Fawnlum and Lucas traversed the city and found their way to the Plavence – – the estate of Henbrace’s wizards. The buildings inside the fenced perimeter were old, but did not show deterioration.

Not many people were gathered, but the Plavence was still a popular place this morning. Messengers came and went, as if the wizards’ business was never done.

As they approached the gate, the guard beheld them with a dour expression, which became more unpleasant as they drew close.

“Don’t bother stating your business. We’ve no time for mercenaries and nameless urchins.”

Fawnlum’s sudden urge to snap at the boor was put down with just the greatest effort. She thought back to Viognia’s lessons, and how diplomatically pulling instead of pushing could sometimes be the most effective tact. Lucas’ reply stopped her, before she could give a feigned pleasant response.

“We’re here to see Jorain Maretto, master.”

From the way Lucas had talked about this meeting, Fawnlum would have expected him to be more demanding. He was anything but.

“You’ll call me Akked, not ‘master’, boy.”

“You’re right,” Lucas replied ungraciously. “Those who are called ‘master’ on these grounds have earned the title, which clearly you have not.

“They’ve earned it for both the living and the dead, and their care of each. Mjolsner Vwerlon’s heir, and King Boldun’s ally seek their aide for the sake of those still living.”

At his nudge, Fawnlum handed Akked her passport.

He betrayed his surprise at seeing something so official, before he quietly handed the folder back to her. With another sharp inspection of them both, he leaned close to the column of the gate, and whispered something into the brick.

After a few minutes of silence and shifting feet, an attendant suddenly appeared. Fawnlum had not seen or heard him coming.

He spoke to Akked, but she could not hear what was said, even though they were only a couple feet away. And they did not act like they were whispering.

“If you would, please,” Akked said to Fawnlum, “follow Sureno. Be aware that before you enter the manse, you’ll have to leave your weapons behind.”

“As long as no one touches them,” she said.

He opened the heavy lock, and they followed the young man along a red-bricked walkway to the central building.

In the foyer, Sureno directed them to a polished-wood cabinet beside a large marble desk, where sat two city guards in hauberks. Quietly, they handed over their blades.

Fawnlum had to work for a second under the guards’ scrutiny, to remove her saber and dagger.

“Oh!” She held up a finger, and retrieved a small knife from behind her neck.

Then she held out her hands, as innocent as could be.

“Your magical devices, too,” the red-clad sentry said.

Lucas showed him a ring from his pocket. “Master Maretto will know it,” he said.

The guard took a brass-ringed crystal lens from a desk drawer, and examined the ring through it.

“Keep it.”

Then they were once again following their assigned guide, who led them into a striking lobby constructed entirely of white marble. Fawnlum was surprised by the workmanship, beautiful in its design and detail.

“This was why you left those other rings at the inn,” Fawnlum said to Lucas.

“I never would have gotten in with them.”

Going up a flight of stairs and down a short hallway, they were ushered into a small den and asked to sit. Then Sureno left them.

“Are we going to wait for one servant after another?” she asked.

“No. They’re seeing what we’re about. I’m carrying my father’s ring. It gives off a particular magical light for certain eyes to see. Just sit back and wait.”

She let out a sigh and settled back in the chair. She had never seen the like, as it had plush leather skin, and cushioning sewn into its every surface. She thought her trail-clothes were somehow out of place as she sat in it.

“But don’t relax too much.”

She looked at him, and discovered her eyes had drifted shut.

“These chairs are enchanted to make people very at-ease. The wizards watch the alertness of guests, so they can gauge the people who come calling.”

“And what about the rudeness at the gate?”

“Also a test.”

“Maybe I’ll just stand.”

“That will only make it take longer.”

She was sitting on the edge of the chair, debating what to do.

“Just resist the urge. One useful trick is to imagine a contest, -”

“Don’t worry,” she said, and settled back again; but kept her eyes roving over the room.

Lucas looked awake, and alert, as if he had done this before.

There was a lull as her eyelids tried to drift shut again, and she snapped them back open.

The door suddenly opened, and in walked the oldest-looking man she had ever seen, and she stood up in greeting.

He was almost as tall as her, despite the slightly drooped back, with wrinkles upon wrinkles, a long spotless white robe with an embroidered green vest and belt, and a beard that went slightly past the buckle.

“No need to wait so long, my boy!”

He walked straight up and clasped Lucas’ hand.

“Lucas, lad!” He said to the wounded face. “To think that such would happen.”

Fawnlum heard the grief in his voice, and saw the white in his knuckles, as if he was a family friend.

He looked at her and offered his hand, shaking hers with noticeable firmness. She suspected he might not be as frail as his appearance suggested.

“Jorain Maretto, at your service,” he said with a slight bow.

“Fawnlum Lichner,” she said with a return bow.

“Most happy I am to meet you, young lady, and to see a warrior of such caliber come this way. And to think!” he continued, looking up at her, “If the girls so far across the Brierren have such vitality, what have I been missing all these years?”

Fawnlum blinked, but smiled at the innuendo. “You’ve heard of me?”

“When someone beats a red dragon, people take notice,” he declared.

“I’m surprised word reached so far this quickly.”

“Let’s just say that in certain circles, news travels faster than others,” he said, with a wink.

He was very much like Powerlave, but more amiable. Putting herself at ease, she said, “Thank you for your hospitality, master.”

“Now, then,” he said, with a wave of his walking staff.

Another chair slid up of its own accord behind him, which he settled into easily. He beckoned them to do the same, and said to Lucas, “Tell me what happened.”

Lucas retold the story, and Fawnlum watched frustration twist Jorain’s features.

Then he told of how Fawnlum had recruited him, to fight alongside her.

“Ah. Well.” He looked between Lucas and Fawnlum. “Yes, young Vwerlon,” he said sagely. “It is good you’ve found yourself in her service.”

“How do you figure?”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he said, leaning in somewhat secretively. “Your slavers were not the only crew to recently stalk the Calador coast.” He leaned back, and spoke again in a more normal tone. “Quanou probably went to Khostead, because there’s been so much competition. Whispers and clues floating around have pointed to more people disappearing.

“The Bandit King sits in the south, raiding like a common thug; but then making a strategic move to seize port cities,” he pointed out. “Trade is jeopardized north and south of those cities, with hardship for the lands north of Spriggingrain.

“And far to the north in Humboldt Bruit, a steakathy yet massive incursion spreads the forces thin, and slowly advances inward.”

“You think these things are connected?” Fawnlum asked anxiously.

“It is far-fetched.” He shrugged with a slight air of fatigue. “But those who seek to harm others rarely think rationally.”

He looked back at them, with the spry light returning to his eyes. “But old wizards sometimes don’t think in rational ways, either.”

He fixed a more studious gaze on her. “And warriors have to choose which fight to take up. May I see the document given by the Humboldt ambassador?”

Fawnlum showed it to him.

“King Boldun finds able allies,” he said. “And you take the time to get Lucas healed. Have you decided where to make your stand?”

“My wizard needs to be healthy. Then I’ll worry about the other.”

“Good idea! Now,” he said, “if you would help remove his bandages.”

She and Lucas did as told.

“Hm, yes. Those wounds are a little extensive for a single spell. You’ll have to stay overnight.”

“All right,” Lucas absently said.

Jorain looked at Fawnlum, and she nodded her consent.

The old man tapped his staff twice on the floor and stood, leading them to follow suit.

“Master Maretto,” Fawnlum said, but was quickly interrupted with a light-hearted shooing of his hand.

“Call me ‘Jorain’, my dear. Please.”

“Jorain,” she began. “Is there anything I can do for you in return?” She withheld her inquiry of how much it would cost. This old man had more than enough wealth, but she felt it appropriate to ask.

“Think nothing of it! The best thing you can do is to rest tonight, and come back after first light.” He clapped Lucas on the shoulder, continuing to talk to Fawnlum. “Sample some of the fine ales that come across our wharf.”

He looked at her more quietly and said, “I recommend the Gold Pewter, after nightfall.”

She nodded, and Jorain crossed to the door, and upon opening it, revealed Sureno, waiting in the hallway.

As the attendant led her out, and the old wizard walked the opposite way with Lucas, she marveled again at the architecture. She wondered if some of these carvings would look good in King Dregor’s royal residence.

When they were out of earshot, Jorain whispered to Lucas, “Is ‘it’ still safe, my boy?”

“Yes,” Lucas answered with surety.

“Good, good. Keep using it; but never let it fall into the wrong hands.”

He glanced over, as Lucas gave a slight laugh.

When he noticed the old man’s quizzical expression, he said, “I was just thinking of letting the wrong hands fall out of it.”

Still Jorain looked confused.

“You had to be there.”