Jak sat lazily on a stone fence overlooking Whitethorn. His back was propped against a tree, and his gaze was casually taking in the goings on of the Whitethorn square. He had light brown hair, drawn into a horse tail and sharp green eyes. He kept some hair on his chin, where he hid an old scar. His frame was lean but strong, and he moved with a casual grace. His belt had several bulky pouches and two cruel daggers hung loosely at his bony hips.

The train of merchants flowed across the bridge, which was the sole access to the keep on the cliffs. Few paid him any attention as they traveled back to town passing by him. A smith and his two workers eyed him with some caution, as though he were a sleepy lion watching a herd of antelope. A few other peddlers looked his way, but paid him no other interest. Eventually no other travelers were on the road, and he had time to quietly watch the changing of the guards.

Every two bells the guards moved around to keep alert. They shifted positions clockwise around the walls or traded shifts with other guards from inside. They patrolled in pairs, and no part of the land in front of the keep went unwatched. The man stayed there all night. Watching, taking notes, waiting. Ensuring that nothing changed in the patterns of the soldiers since he last was in Selstad. He was gone by first light, no hint of his presence left behind.

Anders hunched over an empty fireplace in a seldom used library while Guilda quietly read nearby. No one actually cared what you did at Whitethorn, so long as you didn't destroy anything or hurt anyone, and were back in your room for lock up. The mages inside weren't going anywhere, and the desire to study, learn, and master their magic kept them mostly in line. That and the council of elected mages that policed themselves. In fact, the only ones in the keep other than the mages were soldiers and kitchen staff. If you wanted a clean room, you cleaned it. If you wanted to send a letter home, you had better hope you could pay someone from town on market day to take it to a messenger. There were periodic royal scholars that would come to research something with a mage, or conduct searches for illegal or magical contraband, but rarely other visitors.

The children are taught meditation and some semblance of control. Those are grey mages. Once you are deemed safe enough to wander the keep you become brown. Then you were on your own to learn or find a willing teacher. The assessments, which were of a magical nature themselves, happened every five years as they were done in each country on the northern continent in turn. Last year they were held for the mages in Nummelin. This year would be Selstad, Anders's chance to gain rank and leave the keep. That is, if he could pass.

"What is it that you are trying to do again?" Ghilda asked over the top of her book.

"Turn this stupid sand into stupid glass." Anders had several blobby, burnt, and bubbly piles of half formed glass. The bag of sand he got from Reece was nearly half gone and Anders was visibly frustrated.

"What kind of stupid glass do you need?" Ghilda smiled and turned a page.

"I need a case, sort of. Something to hold everything in place. I know the principal, the shape I need. I just can't get the temperature right. Or the, something. I don't know. I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong." Anders flopped onto his back, staring at the stone ceiling.

"Your face will stick like that." Ghilda teased. "You seem to have some semblance of glass in some of those piles. Why don't you try to melt them into the desired shape?" She put her book down and glided towards the fireplace.

"Lightning can't re-melt the glass. I don't think anyway." Anders mumbled.

"That is a conundrum. And I'm no fire mage." Ghilda inspected the blobs. "This is another part of your storage contraption, yes? I think what you need is to get back to the books, or find a willing fire mage. Are these safe to touch?"

"Should be by now, just leave that one there alone it's hot." Anders pointed. "Yes, the lens is for my storage experiment."

"Well, they are sort of charming. Do you mind if I keep one?" She was holding one of his somewhat better attempts.

"Go right ahead. I'm not touching the rest of my sand until I figure this out." He sighed, scooping his failed blobs into the sand bag and tied it closed.

"A memento of the great and powerful Anders then. To the books lad, you'll figure it out." Ghilda sat back down and opened her book once more, pocketing her lump of glass. "Unless you'd like to hear my findings on the site of the battle where Heldrich the Kraken split a mountain into a valley? I believe I've found an origin in Linmead of a folk tale that could possibly be at the root of the matter. I'm going to publish my findings with the royal library if my theories turn out correct."

"No thank you." Anders stood and stretched. "It's probably too late to hit the kitchen. Do you think they left out any bread?"

"You can try. I wonder if there are any of those tasty dill biscuits left." Ghilda trailed off into her reading.

"Biscuits!" Anders exclaimed, and he took off down the hall.

"Biscuits indeed. Don't you get caught or we'll both be in for it!" Ghilda chuckled as he burst out the doorway.

Down the hall and to the kitchen he went. A biscuit cutter might be just what he needed to keep the rough shape he wanted. Technically speaking, it was a punishable offense to be in the kitchens at all. Let alone at night. With no permission. But the knives and things were locked away, there wasn't much out he could get to, as long as he wasn't caught. He had all night to find the thing as long as patrolling soldiers didn't find him. Then he just had to replace it before the kitchen master knew it was ever gone.

He scoured the shelves for the tool, and picked up a few other odds and ends along the way. A bowl, a large spoon, and a pitcher of water. Laying everything out on the large butcher block he began planning his next move.

"If I arrange the sand in the right shape first..." Anders poured a small amount in the metal ring the cooks used to cut biscuits. "Then maybe.."

He stared at the table in front of him for a good ten minutes. Using the spoon he made a shallow dip in the middle of the sand. "Now what?"

Anders scratched his head, staring intently at the ring of sand, when a noise drew him to his surroundings. The distinct sound of scraping metal objects send Anders down a dark hall to investigate.

Anders walked down the hall as quietly as he could. The scratching metal sound started and stopped several times. Each time he held his breath so as not to alert his presence. Before he could make it to the corner, the sounds stopped altogether. He heard soft footsteps and picked up his own pace.

The mages shouldn't have much in the way of metal unless they got permission for a particular project and the soldiers weren't that quiet. Sure Anders was borrowing some metal tools, but under normal circumstances he would be punished for having anything they thought could be used as a weapon. When your power is shooting forth lightning, anything metal is a weapon.

He followed the footsteps for a few minutes, almost catching up but never seeing who they belonged to. The creak of a door made him lose all concern for stealth and Anders ran forward. Turning the corner a figure in hooded brown robes stepped into the shadows and drew two vicious looking blades.

Jak was nearly to his escape window when a scratching sound drew his attention. It was the all too familiar sound of lock picks in the hands of an amateur. Suddenly running footsteps were headed towards him from around the other corner of the hallway he was in. He was between an unskilled burglar and a running figure. He withdrew into the shadows as best he could at the last second when a young man with a fierce expression barreled around the corner. It was hard to see him clearly in the dark, but Jak knew he had been spotted and drew his daggers smoothly.

"Easy lad." Jack murmured.

"You don't belong here." The boy widened his stance. For a mage, he was someone who had been in his share of fistfights.

"I've no quarrel with you and I've harmed no one, though I'm not afraid to. Step aside and we can both be on our merry way." Jak squared up to show the boy he was serious. The moonlight from the windows shone on his blade.

"I'll yell for the guards." The boy threatened.

"And I'll have you run through with my knives and be out the window before your body hits the stone." Jak was tired of losing time. Every moment he stayed in that corridor was a risk of being caught by someone worse than some low level mage. "You've brought fists to a blade fight."

"No, you've brought a lightning rod to a storm." The next thing Jak registered was a burst of white. It blinded him, shooting through his dagger and up his arm. The pain was intense, a burning sensation that jolted him and knocked him flat. Jak was certain he had been through worse, though he couldn't think of an instance at that moment.

Jak sprang up and rushed forward, his struck arm barely able to keep a hold of his dagger. He threw his shoulder into the chest of this mage and darted past.

"Hey!" The boy shouted but had been knocked down. Jak was too quick and before the mage could make it to the end of the hall he was out the window and partially down the cliff. Luckily he wouldn't be visible from anywhere in the keep, and he could make his escape. The jolt to his arm was certainly slowing him down, but the first kiss of daylight was still far off and the cloak of night was on his side.

"At least I have the gods damned book." I'm chargin' extra for this."