Anders was surrounded by books. That wasn't something unusual in Whitethorn, but the books he now surrounded himself with were not there to teach him anything about magic.

The smallest sitting room on the second floor is where the council of mages met once a week. In that room Anders found himself going over the business ledgers of past meetings. It took hours to dredge through everything until he could find what he was looking for, the meeting from three years ago when he stood in this room and got approval to build his device.

the books and threw them back on the shelves in no particular order. None of the council had changed in the past few years, so the list of mages who heard him present his theories was no shorter. And if Anders could walk right in and look through the books, so could anyone else. The whole of Whitethorn had the last three years to snoop around the council's books and find out what he was doing.

Voices down the hall caught his attention as he was placing the last books on the shelves. The light through the narrow windows told Anders it was around dinner time, and these were the first few people showing up for the meeting. He quickly took a seat by a wall as though he was here for the council.

"Too late to start now, only three weeks out you know." A portly man in orange robes walked in and took a seat at the council table followed by a short fellow in red. One by one mages filed in the room, as well as two soldiers who stood by the door and a well dressed man with a long beard and jewelry adorning him all over.

"Ah! Master Tomlin, please have a seat." The portly mage in orange offered the nicest chair at the table to the man that must be the current royal ambassador for Whitethorn. Or at least, that's what his manner of dress indicated to Anders.

Eventually the table filled up, and several other mages filled the room. Many young mages in brown and grey were present, as well as some adults Anders recognized who took up the mantle as teacher to the new mages. When the council table in the middle of the room settled in, so did everyone else.

"Let the meeting for the twenty fourth day of the fourth month commence." A grizzled old man in yellow struck a stone ball on a wooden disk, an unnecessary action as all eyes were fixed solidly on him. The short mage in red was scribbling away in a book like the ones Anders had just been searching through.

"Let the first order of business be the grey mages." The royal ambassador read from a parchment on the table. "We seem to have several right now."

One by one nervous young mages approached the table. Everyone watching gave them ample room, grey mages could still be unstable and accidents still tended to happen. A young girl with light magic demonstrated her control to shine bright or dim lights all around her body. She hadn't been there long, but light magic was supposedly one of the easier ones to control. After the girl was a fire mage, who also passed as did the wind mage after him.

Five demonstrations of control prompted by the council members ended in success and the children hugged each other. Anders remembered the bond shared with grey mages, new to the keep, trying to master your abilities together. Anders was only really close with one of the other mages and she won her purple robes and left five years ago. Now his kept to himself, and sometimes worked with Ghilda.

"It's early to celebrate yet little ones." Master Tomlin drawled. "You've won your chance, you still have to face the stone."

The children looked nervously at a jeweled box the royal ambassador set on the table. He opened it slowly, revealing a glowing brown crystal. One by one the children lined up, approaching the box. The boy wind mage was first. He took a deep breath and placed his hand on the crystal. For a moment his expression slacked, his eyes looked blankly ahead and the crystal glowed ever brighter. It was over in a moment, the boy gasped and withdrew his hand, but while he did so the Whitethorn crest on his neck shone bright, shifting from grey to brown until it settled down, gently glowing in his newly won color.

"Next." The unimpressed council saw this on a very regular basis. The children congratulated the boy, and each in turn approached the stone and succeeded. Every nation had a brown crystal on loan from the arcane temple in the southern mountains, the last place magic was said to still linger when it first disappeared. But there were three stones that travelled the continent, a different country every six months. A large crystal of warm hues that would grant the colors yellow, orange, or red. Then, there was a small crystal that shone with the cool colors of the winter sky, purple blue and green. Anders wasn't sure what the third crystal looked like, but almost no mages were allowed to challenge it.

The children were dismissed to retrieve brown robes from the Quartermaster and other business began. Mages who wanted approval for projects the crown might consider dangerous had to approach and argue a case for them to be allowed to do so. Mages with complaints or grievances came to have them settled. And still more mages who had requests or complaints about the treatment of mages by the soldiers came forward, the council was the one outlet for the mages of Whitethorn to discuss matters with the Guardmaster.

Anders listened for hours, the meeting was known to go on for much longer than he was willing to stay, so he went back to his rooms for the night, having found nothing new. He had to hope Jak was having better luck.

Jak was at a loss. If Magnus Hughes was dead, who sent him to steal the journal? And who would also steal Anders's notes, but not the device itself? If it was the same mage, could they continue on without their book?

He rushed out of the yard of the Rivers Edge and to the supposed townhouse of Magnus Hughes. The lawn was still neat, the shingles still orderly, and nothing was any different than the day he handed over the book.

He walked around to the side of the house, taking care no one was looking out a window to see him. The door was locked, which was to be expected, so he picked it. The door swung open with no other protests and he let himself into the kitchen. It was strangely empty. There weren't any people in it, but neither was there bread on the counter. No food on the shelves at all, no dishes in the sink or fire in the hearth. His skin crawled. He went to the sitting room from before, and it too was strangely empty. Many of the books and artifacts were gone. Not all of them, for that would have taken a sizable string of horses and carts. The city would have noticed. But a noticeable amount was taken, and they had to have been carefully selected for how random the selections seemed.

Every room was the same. There was no sign of life left in the house. Essential daily life items were gone. There were no clothes in the trunks and wardrobes, the candlesticks were all empty. He shivered when he realized there hadn't even been time for dust to settle.

Jak tore the house apart, and by the end of it he had to admit defeat. He didn't have enough information to figure out what was going on, and he wasn't sure what to do from here. Tomorrow he could go try to figure out who the room belonged to, but tonight he had to clear his mind. The very best place to do that would be an infamous bathhouse in Lolathia, but he wasn't in Lolathia right now. He settled for a more local establishment.

"Jak you scoundrel! When did you get into town?" He found himself in the parlor of a buxom Nummelinean woman.

"A couple weeks Madame Vi." Jak smiled and bowed his head. Rose perfume dripped from her as she pulled Jak in a tight hug. Her loose red robes were cinched tight at her waist with silver cord, and flowers embroidered on her sleeves and collar matched a fresh cut iris in her hair.

The parlor was decorated with paintings of snowy Nummelin and the furniture had ample cushions all over the room. She lead him to a room with a large sofa and a table covered in sweets and drinks. Two girls were already lounging in attire far too little for the cold spring winds of Selstad, and they poured him a hot glass of tea when he sat down.

"What will it be today? Dinner with company or are you staying the night?" The Nummelinean woman purred in his ear and helped him remove his cloak. The girl on his left gasped at the scars Anders gave him and received a sharp look from Madame Vi.

"Just a few hours to forget my troubles. I have somewhere to be later." Jak laid back and let the lovely women coo over his muscles and scars. A third entered with a tray of tarts and Madame Vi winked at him through her long lashes.

"Of course Jak, anything for you." She sat across the comfortable room in a pink cushioned chair. "Where have your travels taken you of late my little bird?"

"Here and there. I came through Linmead last month, if you haven't heard the little prince was born safely. Has his mothers eyes, or so the bards say." Jak let one of the girls rub his stiff shoulders.

"Good to hear, but I trade in something a little bit juicier than that." Madame Vi purred from her seat, delicately selecting a tart from the table.

"I don't have much for you I'm afraid. All is quiet in the mountains when winter falls you know." He quoted a Nummelin saying.

"Well I can't argue that." She said. "Of course, there is an interesting rumor about you circulating."

"And that is?" Jak raised an eyebrow.

"You were in Dhalvnais after the Cat's perch." Her eyes lapped up his scarred arms and wicked daggers.

"Ye've got to be joking." Jak snorted. "If I wanted a knife to the gut I could have found it here. And I went through Unays on my way back, but I didn't go through the capitol."

"Oh? I must have been misinformed." Her roving eyes landed on his scar. "But someone carved you up most unusually."

"That's a bit straightforward for you Madame." Jak scowled. "I may have been bested, but not by the likes of a blade. And I'll be leavin' it at that."

"And but of course I meant no harm. I'll leave you to your evening little bird." Madame Vi elegantly sauntered out of the room, leaving Jak to the expert care of her girls.