They say the first one to land a hit in a fight usually wins. Of course, it helps to be a six foot tall and muscled farm boy too. Anders shook the blood off his knuckles and took a fresh stance, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The other boy stumbled back, clutching his mouth. A bruise was already forming on his jaw, but Anders would have his fair share before tomorrow.

"Come on Cerdic, that can't be all you have." Anders blew some of the hair out of his eyes from the corner of his mouth. Cerdic was not much shorter than Anders, but he did have a considerable amount of weight more to put behind his blows. He wiped his bloody mouth on his sleeve and charged at Anders, his raised fist glowing like a coal in the hearth. A line of sparks crackled down Anders's arm, bracing for the hit.

Magic.

"Hey!" A soldier rounded the corner at the end of the hall. The fighting stopped immediately as both boys scattered. Cerdic ran forward, pushing Anders and sprinting for a staircase nearby. Anders was slammed into the stone wall at his back, but recovered and ran down the hall long before the soldier could catch him.

Anders knocked into something as he rounded a corner, doing everything he could to not get caught or fall in the process.

"Watch it!" A girl yelled behind him as he blazed through the winding corridors of the keep. He disrupted more than a few people in his mad dash, running into furniture and rounding corners with no regard to what was around them. It was several minutes before he dared to slow down. The brute in heavy armor probably chased after the other boy, or at least lost Anders's trail many twists and turns ago. Anders ambled into a seldom traveled hallway, gasping for breath and clutching his ribs.

"Pox it." He leaned on a dead end wall, sliding down to the floor panting. One of his knuckles was bleeding freely, probably cut on a tooth. Sweat darkened his brown tunic and he pulled it over his head, trying not to stain the linen with blood. Down to his breaches and boots, he let the stone wall cool his back.

"There you are." A slender woman with a neat grey bun walked towards him, her slick black boots clicking on the flagstone. She too wore one of the plain linen tunics and breaches, but on her it looked like she chose it on purpose. Of all the lines on her face, her laugh lines were the most prominent.

"I suppose... you're going... to lecture me." Anders choked on his own air trying to spit out the words.

"Did you use your powers on him?" She asked.

"No...Almost...He started...it." Anders huffed.

"Then no, I'm not, but next time you might wait until the sun is finished rising." She yawned and leaned against the wall. "Forgive me for not sitting with you, it isn't as easy to get back up as it used to be."

The hall was silent but for Anders breathing. After a moment the woman handed him a discolored old handkerchief. He wrapped it around his knuckles, hissing as it stung.

"Was it Cerdic?" She asked softly. Anders nodded. She offered a hand to help him up, and he took it.

"Don't pretend he doesn't deserve it Ghilda." He said.

"I won't." She answered.

"Good." Anders fists were still clenched.

"Let's get you fixed up properly. You might still make it to market day." She inspected the wrapped hand, blood was still soaking it.

"Thanks." Anders murmured. Ghilda took them down a hallway and into a small empty sitting room with a few chairs.

"Sit." She ordered. Anders took a seat and Ghilda rolled up her sleeves and removed the handkerchief from his hand. She took a small bottle from a pouch on her belt and dabbed it's thick white contents on Ander's knuckle.

"Rather prepared today." Anders grumbled. Ghilda looked at him sharply.

"I have to be, knowing you." She emptied the small container and held her hands over his. A cold, trickling sensation ran through his veins. She was using her magic to move it through his wounded hand.

"What is this stuff?" Anders whispered, eyeing the door for anyone who might come in.

"It's from town. Something the University cooked up." Her face twisted in concentration, and he didn't bother her after that. Whatever she had put on him took the sting out of the cut and clotted the blood right away. He watched her work, then when he couldn't watch movement under his skin any longer, he watched her. On the side of her neck the crest of Whitethorn Keep was tattooed. It glowed a gentle blue, shining light even through the linen of her collar where it covered the crest. He touched his own neck where his crest glowed brown. She sighed and leaned back, making him look down at his hand again.

"How much did it cost you?" He asked when she put the empty bottle back in her pocket.

"Don't worry about it Anders. I'm just sorry there wasn't more. Where else were you hurt?" She brushed her cool fingers across his forehead, moving the hair that had fallen in his face.

"I'm fine." He answered.  

"I'm sure you are, but if you tell me where you might develop bruises that could tip off the watch, I can try to lessen them." Her lips formed a thin line and she eyed him sternly.

"Oh." He turned a little red and pointed to a few tender spots that were bad enough to maybe bruise. She went to work, moving her open palms over his arms, chest, and one spot under his right eye. The feeling of your own blood moving under your skin was surreal, but he endured the sensation that turned his stomach until she was done.

"There, if that's all of them, I have some things I need from the market. Next time can you please wait to pick a fight until after market day?" She smiled at him, her eyes tired and her fingers shaking.

"Ghilda, I'm so sorry. You used to much power." He hissed, eyes flicking to the door and back.

"No, it will have been just the right amount if you don't bruise. Now, help me up, I'm going to the courtyard." She snapped.

They walked out of the room and towards the front gate. A tall guard stared at them down the hall until they turned to the great hall of the keep's entrance. The bright sun assaulted his eyes as they left the dark corridors behind. Ghilda stopped shaking while they walked, which flooded Anders with relief.

"It looks like they haven't opened the gates quite yet." She shielded her eyes with her hand.

                "Good, I'd hate to miss a full day at the bellows." Anders moaned dramatically, which drew a smile from Ghilda.

"A little hard work is good for a growing boy." Her eyes moved over the square, watching the market vendors setting out their wares.

"Do you see what you need?" He asked.

"Ah, there is the herb woman. And I think I see Eileen over there, I need to talk to her too. If you'll excuse me I'm going to wait with her, I'm too old for this stampede." She walked towards the side of the front gate where she could sit on a bench next to a dark young woman with long curls, but she looked back and added. "Stay out of trouble."

"I'll try." He waved and got in line. Anders scoured the square from his vantage point. Over the sea of grey linen he spotted Reece and his sons setting up the smithy in the south corner of the yard. The next few minutes were painfully long until the bells chimed. Soldiers in black with chain armor walked up and down the line, keeping the peace and watching for the use of magic. Finally the iron gates grated and slowly lifted, beckoning the mages into the yard.   

Soldiers stood everywhere. The Whitethorn Watch. They towered in grey chain mail with black tabards and permanent frowns. They watched the mages silently as they passed through the front gate and more yet stood about the courtyard.

It was a scramble. Popular vendors selling basic essentials were flooded immediately. Soap, candles, medicine. Next were supplies for the allowed mage crafts. Herbs, journals, ink. Other odds and ends vendors had business too. After all, Whitethorn had one day a month to stock up on supplies.

Anders pushed straight for the smith and his sons who had arrived late and were just finishing unloading the cart and rubbing down the horse.

"Anders, well met. Here for some work?" Reece winked at him. Towering over everyone else in the yard, Reece was a muscled Lolathian with a huge hammer and a fierce smile. His boys were going to be just as big when they were grown.

"Yes, please Reece. Do you have sand I can trade for today?" Anders took off his brown robes, leaving him with just his leather trousers.

"Sand? Yeah I have some bags. The soldiers use it to scour rust off armor. What do you need it for little mageling?" Reece and one of his sons moved the anvil to a better workspace out of the way of the forge.

"Glass, I think. Maybe. I'm trying something and I can't afford to buy glass so I'm going to see if I can make it."  Anders took the bellows Reece handed him and began puffing air at the red coals.

"I'm sure if anyone can figure it out you can." Reece's eldest son Ganaes beamed at him and continued to take care of their horse.

"And, I hate to bother you since you were doing me a favor but..." Anders looked down at his hands while he pumped the bellows.

"Yes, your rock came in." Reece grinned and tossed him a small bag form his pocket.

"Yes! I mean, thank you." Anders tore open the bag to reveal a rust colored quartz. It was rough in his fingers and about as big as his thumb. He pocketed it, smiling and went to work on the forge.

Soon enough guards and mages alike were crowding Reece and his boys to have work done and repairs made. They picked up orders and bargained for goods. The mages couldn't have blades bigger than a dinner knife, but the guards could. Then there were ladles and items for the kitchen, tools for magic experiments, horseshoes and other gear.

Even in the cool spring weather Anders was soon covered in sweat. Most of the other mages saw laboring as beneath them. Somehow, despite being kept in an isolated fortress, they still managed to develop egos.

Anders lived on the family farm until he was eight when the lightning woke in him. He was used to hard work, but as soon as he gained magic the soldiers came and took him to Whitethorn. Many of the other mages at Whitethorn still had family that would send them coin now and then. Very rarely would a relative visit, it wasn't encouraged. Anders got neither.

"Ok Anders, lay off it a bit. Take a walk boy, before you melt like the snows." Reece nodded at him over his anvil and Anders gratefully flopped backwards onto the grass. Ganaes gave him a tankard of water which he promptly emptied twice over. Anders left his tunic off and wandered the carts.

Even without the grey clothes, the Whitethorn crest tattooed on his neck would give him away. It shone brown. No makeup could cover it, no magic could hide it. That's why you don't escape from Whitethorn. A mage not deemed a master of his own powers is put to death on sight. They used to mark your wrist, until some mages cut off their own arms to hide the mark. You can't really cut off your neck.

Anders bought a small blank journal to write in and winced at his light purse. Hopefully he would earn a decent coin from Reece today. Wandering back to the bellows, Anders was pulled behind a statue in the yard by a pale, chubby arm.

"What gives you the right, brown mage, to turn your nose up at our rank?" He pushed Anders chest, causing him to stumble back a step. Cerdic's jaw had been cleaned up, but it still looked terrible. With his pig nose and pasty complexion the yellow tinges of the forming bruise stood out. He was probably a year or two older than Anders, though he was quite a bit heavier and a hand width shorter. He stood in front of two other boys with red crests.

"I'm pretty sure I didn't do anything to you." Anders scowled down at all three of the other mages. "but if it's a fight you're looking for..."

"How barbaric. The brown mage wants to fight us." Chuckled the freckled mage in the back. Cerdic scowled at him, which shut him up.

"Aren't you a little old to still be brown? Or are you just that pathetic?" Sneered the third boy.

"I missed the last testing, but I'll gladly let you decide if I'm worth your time or not." Anders let his eyes glow white and sparks flew from his fingertips which were casually at his side. He flexed what muscle he did have and rolled his shoulders back.

"That's the lightning rod." Hissed the freckled boy.

"We're not here to fight you. Just make sure you know your place." Cerdic lead his companions away, making sure to bump into Anders's shoulder on the way past.

"Too flashy. You're goanna get caught." Kiriad, Reece's younger boy was grinning at Anders.

"It doesn't matter if I get caught being flashy, just if I get caught fighting." Anders smiled at the boy. "Need something?"

"Yeah, you. Da wants to know if you want our forge to go completely cold or if you'd rather I get paid to blow it instead." Kiriad laughed.

"Sage bless it." Anders smacked his forehead and took off towards the forge.

The rest of the afternoon flew by. Reece was not angry at Anders being gone for so long. In fact, he paid out two copper extra because he had done so much business that day.

"Thanks Reece." Anders bowed his head and pulled his tunic back on.

"I appreciate the help. We're too busy on Whitethorn market day for just us three, you earn every copper I give you." Reece threw his last pair of tongs on the cart and patted Anders on the back. "I will see you next time too?"

"I'll be here." Anders smiled.

He waved them off, holding his bag of sand and pocket of copper as the fourth bell of the afternoon rang. The mages were prodded back inside like cattle, and the merchants lined up to have their carts inspected for illegal magic contraband. Nothing went in or out of Whitethorn without an inspection.

Back inside, he rushed up to his room to put his things away. His room was fairly empty. He had a small trunk at the foot of his bed with a plain blue wool blanket. His desk had a few tools spread out with scribbled notes. His bookshelf was nearly empty save for a couple odd volumes Ghilda had given him or that he could afford second-hand. He placed the sand bag on his desk and counted every coin he had stashed away. Anders winced; he had hoped to have more saved up before the testing this summer. If he managed to get a rank above purple he could leave Whitethorn and never look back.

Two more months. His chance was coming up. He had the amount of power, he was almost certain. He had much better control now than he did five years ago. And he had a plan. Two more months, and he was out of Whitethorn for good.