Isobel forced herself to relax and not let her annoyance show. Something that was not easy when Grand Sorcerer Arawn shook his head.

"You must stop asking me about this," he said with a weary sigh. "There are no such things as these Godstones. Do you not think we would have seen signs of their existence by now if they were real?"

"Maybe not," she said. "They could be well hidden. If the Gods wanted to hide something, you'd think they would be quite proficient at it."

The old sorcerer leaned back in his over-sized elderwood chair. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship with carefully carved details forming magical runes and symbols, but whoever had made it had seen fit to make it the size of a throne. Highglaive was hardly a kingdom, but she supposed the Grand Sorcerer ruled it as such. They had their own rules and regulations to abide by if they wanted to remain sorcerers, and while she disagreed with many of them, she was bound by them as much as the next sorcerer. Arawn was a traditionalist and expected the strictest adherence to their code. He also did not appreciate being questioned and expected everyone to follow his every command.

His pale blue eyes watched her thoughtfully, and she hoped her discordance did not show on her face. "And yet you believe Deva possessed one? If the Gods hid them so well, how did he find one?"

She almost rolled her eyes at his stubbornness. "We know Deva was in contact with Ondastos. The Dark God might have told him where his stone was hidden."

"Ondastos didn't hide his stone—if they existed," Arawn clarified as she opened her mouth to argue. "According to the legend you base this on, they were hidden by the other gods after the battle. Ondastos was already banished to the Nether Realm."

They sat in Highglaive's main chamber at the top of the tower. The large table that had once hosted three dozen sorcerers and adepts now had six of them. Five sorcerers and a new adept. A young woman who had come to them three years ago seeking guidance on how to use her powers. Once upon a time they had been out searching for new adepts, but after Deva murdered their brothers and sisters, Arawn had refused to look for fresh blood. Losing so many had broken him. But not enough to consider her warnings about Godstones.

The old sorcerer looked out over the table. "Does anyone else think Isobel is on to something?"

Her eyes scanned the gathered few, hoping for someone to agree with her. Rain, the young adept, gave her an encouraging smile but was too new. Thoren and Wray both stared down at their hands, unwilling to get involved in the disagreement. She missed Desari. Her fellow sorceress had never stood down from a fight, but she had been missing since shortly after they took Messina back. Left on a mission and never returned. Most likely by choice.

Gryn, their Master of Words and an irritable old man, shook his head. "I have read every book and every parchment in the tower," he muttered. "Not one tells us that this is more than a fanciful legend."

His stance did not surprise her. Gryn was a miserable old git who had escaped even further into his books after the fall of Messina. Immediately after the thought appeared, she regretted it. Gryn, like Wray and Desari, had been at Highglaive when Deva attacked. They had been captured and the Gods only knew what they had endured during that time. She had no right to judge his bad temper. She had been among the lucky ones who had been away when the horde reached Messina.

"Deva was always a powerful sorcerer," she said, trying to keep her voice gentle. "But for him to take Messina and kill so many of our brothers and sisters... Do you not think he must have had the aid of extraordinary power?"

Gryn made a grunting sound. "You were not here. I was. We were simply out-manned. He had magic users that were powerful enough. They access forbidden magics we would never think of using."

Admitting defeat, she nodded. No one would believe her, but she refused to think she was wrong about this. She would continue her search. There must be a way to prove her theories.

"Now that's settled..." Arawn stood and turned his back to them. Walking over to the window overlooking the city of Messina, he looked older and more tired than she could remember. "I have some missions to assign. Wray and Isobel, I'm sending you north to investigate some rumours of new rifts. Thoren and I will remain here and oversee the Games."

"New rifts?" Isobel's head perked up. "There have had none since we captured Deva."

"It's hopefully nothing," Arawn said, turning back to them. "But we cannot be too careful."

If Ondastos were creating new rifts again, that could mean more beasts and monsters pouring back into the world from the Nether Realm. Was Deva's son trying to follow in his father's footsteps? But what would make him win this time when he had been defeated once before? And what were they waiting for?

The Godstones.

The answer was so obvious, even if no one else believed her. They were looking for Godstones to give them enough power to break through the veil to the Nether Realm. She would have to find them first. And she would do it by herself if no one else would help.

Remembering her suspicions that someone in Highglaive might be feeding information to the enemy, she studied everyone's faces as they discussed among each other. Gryn was an old wretch, but he would never betray the sorcerers. Same with Arawn. He held them all to the highest standard, but he held himself to the same ones. Thoren was a rogue with a charming smile who had probably been too deep into a lady's drawers to notice the world burning around him when Deva attacked. If he was the source, it was most likely by mistake rather than ill-intent.

Her eyes strayed to Wray. The dark-haired man sat quietly as he listened to Thoren expound about something. Quiet and stoic, he always followed orders. Never questioned Arawn's commands. It was difficult to imagine him as a traitor. Which left their newest recruit. The young woman who had joined them not long after they defeated Deva. She had taken the young half-elf under her wing, fighting for her to be taught as a sorcerer even as Arawn had made it clear he wanted no new adepts. Was she the traitor? Had she brought the enemy under their roof?

Rain laughed behind her hand at something Thoren said, and Isobel sighed. No, she couldn't believe any of them would betray them. In this, she must be wrong. The information she had found in the wrong hands must have come about some other way. As much as she might complain about the strictness of the older generation of sorcerers, these were all good people. They had fought against Deva. Some had been captured and tortured by him. No one in their right mind would work with his son or his followers.

With a sigh, she stood and walked over to Arawn, who had resumed staring out of the window. The city was nearly empty as most of the residents had joined the Games on the fields across the sound. He looked down at her as she came to stand next to him.

"I'm sorry to be so severe," he said, his voice unusually gentle. "But I don't want you to waste your time. There are difficult times ahead, and we need to be ready."

She nodded. While she didn't always agree with the old man, he was the closest thing she had to a father. He had picked her up from an orphanage in the Kingdom of Sanore when she was five after the Matron had found her juggling bread rolls without using her hands. Putting her hand on his clothed arm, she sensed his unease and turmoil as he watched the miniature figures in the distance. From this far away, the crowd looked like nothing more than ants running around without purpose.

"We will be ready," she promised. "They won't surprise us this time."

~~~~~~