Bhir slipped back down the hillside, out of sight of the old keep on the next hill. He was careful not to disturb Bhudrinaksi where he sat in meditation position, eyes unfocused and distant. Dhasus sat quietly beside him, looking nervous.

“You think this will work, Captain Bhir?” Indrati asked. Again. Like the flame Jitadi he had a preference for, he had little patience for the slow and methodical.

“It had better,” Bhir replied. “The Pashumar understand tactical value as well as we do. That fort used to be on a border between the two kingdoms, so it is on the highest hill around here. Granted those towers don’t look too stable, but even if you have only one person in tower as lookout, they’ve got a good field of view. And since we’re hunting Warlocks, I’ve got to assume they’ve established some monitoring on the routes up to the fort.”

“They won’t be able to cover the entire perimeter,” Indrati observed. “These rogues we’re after aren’t supposed to be….”

“Your underestimation of your opponent is his greatest weapon,” Bhir reminded them of an old adage. “They only need to watch the most viable paths uphill; forcing us to take the more dangerous paths where an accident might reveal and delay us.”

“That is dangerous?” Indrati asked, eyeing Bhudrinaksi and Dhasus, “You’re planning on having Bhudrinaksi teleport us into the fort based on his memory of the place the last time he tracked a rogue here!” His tone bordered on insubordination.

“When you get to be Captain, you can take that chance,” Bhir growled angrily at Indrati just as Bhudrinaksi stirred and came out of his trance. “A Warlock died and another was injured during that termination because they attempted to take the fort by force. Bhudrinaksi says he remembers the place and it has remained abandoned since that time.”

“Are you ready?” Bhir asked as he turned to them.

“Fort is traditional layout,” Bhudrinaksi said, leaning forward and waving his hand over the ground in front of him. Ridges of dirt piled themselves up, taking the shape of a miniature fort. “There is a square tower at each corner. The main gate is in the center of the western wall, with barracks and storehouses backed up against the opposite wall. The wall facing us has collapsed so we can see straight into the main yard. That yard will lead us to the barracks which should be where the rogues are. I am proposing that I a portal us to that open yard.”

“What if there is some debris in the yard that was not there before?” Indrati asked. “We will end up being portaled into some rubbish!”

“I have taken that into account. I will have the exit portal exiting about three feet about the ground. When you step through, be prepared for a big step.” Bhudrinaksi replied.

Bhir nodded and rose. The rest of them readied their Mahazis and returned to the top of the hill. There Bhudrinaksi  generated the teleportal. Being able to both visualize the distant fort yard and see his generated portal, he created a shimmering thin oval both in front of him and in the distant yard.

With a gesture with his chin, Bhudrinaksi motioned for them to go through.

* * *

They recovered from the teleportal in nimble fashion. Their physical training being more than adequate for them to drop the almost three feet from the floating shimmering oval. Bhir, Indrati, and Dharsus immediately setup a periphery as Bhudrinaksi jumped through, landed, and then closed the portal.

All four cautionously moved towards the barracks, the door of which was wide open. No sign of the rogue Warlocks. Bhir motioned for Indrati to take point. They put away their Mahazis. This would require their chosen weapon of Jitadi.

The door was closed and assumed to be locked. Bhir silently motioned for Dharsus to smash it down. Dharsus nodded and dropped into the stance to begin pulling Jitadi from the surrounding elements. Conducting a weaving form while swaying in a bow stance, the Warlocks could almost feel him drawing the energy from the air.

Stiffening his hands into claws, he thrust straight out towards the door which was five feet away. The door exploded into five pieces as the invisible force blast smashed into it. The crash was met with a shout of surprise on the other side.

Indrati and Bhir rushed in as soon as the door smashed apart. Bhir was the first one to spot one of the Rogues who had begun to dive behind a solid desk. Bhir quickly created a form and stance and launched a force blast at the desk. The desk was thrown into the Rogue, who was knocked backwards into open view.

Indrati was generating a Jitadi to finish off the rogue, when he was suddenly struck in the head by a thrown piece of debris. The surprise and impact knocked him to his knees.

The thrower was the female rogue who was to the rear of the room and obviously was not prepared to respond with Jitadi. It was a sign of her inexperience. An inexperience that lead her into this fatal showdown.

Bhudrinaksi had anticipated that the second Rogue would need to be dealt with. His low stance and arm form brought Jitadi from the ground upwards and towards his taret. To generate the ice he would need, it would need to come from the coolness in the water tables far below their feet.

Ice crystal suddenly materialized from beneath the female rogue and cycloned around her form. Within moments, her torso, arms, and legs, were covered with ice that slowed her into frozen action.

Dharsus had stepped from behind Captain Bhir and was prepared with his own attack. As soon as the male Rogue was on his his feet, he generated a Jitadi lightning strike that launched from his outstretched palm straight into the chest of his target.

The male rogue screamed in shock and fatal pain as the massive electrical current coursed throughout his body. His lifeless body convulsed as it flew backwards against the wall.

The female rogue made a cry of grief, fear, and anger as her mentor was taken from her.

Indrati had regained his feet and looked to Captain Bhir, who nodded to him to proceed. Indrati pulled out his Mahazis and walked towards the frozen female.

“Novice Warlock. For the crimes of following the teachings of a known renegade, generating Jitadi without proper instruction, leaving the Sandhoa without permisssion, and striking a superior…” Indrati flicked his bruised cheek toward her. “You are condemned to the most severe punishment.”

“Death.”

As the word left his mouth, he grabbed her hair and yanked her head backwards to expose her throat. A deep slash of his blade wetly drowned her pleadings for mercy.

Captain Bhir surveyed the scene.

“Our mission is complete. Bhudrinaksi, I want you to make a schamatic of this fort. This is the second time that rogues have used this fort as a base. It is easier for us to deal with any future renegades if we know one of their settings. We can anticipate that future renegades will consider this fort when they abandon the Jitadara.”

“Why don’t we just destroy this fort and take away a place where the rogues can go?”, Indrati asked.

“It is better for us to know where they are are so that we can deal with them, then having to track them across the wilderness or more hostile settings. As long as there is an Order, there will be renegades. I would prefer to see the Order have an additiona advantage in its battle.”

Captain Bhir did not voice his thoughts. The incidence of renegade behavior is increasing. This is the third incident in the past year. I can only think that it is a symptom to a larger problem within the Order. Perhaps, we have too much internal bickering. I will speak with my brother, Andri. He understands people better than he understands Jitadi. Perhaps he has some ideas about what can be done.

Captain Bhir motioned to the others to begin cleaning up the deceased rogues. They needed to properly dispose of the remains if they did not want to alarm future renegades from staying in this convenient hunting ground.

Andri Minara shook his head and grimaced.  It’s going to be a very long trip back to the Sandhoa.

The scene before him was familiar; Lya Katora stood between Britran Talavara and Sumiy Shikara with a hand placed lightly on each man’s chest.  Andri didn’t have to hear the conversation to know they were arguing again.  Lya looked ready to throw an ice wall between Britran and Sumiy who both leaned forward aggressively.   Lya’s face was slightly pinched with concentration.  Britran and Sumiy each had a hand on their hinazaphas.  Though neither man had actually drawn the small, sharp weapon, their posture and free-hand gestures said they were seconds away from doing so.

The council may want to stop putting Talavara and Shikara on the same recruiting missions, Andri thought, knowing it was time to step in.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.  From the way everyone jumped, especially the five little ones, Andri gathered he’d spoken louder than intended.   He moderated his voice accordingly.  “Britran, why don’t you take the children to their room and help them settle in,” he suggested firmly yet kindly to the fiery Warlock with least seniority.

“Yes, Andri,” Britran muttered, not sounding too happy with his assignment.  Andri’s ears failed him as usual, but he could read the reluctant assent on Britran’s lips.

The five young recruits scrambled to follow Britran up the sturdy stairs of the Warlock outpost.  Andri watched with some misgivings about the admiring looks the nine-year-olds gave Britran.  Just what the Order needs, more Talavara. Of the Warlock Sainikulan, the Talavara were especially aggressive.  While that was good on a battlefield, aggression led to interesting recruiting missions and made Andri’s jobs as mission leader and unofficial peacekeeper a whole lot harder.

Just get through the night, Andri encouraged himself.   They’d been traveling back to the Sandoa for two days now; this was their second night.  Tomorrow, if all went well and the younger warlocks didn’t kill each other, they would arrive home.  Then, the children would be the responsibility of their new masters, chosen Abbandha or unfettered Warlocks, who would train them for the next seven to eight years.   Of course, the Sainikulan representatives would show off every chance they got so that when the students attain Initiate status around their seventeenth birthdays they would be drawn to a particular family. Andri snorted derisively; thoughts about the Sainikulan squabbles irked him.

An exasperated shout yanked Andri out of his reverie.

“That’s not fair or true!” Lya’s voice rang out, loud enough for even Andri to hear fairly clearly.

Ah, Britran must be finished with his task.  Where’d the night go? Andri shook his head to concentrate on the argument.

“Yes, it is,” Britran declared.  “The Katora would have us all be free nursemaids for the Pashumar poor!”

“I half agree with you, my friend,” Sumiy said in a conciliatory manner.  “We deserve to…”

Andri couldn’t hear the rest of Sumiy’s sentence, but he’d heard enough to know the younger Warlocks had returned to the adventure versus mercenary ideological debate.

It’s time to take a greater role in the Order. This wasn’t the first time the thought had struck Andri, and as usual, it gave him a chill.  Ever since his early days in the Mercenary Legion where he’d promptly been wounded in a brief battle and lost his hearing, Andri had been content to quietly do his job in the Auxiliary Legion.  Once about seven years ago and again about three years ago, Andri had considered fighting for a higher position in his Sainikulan, but both times he’d been content to let those with a keener sense of glory hunting outshine him.  Andri forced these thoughts away to say,

“Everybody sit down.”  His voice, as usual, was louder than he’d intended, but this time that worked to his advantage.

Lya, Britran, and Sumiy sat in a semi-circle around the middle of the outpost’s leisure room.  Andri took a seat as well so as not to appear superior to the others.

“Thank you,” Andri said, fixing a warm smile on his face and making sure to hold eye contact with each person.  “This random infighting is unhealthy, but discussion is good so let us discuss our Sainikulan differences, shall we?”  Andri wasn’t blind to the fact that his hearing impairment made the others more sympathetic towards him.  He took full advantage of the good feelings and capitalized on them by moderating his voice so that it was both warm and inviting.  His tactics stole some of the hostility from the younger Warlocks.  “Lya, would you like to begin?”

“I told the students there are lots of opportunities to be an adventurer,” Lya began, clearly stating a Katora view on the subject.

“Which is complete rubbish,” Britran Talavara interjected.  He concentrated hard and gathered enough flame Jitadi to make a small fireball.  He tried to act casually about it, but Andri knew he was concentrating very hard to accomplish the small feat.  “We need to stop these pathetic mercenary contracts and demand those under our protection pay us well!” Britran cupped the fireball for about three seconds before letting it dissipate.  “If we don’t, we’ll simple burn out for no good reason.”

Andri waited a half second, knowing Sumiy would say something.  He was not disappointed.

“The Pashumar at Kintal pay fairly well.  We should take more jobs from them,” Sumiy suggested.

“But some people can’t afford to pay!” Lya said in an annoyed tone that made it clear they’d gone over this already.   “Protection from the Devachan should not have a price tag on it!  Think of the Cadamar.  Stopping the Devachan is key to the Cadamar.”

“How is the Or-” Britran began.

“Does it not depend on the situation?” Andri broke in reasonably.  “The Order must take contracts to survive, yet it must also be ready to stand by all threatened by the Devachan.  That is why we must overcome these differences.  The Order must be whole to be strong.  It’s why our recruiting mission is just as important as my brother’s mercenary contracts with the Vrikas Pashumar.”

He paused to let that encouragement sink in.  He knew it was necessary to ease the stigma of not being “good enough” for the Mercenary Legion which lay upon all in the Auxiliary Legion.  He’d gotten over that about eighteen years ago, but he knew how much it rankled the younger Warlock’s sense of pride.

“We need to recruit less,” Sumiy insisted, bringing up a common Shikara view that the Order was growing too quickly.

“Less?!” Britran practically shouted.  “We only took five this time!   We need more recruits.  Dhati says the Cadamar will come to a head soon.  We must be ready!”

Dhati Talavara may be wise on the Ruling Council, but even a 7th degree of our Order can be mistaken.   The Cadamar may not be for ages. Andri kept these thoughts to himself.

“Ready in mind and body, yes, but Jerahn Anashabay himself taught us that the Cadamar is a constant life battle against evil,” Lya pointed out.

Since they were all maintaining semi-civil tones, Andri thought they might be calm enough to call a truce.  He took Lya’s statement as a jumping off point for his final speech for the night.  “The Cadamar may be both.  It is our lifelong struggle, the reason why we do what we do.  But all struggles have a culminating point, and what we call the Cadamar is probably some event that lies ahead of us.  Whether that time be soon or in a far off age, it is our duty to recruit those strong in Jitadi, train them as Warlocks, and fight against the evil that threatens ourselves and those under our protection.   Now, we have a long walk ahead of us tomorrow; I suggest we all retire.”

Andri got up and held his hand out to help Lya up.  Instinctively, Britran and Sumiy followed suit.   With a bow, Andri left the room and went to his room to think.

The Warlocks are split far more than Rudra Minara and the rest of the Ruling Council will admit, far more than I want to admit. Andri shook his head sadly at the realization.  It’s time to be more, a voice whispered inside Andri again; this time he agreed.

Yes, it is time to fix the breaks in the Order.  It’s time to be more than simple, sympathetic Andri Minara.   From this day on, Andri Minara is reborn.

The four halted just inside the shadow of the trees. Before them the grass covered meadow sloped down to the river ford. On this side of the ford the land belonged to a Vrikas clan whose lord had hired them. On the far side of the ford the land belonged to a Rukshas clan. Whoever controlled the ford, controlled the land on both sides. If both clans had been the same Pashumar species, negotiation might have solved this. No, the clans were different Pashumar species that, like their animal analogs, wolves and bears, didn’t get along.

The proof of that antagonism was being demonstrated before the Warlocks. On their side of the ford, a dozen armored Vrikas warriors were weilding their Hinazaphas and locked in mortal combat. Each was engaged with one or two heavily armored Rukshas warriors with Hinazaphas and some of the more skilled ones weilding Kikira blades. The Vrikas knew they were outnumbered and outmatched, but to their credit, did not break.

Adanaka leaned toward the ranking Warlock, “Just like you said, Captain Bhir. The battle’s already started.  Have you developed Jitadi to forsee the future?”

“No,” Captain Bhir said, studying the dispersion of Pashumar forces. “I’ve studied tactics. I knew as soon as the contract was signed that word of it would get to the Rukshas and they’d move. Its in their nature. You all know your tasks, lets get to them.”

Adanaka moved to the end of the line, facing upstream the river and began forming a Jitadi that would turn the gently flowing river into a torrent, making the ford impassible to the Rukshas on the far bank. Adanaka’s dance like stance with his weaving arms immediately generated an electrifying energy around him.

Bhudrinaksi moved into a stanced position beside Adanaka and began to weave a Jitadi that would create a gale. The barely leaf rustling breeze now rose into a haunting howling wind.

Captain Bhir began to generate the Jitadi weaving to provide a slight speed enhancement and once established, began to charge towards the battle. Their collective war cries were caught up in the rising wind Jitadi, which help multiply them to sound like four hundred instead of four.

Captain Bhir, from the corner of his eye, caught sight of a blue glow around Indrati who was running beside him. He realized there was a blue glow around all of them. Before the charge, Indrati had created a light aura around them using a novice Jitadi stance. To the common Rukshas warrior it would look as if they were enveloped in Devachan divine auras. Nice effect, it will add to the awe we deserve.

The bulk of the Rukshas on the far bank were just starting to cross, but the river was no longer a slow, knee deep ford. Adanaka’s spell had raised a swirling, waist deep maelstrom. The few that charged into the water were swept downstream helplessly. Others skidded to a stop futilely shaking weapons at the Warlocks.

The Vrikas warriors were at first as stunned by the Warlocks arrival as the Rukshas, but recovered a bit faster than their foes. Three Rukshas, fascinated by the Warlock charge, had their throats ripped out by Vrikas blades, their last sight being glowing Warlocks nearly flying across the field towards them.

Captain Bhir felt admiration for Indrati’s self control; he loved fireballs, sometimes to an extent that worried Captain Bhir, but Indrati understood that to use fireballs now would do as much harm to their Vrikas allies as to their Rukshas opponents.

The Rukshas pulled away from the Vrikas, just beyond the reach of their blades but still too close for the fireballs. This was going to be bloody hand to hand.

There had been more than thirty Rukshas when the Warlocks charged from the woods. Two had gone down to Vrikas weapons, but that still left eight Rukshas to each Warlock.

Captain Bhir pitied the Rukshas.

With their enhanced speed, the Rukshas weapons were easy to avoid; before a Ruksha had time to even start a lumbering slash, a Warlock would be inside the reach of his weapon, slashing with his Mahazis. The Warlocks could strike three or four times for each blow the Rukshas tried.

The danger, though, wasn’t the Rukshas in front of them, but the one that got behind them. As fast as the enhanced time Jitadi let them move, it didn’t let them see behind themselves, as Adanaka learned. The Ruksha in front of him went down, insides spilling from a slashed belly. The Ruksha to his right reeled back, hand hacked off, wrist fatally spouting blood. The Ruksha to his left sank to his knees, burbling as life fountained from his slit throat. The Ruksha behind Adanaka, though, jammed his Kikira into Adanaka’s back in the instant that Indrati shouted a warning. Adanaka’s enhanced speed let him turn slightly, so the thrust wasn’t through and through, but slashed along his back and side.

The Ruksha bayed in victory, he had actually wounded a Warlock. He was too busy celebrating his unexpected achievement to follow up with an actual kill. Adanaka backed away, crouching and looking about while trying to staunch the blood flow from his side. Indrati gestured as he normally would to light the campfire. The Ruksha’s victory howl became a painful howl of terror as his fur burst into flame.

Indrati was fascinated with fire.

That display broke the rest of Ruksha morale. They fled back across the ford. Adanaka had allowed the water to lower enough that they could struggle through. Captain Bhir called the Warlocks to halt. The Rukshas’ terrified tale of this battle would be more effective at enhancing the Warlock  reputation than any display of their dead bodies.

* * *

A Vrikas soldier threw another Rukshan body on the funeral pyre as he growled at the senior Vrikas warrior, “They can’t be bothered to clear the bodies of those they killed?”

The officer, standing to one side of the make shift funeral pyre, continued to watch the Warlocks set up their camp near the ford but still a distance away from the Vrikas camp.

“Warlocks are too special for mundane things like this,” he finally replied, “Always believe themselves too high for it.”

The wind howled down the pass, parting around the bubble of warm air that Vas Abbandha’s weave of Jitadi kept around him.

Damn fool jewel smith, Vas grumbled in his thoughts, careful not to let them wander too far from concentrating on the  Jitadi he was using. Fool enough to steal the necklace and leave two major families at war with each other over it. But why’d he have to come this way at this time of the year? This pass isn’t usable in the winter.

Vas considered dropping the bubble of warm air by switching to a time acceleration Jitadi to speed his movement, but his mastery of the that Jitadi was mostly for enhancing his reactions in melee combat, not for cross country travel. In good weather, this pass took two days to cross. Accelerated, a day, but the bitter cold wind and below freezing temperatures would possibly serious cause some harm.

He didn’t have time to wait. The feuding families had both tried to find the jewel smith first before hiring him, giving the jewel smith a three day head start on him. A head start plus no one knew where he was going except through the mountain pass, which is why the families had finally agreed to hiring a Warlock.

Between Vas’s pushing himself and his quarry’s growing confidence of his escape, Vas finally closed the gap. His quarry was only a half day ahead. Teleporting and circumventing the pass would have been nice, but Vas had no way to clearly target the site on the other side. No clear knowledge of his destination meant a attempting to teleport was extremely dangerous. He’s close and now time for old-fashion walking.

The wind grew stronger and louder, nearly making a solid wall of the blown snow.

Not wind, Vas realized with a tightness in his chest. A rumbling, above him to his right permeated the air. Far above he could see it starting, the wavy shiver through the snow piled higher up on the mountain to his right. It stretched ahead of him and back behind him. There was no mistaking it. Avalanche!

The rumble grew defeaning and the wavy wall of whiteness seems to accelerate as well. How far ahead the caravansary was, Vas didn’t know, but he knew he could not out-run the avalanche. He spotted something up ahead.

A brownish column rose just ahead on his right; not the hoped for widening of the pass, but an outcrop of the sandstone mountains rising on either side of him.

Would it work?

Vas quickly struggled through the ankle deep snow to stop with the rocky column between him and the collapsing wall of crushing white death. Crouching into a low stance and quickly weaving Jitadi, he whiped snow up from the floor of the pass to create ice walls anchored on the sandstone column, arching them over his head and round in front and in back of him.

As the avalanche smashed into his ice fort, cracks spanned along the crystal wall and roof he’d built, but it held. The additional force field he used to support the ice wall helped ensure he was not submerged. Few Warlocks could employ multiple Jitadi at the same time, but Vas was considered by many to be exceptionally skilled.

As the rumbling sound faded, in his little dome of ice, Vas sat in darkness, listening. Far away, he could still faintly hear the wind. He knew that he was facing the correct direction, but how much snow was above and before him? There was air in here for now, so he had time to think. Not much time, however. The air will run out. I need to think of how to get past all of this snow.

Within moments he began forcing down his concentration deep into the earth to find the heat he would need. Carefully he weaved a small flame Jitadi that opened a narrow archway diagonally above in the ice wall. Concentrating, he used the free floating flame to melt the snow to both create a tunnel and solidify it into more ice. The ice walled tunnel began to move upwards. He began to slowly inch forward in a crawl.

Crouching into his stance, he continuously called on Jitadi. Metering out just enough flame to make progress against the mountain of snow, but not enough to burn himself out. The further he crawled away from the ground, the more difficult it became to call on the flame Jitadi. Laboriously, Vas slowly created a worm-hole away from the base of the avalanche mountain. Its a good think I am not claustaphobic.

Vas felt it in his being the weight of a mountain fall away as the first natual light broke through the snow near the top of his ice tunnel. Vas applied a gentle push with a force shield. The snow fell away, opening the ice tunnel into fresh air and revealing the distant image of brown stone caravansary walls. He took a deep breath of the cold yet exhilirating air.

As he trudged across the snow, he saw that the caravansary had been badly hit by the avalanche. The walls were pushed over and the main building had been collapsed as if a giant fist had smashed into its wall. Vas caught the shape of a body within the building. Could it be?!

Vas climbed over the stone walls and looked inside the building. It was not possible to enter but it was not necessary. The broken body of the jewel thief was near the back of the building but with the walls being smashed apart, he really had no chance.

He might have survived if he was with me. Vas thought wirly, as he reached down and found the stolen neclace tucked away safely in the thief’s overcoat.

Rain beat down on Chindra Shikara, as he pounded on the door to Nissun’s dwelling.   I know you’re in there! He could see a light shine from a room somewhere on the second floor and knew that the retired Pashumar Shaman rarely went out in the evening.   He couldn’t wait to leave Assirari.  Being around so many Baidala with their feline features and sneaking ways got on his nerves.   He wasn’t particularly prejudiced or anything, but he grew weary among strangers and wished to return to the Sandhoa where he could have long, deep conversations with his friends.  After waiting three seconds, he beat on the door again.  It resonated under his assault.

“Patience!  I come.  I come no faster than I come, so wait until I come,” a voice called at last.

Chindra waited another four seconds and clamped down on the impulse to knock again.  Then, the door slid open and a fur-covered arm beckoned him in.  He briskly crossed the threshold, brushed a lock of damp, dark-brown hair off his forehead, and studied his surroundings.

“Enter the rest chamber, young one,” the patronizing voice instructed.

Chindra’s sharp, gray eyes adjusted to the room light and fixed upon the bent back of an aging Baidala male.  He followed his host into a darkened rest chamber, stopping just beyond the threshold.  A brittle smile formed on Chindra’s lips as he thought, At last, I’ve found you, and you will lead me to Maweonis.

“Where is he?” Chindra demanded, foregoing any attempt at subtlety.  “Maweonis.   You serve him; you must know where to find him.”  A bright light came on and Chindra blinked.  He couldn’t see Nissun for a moment, but he felt the Shaman’s penetrating gaze rest upon him.

“Your expression is hard and your voice harder.  Both make me question your motives, young one,” Nissun said.

Chindra wrestled his expression to reflect contriteness.  “Forgive me, Shaman.   I am overeager.  I have sought Maweonis for many days and only worn myself and my patience.  I did not mean to sound harsh.   I seek to worship.”

“I cannot help you.  Your face and lips say one thing, yet your eyes speak a different speech,” Nissun observed.   Chindra took two steps forward and opened his mouth to protest, but Nissun continued, “Your clothes are that of a traveler, perhaps even a seeker, yet your walk is more sure than that of one on a spiritual journey.”

“How dare you question my motives!” Chindra said harshly.

The Shaman closed his eyes and held his right claw to his temple, as if deep in thought.  “Motivation is everything.  Why do you seek Maweonis?  You say to worship, but what is it you wish to worship Maweonis for, young one?”

The question caught Chindra off guard.  “His power and – and might.   I seek his blessing before I set off on my quest to fight the Maladarie.”  His hands crept towards his hidden pair of kikira, but he stopped before drawing the weapons for they would surely give him away as a Warlock.

“Ah, your hands betray you, young one,” said the Shaman, nodding sagely.

“My hands betray nothing, Great Shaman.  I am merely eager to challenge the Maladarie,” Chindra insisted, doing a wonderful job of sounding sincere.

“Again your lips and eyes speak not the same,” Nissun said calmly.  “Your eyes and movements say you are a Warlock.   I remember well how the Warlocks view the Devdas.  You call the divine ones by the slanderous title of Devachan.   A hundred and forty years ago, the Warlocks inflicted great harm upon the Devdas.  I would hate to see that history repeat itself so I shall not help you.”

A surge of anger shot through Chindra.  Before he knew it, his kikira were in his hands and pressed against Nissun’s neck.   “Very well, Shaman, we’ll do this the hard way.  You know what I seek.”

The Shaman tilted his head back a bit to speak.  “A deaf one would hear better than you, young one.   This is not the way to-”

“Tell me!” Chindra screamed.  His patience frayed at an alarming rate, but he steeled his arms to hold the blades steady.   His gray eyes bore into the Shaman’s face, repeating his demand.

“The mountains rise for the Devdas.  The forests bend for the Devdas.   Always blessed are the-”

Chindra’s blades silenced the Shaman’s prayer.  He blinked, looked at the Shaman’s body, and blinked again.  I’ve killed him! The thought made the reality of the situation fall upon Chindra like a hammer.   Flee!, his mind ordered.  As usual in dire situations, Chindra let his battle mind control his body.   Sooner or later someone would seek Nissun out despite being a retired Shaman. He had to be far away before the body was discovered.  He quickly brought Jitadi to himself by crouching into the stance he was taught. He held it a second, basking briefly in its sheer power, and released it through his pores, turning himself invisible.

Chindra Shikara slipped out the back door into a side alley.  The rain had finally stopped and moonlight bathed the streets, forcing Chindra to stick to the shadows, lest he have to worry about his shadow as well.   The caution slowed him considerably.  He passed by an open window and caught part of a conversation.

“-ill I ever get to see the Devdas?” inquired a young Baidala.

“One day, I’ll take you to a Shaman when you’re old enou-”

The moon slipped behind a huge cloud, and Chindra blocked the rest of the conversation from his mind as his own thoughts consumed him.  I’m no closer than when I started. He let his legs carry him to the waylay point.   The Devachan fear us and rightly so, but the Pashumar can approach them any time. The simple solution nearly made Chindra stagger.  We must become like the Pashumar if we are to find the Devachan!  We must be crafty and wise, not strong and direct.

I, Chindra Shikara, will do this.  I will find the Devachan through the Pashumar and their ways.

Her orders were simple: Terminate the bandits. Terminate.  Terminate. The unpleasant word tortured Vari Talavara, as she crouched behind a large nezan bush waiting for her victims to arrive.   She clenched her jaw; it took nearly all her willpower to keep from shaking her head in frustration.  Terminate the bandits. No call for negotiation, just termination.  It’s wrong! Vari tried squashing the disloyal thought with a long-winded self speech about how much damage the bandits were inflicting on the Pashumar village of Kintal.  They’re bandits, they deserve what they get. Vari frowned as more thoughts swirled, increasing her frustration.  But they’re not Maladarie or Devachan; they’re Morayans, just like us.  They’re Onusayans! That last thought would have sent her off on a whole new direction about Onusayans being partly her people through her mother, but a slight rustle of leaves beside her interrupted the silent debate.

Vari whipped her head left and pierced Kal Minara with her narrow, blue-gray eyes.  The sandy-haired young man ducked his head, taking the silent scolding in stride like he did everything.  He took a great interest in examining the edge of his pair of hinazapha.   His hands twitched, making Vari aware that Kal wished to twirl the blades.  Another fierce flicker of her expressive eyes stilled his hands.  He grinned sheepishly and turned his attention back to the path they were watching.

Still wearing an annoyed expression, Vari carefully placed one of her displaced braids back where it belonged.   Touching her hair reminded Vari of its brilliant golden hue, which reminded her of how much she favored her father, which returned her thoughts to where they’d been.  She was all too aware that her “good fortune” in physically favoring her Hurapian father had led to her initial acceptance among the Warlocks.   She tensed but wrestled her emotions into line before they found release in movement.  Vari forced her thoughts in a different direction. Why three of us?  I could have handled this myself. The Masters had felt three Apprentices were necessary for the mission, yet the last bandit count, according to the Pashumar, was only twenty three.  The simple answer came almost immediately to her Talavara-trained mind:  Money.  The Masters get to charge for three Warlocks instead of one. Vari let that thought linger a moment; it left a slightly bitter tinge to her mind.

Movement along the path caught Vari’s attention.  Something felt wrong.  She could just make out the forms of two-dozen or so bandits furtively moving through the woods.  An icy doubt seized her.  Vari opened her mouth to order Beman and Kal to stand down until she muddled through the uneasy feeling.   But before she could give the order, Beman Shikara whipped up his kaladanda and fired three beams into their targets.  Three bandits dropped without a sound.  The other twenty-some bandits whipped out melee weapons, but they were no match for the Warlocks.  Vari sensed more than saw Kal drop into a light stance to create a force shield around the bandits, essentially trapping them.

Things happened too fast for conscious thought.  Vaguely aware of bandits’ surprised shouts, Vari felt Beman gather flame Jitadi to make an attack.  He’ll kill them. The sudden urge to preserve the bandits’ lives seized Vari.  Time seemed to stop.  Vari gathered storm Jitadi faster than she’d ever done so before and held it for a split second.  In that split second, Beman’s fireball ripped a devastating path through the crowd.  Vari felt as if the fireball had exploded inside her own body.  Swinging into a low earthly stance she flung her hands out towards the crowd of Onusayans and unleashed a storm of rain and wind.  Everyone went crashing into surrounding milak trees, a tangled mass of wet, smoky beings.   The entire battle had taken ten seconds at the most.

Beman, who was beside her, knew she meant to save the bandits.  Confused, he swung his kaladanda her way.   “What was that about?!” he demanded.

Vari didn’t bother replying.  Instead, by shifting her stance slightly and generating a quick form, she created two miniature lightning globes.   A quick flick of her wrists sent one careening into Beman and the other into Kal, who had also turned towards her.  The globes partially dissipated before reaching her targets but enough remained to shock them into unconsciousness.

What have I done? The thought snapped Vari back to the present moment.   She blinked, flicking her eyes to the dead and unconscious bodies littering the ground around her.

One bandit stirred.  Vari arranged the hood of her cloak closer around her face and strode with purpose over to the young man.   By this time, he’d sat up; his body shook.  It took Vari a moment to recognize his weeping.  Two paces from him, her steps faltered.   The moonlight revealed his features to be far younger than she’d expected.

It’s a child! The thought filled her with horror and sent her eyes searching the other figures.  The entire band was composed of young adults.  The oldest looked to be about twenty-two and the youngest, the survivor before Vari, appeared to be about seventeen.  They’re all so young! Vari cursed.

Warlocks train from childhood, Vari reasoned, but then, she decided that made the battle all the more unfair.   At first, she’d thought her discomfort might be from her very un-Talavara-like thoughts, but now, the full meaning of her feelings landed on her like a physical blow.   She steeled her quaking insides, refusing to let the emotions show.  Vari sent a short, cold blast of air to quickly awaken the only other unburned being.  The young woman gasped as she awoke.  She bolted upright, but she didn’t cry.   Instead, she scooted over to the young man and slipped an arm around him, drawing him close.

“Leave, and steal no more,” Vari ordered.

“We needed food,” the female bandit answered simply.

The statement caught Vari off guard.  “Food?  Is that all you stole?”  Vari’s question was demanding, but her tone made it clear the anger wasn’t directed at the youths.

“Yes, food,” the woman repeated.

Vari wanted to believe she was lying but heard a clear ring of truth in the words.

“Go,” Vari said softly, throwing her survival kit to the two survivors.

Vari turned her back on the bandits who left as quickly as they could, drew her mahazis with deliberate slowness, and went over to Kal.   There’s no going back.  With her heart tearing itself to pieces over the finality of her actions, Vari sent a lightning microjolt into the ground next to Kal.  He stirred and woke with a groan.

“Wake up, Kal,” Vari ordered, quietly yet firmly.

Kal eyes snapped open.  “What the Deva-”

“They stole for food, Kal,” Vari cut in.  “I let the survivors go.  Now, take Beman and return to the Order,” Vari commanded.

Kal created a small personal shield around himself to ward off further attacks.  He was defensive.   “Have you lost your-”

“It was wrong!” Vari snapped, letting frustration enter her voice.  She swallowed hard and took a second to master her emotions.  She took a step backwards to let Kal have room to get up.  When she spoke again her voice was even and controlled.  “It was like fighting first-year Abecedarians, and the Masters knew it would be.   I can’t do this anymore, Kal.  I can’t be a Talavara Warlock.  I won’t kill just because some rich Pashumar has a grudge against those who steal for sustenance.”

“It was a battle,” Kal said in a grave tone.  “People die-”

“This was no battle,” Vari declared.  “It was slaughter.”   Indecision nearly made her freeze.  She couldn’t return to the order as a Talavara.   Though she wouldn’t consider Kal and Beman close friends, Vari had served alongside them too long to not share some connection with them.

“So, what now?” Kal asked in a tone usually reserved for battle.

After a timeless, tense second, Vari took out the black and orange sash which marked her as a second degree apprentice within the Order from its safe place on her belt.   With a long look at him, Vari bowed slightly, sliced through the special embroidery she’d done to mark her allegiance to her Sainikulan, and let the pieces flutter to the ground.  Then, she pivoted on her heel and walked away.

I am Vari Talavara no more.