,” Maze observed.

Jack recalled the way the hobbe blood had burned when he smeared it on the Focus Site and held back a shudder.

“So what did this Hero do? Did they take over the Guild?” he asked, interested beyond the current issue. Guild history had always interested him.

“No,” Maze said. “He tried, and Scythe killed him.”

“Scythe?” Jack asked, surprised. “Why?”

“Who knows why that skeleton does anything he does?” Maze asked with a shrug. “But he did, and the man's supporters immediately began fighting amongst themselves, splitting into factions. It seemed that the Heroes who accepted a rune brand from him also surrendered something far greater in return.”

“They could be controlled by the runes?” Jack asked with some repulsion, guessing Maze's meaning.

“Well...they could obey, or they could live as husks of their former selves, their Will burned from their bodies,” Maze said, levelling his gaze at his student. “You see now why I was concerned by the brand on your palm.”

Jack nodded, completely understanding. “What happened to the man's supporters? If Scythe didn't kill them off as well, why isn't knowledge of these runes more common?” He flicked a glance at the markings on Maze's own face.

“He didn't have to. They killed themselves off through infighting. Hero numbers were rather low for the next few years.”

“But what about the runes?” Jack asked impatiently. “Surely they weren't just forgotten.”

“Not as such,” Maze said, sipping at his brandy. “The consequences of interfering with an artifact not wholly understood. With each branding, the power behind the rune grew less and less, until the natural energy the Focus Site siphoned from was drawn dry.”

“Then how...” Jack trailed off, glancing at the runes on Maze's face once again.

“Not every discovered Focus Site was announced to the world,” Maze said ambiguously. “Some were kept secret, passed on from Master to Student without abuse. And with only one or two people drawing on the Site at a time, it does not appear to be weakening with each branding.”

Jack hesitated for a moment. “I made a promise not to tell anyone of what I found, or where it was...”

“Good,” Maze said crisply, his composure nearly completely regained from his earlier outburst. “Keep it that way, and consider keeping the rune on your palm concealed. You do not want to advertise your possession of a rune."

Jack gave the runes on Maze's face, bare for the world to see, a dry look.

Maze snorted. “Don't look at me like that boy. Going after the head of the Heroes Guild is rather different to going after a young, unknown Hero.”

Jack took another cautious sip of his brandy, acknowledging the point. “Would it be a good idea to go back to the Focus Site and add more runes?” he asked, not particularly keen to do so.

“I would advise against it,” Maze said. “Instead, use it to reward yourself after an achievement. It is how I intended to grant you runes from my own Site, and I have found the runes to be more effective the more power you have of your own beforehand, in any case.”

Jack took a breath and nodded, agreeing with the reasoning. Maze drained the last of his drink and rose from his seat.

“I will retrieve what information I have regarding your sister and see you off,” the archmage said. “I'll warrant you need some time to ponder what you have learned.”

Jack drained his own drink with a wince and rose as well, taking up his sword and pack. Time to ponder indeed.

X

“Guildmaster,” Jack said respectfully. He stood in the Map Room of the Guild, the enormous vaulted room that was the hub of the Guild's relations with the people of Albion.

“Ah, Jack,” the Guildmaster said. “How are you settling into Hero life?”

“Well enough, sir,” Jack answered. “It's a bit more exciting than I was expecting, despite everything.”

“Had a few adventures, have we lad?” the Guildmaster asked, smiling slightly.

“Duran and I might have set up camp beneath a sleeping rock troll,” Jack admitted sheepishly. “Don't tell Maze, please.”

The Guildmaster chuckled outright. “Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. The dangers of rock trolls may feature more prominently in future lessons to my Apprentices, however. I take it you managed to escape without incident?”

“Ah, not quite. It woke up in the middle of the night and nearly crushed us,” Jack said. He noticed a small group of younger Apprentices loitering nearby, eavesdropping on the conversation, and scratched his head self consciously.

“You didn't let it, I see,” the Guildmaster said.

“Duran just about shattered its leg and I, uh, blew it up.”

“As one does when caught sleeping beneath a rock troll,” the Guildmaster agreed seriously. “An impressive kill for a Hero just starting out, especially one as young as yourself.”

Jack shrugged, grinning at the praise.

“I will make a note on your record in the event of a Quest requiring troll slaying experience,” the Guildmaster said, before turning to the Apprentices still lurking nearby. He raised and eyebrow at them and they got the hint, scurrying along.

A well dressed merchant approached, and Jack stepped back to allow the Guildmaster to conduct his business. The merchant was directed to a room off the main chamber, where someone would be waiting to take the details of his Quest submission.

“What brings you back to the Guild, Jack?” the Guildmaster asked. “Eager for another Quest? I received word that you and Master Duran completed your first most satisfactorily.”

Jack reflected on the satisfying weight of his money pouch, but shook his head. “I was on my way to Oxtooth Hold to meet up with Klessan, but Maze had some information for me. Where I go next depends on what I find out.”

“Then I wish you luck in your endeavour,” the Guildmaster said, inclining his head. Another supplicant to the Guild was approaching.

“Thank you sir,” Jack said, taking his leave. He was bound for the library.

X

Jack read the scroll through for the fifth time, frustration written plainly across his face. Maze had been overly charitable when he had called his information 'stale'. The most recent lead of any substance had come during Jack's first week in the Guild, eight years ago, and it was nothing more than a hunter's tale of following a child's tracks through the forest to an empty clearing. A man, large and heavy, had found her and from there nothing. Not a single appearance of a red haired girl in the following weeks in any of the villages or hamlets south of the Darkwood. Maze had noted two likely possibilities at the base of the scroll – either Theresa had been rescued by a person or group of people living somewhere in the vast forest, or had been come across by bandits or other unsavoury characters. If it was the latter, her chances of survival were slim, at best.

His pulse quickened at the thought of bandits coming across his sister, defenceless and alone. If he ever found even a hint of truth to that possibility, he would burn the forest down around their ears and drag every bandit he could find to be bled dry on Skorm's altar.

“That scroll isn't going to catch fire no matter how hard you glare at it, farmboy.”

At the teasing tone, Jack looked up to see a familiar figure. Whisper lounged against a desk near the one he had claimed in his old corner of the library, watching him with a grin. After their closeness at the impromptu graduation party, he had expected to feel more when next they met, but in the face of the scroll before him, all he could muster was apathy.

“Whisper,” Jack said. “What are you doing here?”

The grin fell from her face, followed by a flicker of something, swiftly buried. “Picking up a Quest. Always a joy to see you too, Jack.” She folded her arms, and Jack's attention was drawn to the outfit she was wearing.

Her Apprentice robes had been replaced by a pale blue ensemble, loose trousers and top that at first glance seemed more fitted to a night visiting the shops in Bowerstone North. Closer inspection revealed fine mail peeking out from beneath it, and joints reinforced by stiff leather.

“Interesting outfit,” he said without thought.

“It was part of my graduation present from my brother,” Whisper said, lifting her chin challengingly. “I like it.”

“Sorry,” Jack said, grimacing slightly. “It looks good.”

“What are you reading?” Whisper asked coolly, not acknowledging his comment. “More spell research?”

Jack looked back down at the scroll before him and felt the familiar helpless rage rising.

“Well, if it's such a secret, don't fret,” Whisper said, flicking her hair. “Guildmaster told me you were here, so I thought I'd say hello. Goodbye, farmboy.”

Jack looked up as his oldest friend turned to leave, the anger in what was usually an endearment piercing his funk. “Whisper, wait,” he said sharply. She turned, eyebrow raised expectantly, and Jack glanced between her and the scroll. “My sister might be alive,” he said finally.

Whisper blinked in surprise. “You have a – isn't this a good thing?”

“I have no way of tracking her down or finding out for sure, the last time any sign of her was seen was eight years ago and if she is alive, there's a chance it was as a captive of bandits all this time,” Jack said flatly.

Whisper watched her friend carefully. He had never spoken of the attack on his family, leaving herself, Klessan and Duran to piece together the details of what brought their friend to the Guild from rumours and second hand tales. “What about the rest of your family? Is there anyone else?”

“I found my father's corpse and the bandit who killed him was about to do for me when Maze rescued me,” Jack said, looking at the scroll to avoid watching Whisper. “My mother's battle axe was laying in the street and good luck taking on enough bandits to sack a village without a weapon.”

Whisper was quiet for a long moment. Her friend's reaction hadn't been the one she was hoping for upon seeing him again, but he could be forgiven for having weightier issues on his mind. “What was your sister's name?”

“Theresa,” Jack said. “Her name is Theresa.”

“You know we'll help you find her,” Whisper told him, speaking of herself, Klessan and Duran. “All you have to do is ask.”

“There is nothing to go off,” Jack said, the frustration he felt leaking into his voice. “Even if I had an army to scour Albion, I'd likely never find her.”

“There is nothing useful at all in that scroll?” Whisper asked.

“Nothing. Maze even tracked down and talked to every single forest tribe in the area at the time and got nothing.”

“..would they have told him if they did know anything?” Whisper asked tentatively.

“He's a Hero. You think they wouldn't?” Jack asked.

“Maybe. Thunder took me on a Quest with him right after we graduated and we came across some people who a Hero had taken a Quest against before. They didn't trust us at all.”

“You think they mightn't have told him what they knew because Maze was a Hero? He's not the type to take a Quest to wipe out a village.”

“The Guild leader can be pretty intimidating, Jack,” Whisper told him dryly. “Part of the reason our classmates were so jealous of you is because whenever Maze was at the Guild he would always talk to you about whatever you mysterious mage types talk about.”

“You think it would be worth talking to the groups Maze tracked down years ago?” Jack asked.

“It can't hurt. A young man looking for his sister is bound to raise fewer eyebrows than an old man tracking an injured girl,” Whisper said practically.

“Most of these tribes are nomadic,” Jack said, reaching into his pack and pulling out a map of Albion. He unfurled it and rolled it out over the table. “Finding them will be difficult.”

“Wait until the frost settles in, then,” Whisper said with a shrug. “Most of them will winter in the warmer south.”

“That's months away,” Jack said, frowning.

“You might spend that long wandering the forest and not see a living soul anyway,” Whisper said. “They've known what they know, if anything, for eight years now. Another few months means little.”

Jack set his fist on the table with a heavy thud. He didn't like the idea of delaying the search for his sister at all, but he could remember hazy stories from his childhood warning of the dangers of getting lost in the southern forests, to say nothing of the Darkwood. At length, he sighed.

“Thank you, Whisper,” he said, looking up at his friend. “I was ready to throw a fireball at the table and be done with it.”

“Any time, Jack,” Whisper replied, before smirking. “Fireballs in the library though? The Guildmaster would not approve.”

“Probably not,” Jack said, making a face. “Remember that time Dace was mucking about, using his Will to manipulate the water from people's cups and he lost control? Guildmaster walked in just as he nearly soaked a bookshelf.”

“I remember their faces,” Whisper said, smiling. “I also remember you did it first, and dared Dace to match you.”

Jack snickered, remembering the frustration of the only other Apprentice to be gifted with talent in Will beyond the norm from their classes. The two year age gap between them hadn't helped the elder boy outdo him, and he hadn't always taken that with good grace.

Whisper was watching him, waiting for a reply, and Jack was suddenly struck by the fact that the last time he had seen his oldest friend, he had kissed her. Involuntarily, his eyes drifted to her lips, and he felt heat rising up along his neck. He bit the inside of his cheek in a futile attempt to avoid blushing.

Through some manner of womanly instinct or magic voodoo power, Whisper seemed to cotton onto the path his thoughts had taken immediately. She coloured as well, although her blush was not nearly as noticeable against her dark skin as it was on Jack's paler face.

Jack opened his mouth to say something, but closed it with a click when nothing was forthcoming. Whisper smirked, and looked like she might say something teasingly, only to hesitate at the last second.

The two were spared from their awkward adolescent dance by the thump of metal boots on stone. The noise grew to the point where Jack wondered if someone was deliberately making noise as they approached. That line of thought ended when the young Hero saw who was ducking down through one of the library entrances, clad in golden plate mail heavier than he was.

Thunder, Arena legend and one of the most powerful Heroes in the Guild, approached. Jack had to tilt his head back as the man drew close, and with each step he took, Jack could feel the vibrations in the floor. People said Thunder was a giant, but their true meaning was rarely understood until you were in his presence.

This was not the first time Jack had been in the presence of Thunder, but it was the first time the man had been in the same room as him, or given him more than a passing glance. Indoors, he was even more imposing. The giant had visited the Guild infrequently to check in on his sister, usually during a grading or ranking.

Whisper had always been damn near impossible to beat on those occasions.

“Whisper,” Thunder said, quietly. His voice was even, measured, but Jack was left with the impression that the man could shout down mountains if he chose to raise his voice. “Was there something you needed from up here?”

“Thunder,” Whisper said, flustered for a split second. “I was just saying hello to my friend.”

Thunder turned his gaze on Jack, eyes narrowed slightly. “Ah, you must be the farmboy. Whisper has talked about you. At length.”

“Brother!” Whisper said urgently, giving him a look.

“You needn't be embarrassed, Whisper,” Thunder said, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Modesty is for those without the skill to back up their boasts.”

Whisper looked confused for a split second, but then became uncomfortable. “Jack is the only one who gave me trouble all through our Apprenticeships, brother.”

“But trailed behind you all the same, yes?” Thunder said, pride in his voice.

“No-not all the time,” Whisper said, looking away.

“Just most of the time, I see,” Thunder said, turning to Jack with a grin. “Still, I should thank you, farmboy. Guildmaster tells me your efforts to overcome my sister spurred her on to where she is today.”

“Really,” Jack said, in lieu of having anything polite to say. He glanced at Whisper, who was shaking her head—not quite in misery, but close to it.

“Oh yes,” Thunder said. “Whisper was telling me just the other day of the rivalry you shared. It is good for a young man to have goals. Even if I think you will not be beating my sister to achieve this one!”

“Well,” Jack said, Thunder's attitude rubbing him the wrong way. “We'll see what happens next time we have a spar.”

“Good attitude, farmboy,” Thunder said, taking his words as they were said, and not as they were meant. He glanced out the library window. “Come, Whisper. It is time for us to leave.”

“Goodbye, Jack,” Whisper said with a sigh. She waited for her brother to leave first, mouthing a quick 'sorry' as she followed behind him.

Jack gave an overly respectful bow from his seat, although his eyes were mocking. Whisper rolled her eyes in return and fluttered her fingers at him in farewell; she seemed relieved that Jack hadn't taken her brother's words to heart.

Returning to the scroll in front of him, Jack gave it one last glance over before rolling it up decisively. Despite Thunder's words, he didn't believe Whisper had been boasting of her greater skill over him, and she had helped him greatly with deciding what he wanted to do in the search for his sister. He would go to Oxtooth Hold as he had planned and meet with Klessan, then go south before the winter and start his search for the forest tribes. He gathered his belongings and departed from the library, sparing one last thought for the conversation with Whisper.

He didn't think he particularly cared for Thunder.

X x X

Oxtooth Hold had been a frontier town once, wary of bandit attacks or raids from rival settlements. It had boasted tall palisade walls and a militia made up of hard men looking to defend their scrap of dirt and their families.

That was years ago now, however, and today the town was a friendlier, bustling place. The palisade walls had been neglected, and even torn down in places to allow for further expansion or for a more convenient road. The militia had been replaced by the more formal Guards, kindly provided by the Mayor of Bowerstone, the iron willed Lady Grey—at a price, of course.

The streets of the town saw a great deal of traffic each day, from Trader caravans to lone farmers bringing their produce from outlying farms on ox drawn carts, and even the occasional lone hunter or hermit on a rare visit to town to replenish what supplies couldn't be gleaned from the land. This traffic left the roads muddied and churned, the earth being softer than the hard packed dirt of Oakvale, and the town lacked a wealthy patron to pay for stone pavement such as Bowerstone had.

Jack made his way towards the centre of town, following the crowds. The sword at his hip got a few second glances, and foot traffic weaved around him rather than the other way round. The people were busy, however, and he was not a renowned Hero, so none stopped to admire him, or draw him into conversation.

The main square of Oxtooth Hold, such as it was, housed a bustling market, offering all manner of goods unique to the central coast of Albion. Without a clear goal in mind beyond 'find Klessan', he decided to take the opportunity to restock his supplies. He was a day or two early, anyway, and his money pouch was pleasantly heavy. Perhaps he would treat himself. Maze's advice to cover the rune on his hand echoed in his mind, and he drifted over to a stall offering leather goods. A pair of supple fingerless gloves caught his eye, and he approached the merchant working the stall, doing his best not to look overly interested.

Twenty minutes later, Jack walked away with the fingerless gloves that had caught his eye, a new pair of boots, and a cream that the vendor swore would ensure his leather goods would last much longer than they would otherwise. He had paid fifteen silver more than he had originally intended, but had gotten a good deal in the end. Probably.

“Jack!”

The young Hero stopped in his tracks and looked around the busy market, searching for the source of the voice. He saw no one looking in his direction, although there were some who looked around in confusion just as he did.

“Jaa~aack.”

The voice called out again, and Jack grinned. He knew that voice. He scanned the rooftops of the low buildings surrounding the marketplace and he caught sight of a figure a few shops down lounging somewhere she shouldn't be, legs dangling over the edge.

Klessan waved madly when she saw Jack looking towards her, and he waved back. She gestured him over, and picked herself up off the edge of the building. As he approached, she headed towards the back and dropped out of sight.

Jack spied an alley cramped next to the building Klessan had disappeared off and headed down it. It led to a narrow lane, and an overpowering stench of garbage and rotting fish. He grimaced, his nose wrinkling in distaste. His time at the Guild had spoiled him in regards to basic sanitation. He looked around. The lane was empty, with no sign of Klessan.

There was a breath of movement behind him, and Jack made to turn, only to have something stuck into his back.

“Your money or your life,” a gruff, rasping voice demanded. “Hands in the air!”

Jack sighed, hands remaining firmly at his side. “Hello Klessan,” he said. He turned to face her.

Klessan pouted as she removed her finger from his back. The pout quickly lost the fight with the grin threatening to take over her entire face. She practically leapt forward, wrapping him in a hug. “It's good to see you again Jack,” she said. “You were supposed to put your hands up though.” The pout reappeared.

“It's not yet been a month,” Jack said, rolling his eyes as he returned the hug. Klessan had always been overly affectionate. He took a moment to inspect her as they broke the hug; she was dressed in the brown trousers and white shirt all new Heroes received when they graduated from the Guild, only her trousers had been cut short at the knees and were beginning to fray. Long, curly brown hair as fastened in a messy pony tail.

“Still the longest its been in years,” Klessan pointed out. She began to lead the way further along the cramped lane, towards a broader, busier street. “You weren't supposed to be here for another two days. You made good time.”

“Its been too long, I'm here too early, make up your mind,” Jack said, sticking his tongue out.

Klessan nudged him roughly with her hip. “You never give Duran or Whisper this kind of cheek,” she complained good naturedly.

“You just bring it out in me, I guess,” Jack said, rubbing his chin.

“Arse. Probably for the best, anyway. Ma' sold everything we brought to market faster than expected, so we're heading home tomorrow. I was deciding whether to go with them and let you catch up or wait here for you when I saw you wandering through the market like a lost narwhal.”

“What's a—what made made you pick a rooftop to do your thinking?” Jack asked, switching questions at the last second. They were back on one of the main streets, threading their way through traffic.

“Could you smell that alley? Oxtooth isn't exactly Bowerstone.”

Jack made a face, and Klessan continued.

“Plus, my brothers were driving me batty. I don't think all of them would have survived if I'd grown up living with them.”

Mention of siblings brought Jack's own to mind, but he pushed those thoughts down.

“Little brats?” Jack asked.

“Big brats. The younger ones aren't here,” Klessan said, before grinning. “I have to introduce you to them. Bad enough their little sister can beat them up, but a kid younger again?” She chuckled, a bit evilly.

“I'm not a kid,” Jack said, striving to keep any petulance from his voice.

Klessan turned on him regardless, mischief in her eyes. “Of course you're not!” she said in a gushing, cutesy voice. “You're a big bag Hero, all grown up and slaying monsters.” She ruffled his hair with more force than strictly necessary for added affect.

Jack ducked away with a scowl, but also with mischief of his own in his eyes. He reached for Klessan's hair, summoning an incredibly weak spark of lightning to his hand.

Klessan saw it, however, and leapt away, warding him off. “Don't you dare,” she said, eyeing the spark. Her hair had refused to lay flat for the rest of the day the last time he had gotten her with that trick.

Jack just grinned at her, letting the lightning fade. They received a few interested looks from passerby, curious at the rough housing of two Heroes. Their lack of renown saw most interest fade quickly, however.

“Oh! I have something awesome to show you, too,” Klessan said, their conflict forgotten.

Jack eyed her curiously.

“My graduation present,” Klessan said. “I'm still getting the hang of it, but once I master it, it'll be perfect.”

“You got a new weapon too then?” Jack asked. “Duran got a beast of a hammer, and Whisper got a new staff and some dress armour.”

Klessan nodded enthusiastically. “It's fantastic,” she said. “What did you get then? That very nicely made sword at your hip? Didn't figure Maze for a sword type.”

“No. Duran made me this, with his father's help. It's tradition, apparently, because I saved his life during the raid on the Guild,” Jack explained at Klessan's questioning look. “Maze gave me a journal of his writings on Will.”

“Ooh,” Klessan said, her eyes lighting up. “Bet you liked that.”

“Well, yes. Would have liked it even more if half of it wasn't a test trying to trick me up,” he grumbled.

Klessan laughed. “Sounds like Maze,” she said. “Come on, lets pick up the pace. Our camp is just past the edge of town and my brothers are breaking it down. It's time you met them.”

Jack let Klessan pull him into a run, and they sped through the muddy streets. At least it was unlikely her brothers would irritate him as much as Thunder had.

X

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Jack said, scowling. “Moreso, you're a fool if you truly believe that.”

Klessen's brother, Victor, her elder by five years, scowled back. “And I thought Heroes would know their own history.”

“Boys,” Klessan said, sighing as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I do know my history,” Jack retorted, not intimidated by Victor's strong figure looming over him. “Which is why I can tell you Maze would kick Thunder's arse in a fight.”

“Thunder beat the Arena Gauntlet in one go,” Victor said. “Maze has only ever fought in the group events.”

“Maybe because he was busy, oh, I don't know, taking over and rebuilding the Heroes Guild itself?” Jack said, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

“I like Briar Rose, myself,” Gabe, another of Klessan's brothers said. He was the second of two who were at Oxtooth, younger and leaner than Victor, but just as tanned. “She's very...heroic.”

“You mean you like the leather pants she wears,” Victor muttered.

“Don't be jealous 'cause you were out on the boat when she passed through the village,” Gabe said.

“Thunder would kick her arse,” Victor said, a little sourly.

Gabe grinned dreamily. “Mmm...that arse in tight leather pants.”

“Gabe!” Klessan said, in a disgusted tone used by younger siblings the world over.

Gabe and Victor laughed and returned to their tasks as they packed up their camp. In the short time since Jack had met them, it seemed they found great delight in riling their little sister up.

Klessan glared at them, hands on her hips. “Is Ma about?” she asked.

Victor shook his head. “Went back to market to see what you were doing and pick up a few last things. Should be back soon.”

Klessan nodded. “Where's my pack, then?”

“Already on the wagon,” Gabe said. “You going to help us break down camp?”

“What help could a little lady like myself offer two big strapping lads like yourselves?” Klessan asked innocently. “Come on Jack,” she said, leading him away. “I want to show you already.”

They headed towards a wagon, half loaded with various goods wrapped in canvas. Two large draft horses hitched to it were grazing lightly.

Klessan jumped up on the wagon and found her pack, hefting the bulky bag upright and undoing the straps fastening it closed. “Quorra had it made for me special,” she said, naming her sponsor. She pulled a coil of something from the pack and shook it out. “What do you think?” she asked proudly.

A whip of remarkable workmanship hung from Klessan's hand. The stock was made of white leather, the lash of it from brown. A glint of something caught Jack's eye, and he realised that some manner of metal had been woven through the weapon.

“Wow,” Jack said. “That's some weapon.”

“I know! And here, look at this--” Klessan coiled the whip up and showed him the very end of the whip, “--isn't that wicked?”

Jack examined the proffered tip. Instead of terminating in a final thin piece of leather, the metal wire that was woven through the rest of the whip continued on its own, giving the weapon a deadly sharp bite.

Jack gave a low whistle. “Nasty.”

“I know!” Klessan said, beaming. “I could put a hobbes eye out at ten paces with this. Or cut its throat.”

“What is it made of?” Jack asked, running his hand along the leather.

“Balverine,” Klessan revealed. “And the stock comes from a White Balverine.” She was clearly thrilled.

“That's some weapon,” Jack repeated himself, and Klessan beamed again. She was clearly smitten with her new toy. “Have you had much chance to practise with it yet?”

“A little,” Klessan said. She looked around, searching for a good target. The clearing was empty save for the half packed remains of Klessan's family's camp, and she gestured at a tree a short distance away. “See that small branch splitting off below the main one about halfway up?”

Jack nodded, gauging the distance. It would have to be on the very edge of the whip's reach.

A crack like bottled thunder let loose, breaking the quietness. The branch Klessan had pointed out was cut messily from the tree. It fell to the ground, and Jack saw that the force of the blow had shattered the branch, leaving it held together by threads of bark.

“Avo take me,” Jack said appreciatively. “I'm almost afraid to see what it would do to something living.”

“I'm not,” Klessan said with a smirk. “I'm hoping something is stupid enough to attack our caravan on the way home.”

“Caravan?” Jack asked. He glanced at the single wagon Klessan's brothers were loading.

“We're joining a Trader party,” Klessan explained. “Usually you have to pay for the privilege, but they agreed to let us join free of charge if I help defend it.”

“Are they expecting trouble?”

Klessan made a see-sawing motion with one hand. “Not exactly, but a smaller convoy, not a Trader one, disappeared a month or two back, apparently. They're the first to go through this path since then and they're a bit nervous.”

Jack chewed his lip, absorbing the information. “Good thing they'll have two Heroes along for the ride then, huh?”

Klessan favoured Jack with a grin, but sighed suddenly, slouching. “Don't get your hopes up,” she said. “It'll likely be the safest journey they've ever had. I must be having the most boring start to a Hero career ever.”

“Don't worry,” Jack said, 'reassuring' his friend. “I'm sure there's an army of bandits out there waiting for us.”

“You think?” Klessan asked, brightening.

Jack rolled his eyes at her, and she stuck out her tongue in response.

Klessan's gaze drifted over Jack's shoulder, towards the path leading back to Oxtooth Hold proper, and she waved. Jack turned to see who had caught her eye, and spied an older woman making her way down the path, a heavy basket carried easily on one hip.

“Ma!” Klessan shouted in greeting as the woman neared. The call caught Victor and Gabe's attention as well, and they waved before returning to their tasks.

“Kess,” the woman greeted fondly. “I see you've found your friend.” She spoke with a coastal accent, clipping her vowels and rising in tone at the end of each statement. Her face was lined and weathered from a lifetime of work under the sun, her tanned skin proof of it. Her brown hair was worn in much the same style as Klessan's.

“Jack, this is Ma,” Klessan said. “Ma, this is Jack. He kept me from tearing books apart in frustration at the Guild, so be nice.”

'Ma' gave Jack a critical once over, a glint in her eyes. She gave a nod, apparently approving of what she saw. “Don't go getting my daughter pregnant, laddie,” she ordered. “She's far too young for it just yet.”

“Ma!” Klessan said, scandalised. “I'm eighteen summers. Jack's only sixteen!”

Jack shut his jaw with a clack from where it had fallen at 'Ma's' statement. His face was tinged pink in embarrassment. “Only sixteen?” he demanded, brain to mouth filter clearly malfunctioning. “That's your first thought?”

Ma cackled. “I was sixteen when your father tricked me into marrying him, and Victor came along only a year later!”

“Yes Jack, only sixteen” Klessan said, glaring at her mother without real irritation. She turned a sly smile on him a moment later. “Don't be too devastated. You can still admire me from afar.”

Jack opened his mouth to deny anything of the sort, but stopped himself, mouth closing with a click. Any denial he made would be twisted by Klessan into some manner of insult, and she would be merciless in her counter attack until she somehow forced him into admitting his 'admiration'. He stared evenly at his friend, letting her know he wasn't going to play her game.

Klessan poked her tongue out at him, and he narrowed his eyes. Before she could react, Jack's hand blurred out to grab a fistful of her hair, and single spark dancing between his fingers.

Klessan yelped as the slight current coursed through her. Her hair, once loose and only slightly curly, now stood on end, frizzing uncontrollably.

“River Lady trick you, you-you-Jack!” Klessan said, glaring at him with an expression of purest loathing.

Jack smiled innocently at his friend, hands held as if to say, 'Who, me?'

Ma chuckled at their antics. “Don't take the Lady's name lightly, dear. She'd like as not be laughing at you now in any case.”

“But Ma, my hair!” Klessan said, almost wailing.

Jack snorted, fighting back his own laughter. Messing with her hair was the one thing sure to get Klessan riled up.

“Oh, pish. I have a fish oil soap that will set you right.”

“Really?” Klessan asked, brightening.

“Really. I'll even let you use it if you put that whip away and help your brothers break camp.”

Klessan gave a great put upon sigh. “Fine,” she said, before turning on Jack. “Minion! You're helping,” she told him imperiously. She stowed her whip and approached her brothers, not waiting to see if he would follow.

Jack rolled his eyes and followed to help. It was only polite.

Besides, he figured Klessan's brothers would have something to say about her hair.

X

It was early afternoon when they linked up with the Trader convoy they would be travelling with. It was a motley assortment of wagons and carts of varying fanciness; there were eleven total. Most were simple, like the wagon driven by Klessan's family, but some had elaborate cloth coverings stitched with colourful designs. Those vehicles likely belonged to the Traders organising the convoy.

It was a common practice for Traders of Albion to organise such convoys. There was safety in numbers, after all, and the fee Traders habitually charged those wishing to join them helped them shoulder the cost they incurred in hiring guards and mercenaries to defend themselves.

Ma drove the wagon, Gabe seated at her side with an unloaded crossbow resting against his leg. Klessan and Victor walked at either side of the wagon, also armed. A simple sword hung at Victor's waist; Klessan had looped her whip crossways around her torso and a fine oak bow was secured on her back, along with a quiver. Jack walked near his friend, with the group but separate. His special pack was slung over one shoulder, and his learning blade was at his hip.

“Ahoy there,” a goateed man wearing a Traders' feather pinned to his shirt greeted them. “You must be the family with the Hero my partner was nattering on about.”

“Klessan,” the woman introduced herself. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to have you,” the Trader said, speaking quickly but unhurriedly. “Name's Bob. Deal is free passage with our caravan in return for your help defending it should the need arise. Savvy?”

“Sounds right,” Klessan said with a glance to her mother.

Bob took Klessan's hand and shook it briefly. “And done. Who's your friend here?” he asked, nodding to Jack.

“I'm a friend of Klessan's,” Jack said, “and also a Hero.”

“You'll be joining my caravan too, ey?” Bob asked.

Jack could see the idea of a second Hero joining the caravan appealed to the Trader, and a thought occurred to him. He shrugged. “I'm following the same path,” he said. “Should the need arise, I might even help defend it with the right incentive.”

“What'd you have in mind?” Bob asked, stroking his beard.

“Five gold pieces if there's trouble,” Jack offered. “Otherwise, no charge.”

“Hmm. What's your name?” the Trader asked.

“Jack.”

“Never heard of ye. Still, a good deal is a good deal,” Bob said with a shrug. He stepped forward and shook Jack's hand. His grip was firm, and Jack returned the shake with equal intensity. “Welcome to me caravan. Get yourselves sorted as ye please. We're moving out in ten.”