If Wiccinas was to be described as quiet on this particular night, then Schloss Muttiberg, the highest of its spired castles and home to the Hall of Wizards as well as the Maguses themselves, could only be described as deathly still.

Only ten of the twenty-six Wizards were in Wiccinas, and of them, eight were residing in the castle. The remainder of the sorcerers were out among their subjects in the far reaches of Aolas, visiting their relations in The Lands of Man, or like Robbi and Vattus in Gleneden, visiting friends.

It was a slow time of year for magic and spells, the rains had been good in the spring, no disease ran rampant and the planet was doing a fine job of maintaining itself. The only thing of any importance taking place at this peaceful time within the confines of the castle was the care of the Rubitar, The Heart of Arishamal, the most powerful magical relic, along with the Abitar, on all of the Island Continent.

Ever since the Rubitar was returned to Wiccinas after having been stolen by Khalis, it was no longer put on display or paraded around for special occasions, as it had before the Khalisian Wars. Instead, when not being used in spells or for seeing, it was secured in a specially constructed niche adjacent to the Hall of Wizards. The niche was enclosed by a foot thick door made of tempered steel which, through a protective spell, could only be accessed by a Council member pulling it open. If anyone else were to try, a shock sufficient to jolt them into a comatose sleep would shoot through their body.

Pellus, the most ancient of the wizards, rejoiced in the quiet. His passion throughout his long and eventful life had been the night sky. The stars were his friends, and often, late in the evening, he would climb the grand spire of Muttiberg, the highest point in Aolas, and gaze at them, speaking to them as though they were old comrades, which, of course, they were.

He was unclear what the stars were, or if, as the astrologers claimed, they held the keys to the future, but he didn't much care. He knew they were distant, he knew they were somehow connected to life and death and took great comfort and calm in communing with them, feeling somehow that they connected him to the grandness of existence. He was lying on a straw pad, staring upward, inhaling on his pipe and chatting with the sky.

"It's nice tonight, my friends, no tasks for this old fool to perform. You see it all though, so you know, but perhaps you have more urgent matters to attend to. I'm stuck with Malvus and Jantus and five other grumpy magicians. The cheerful ones all had better places to be. Thankfully, you are all with me wherever I go,"

He thought for a while and then felt a bit guilty.
"I think I'm being a bit harsh on Malvus and the rest, it's just that they are always so serious, even about petty meaningless little things. I suppose that's good for me, they tend to necessary boring tasks and I am free to be here with you. I will have to make a point to thank Malvus for his diligence. He won't understand, of course, no imagination, you know, but it will make me feel better."

Pellus stood and walked around the path surrounding the spire. When he was overlooking the main body of the castle he leaned over the wall and looked down into the Council Hall, which was covered by an intricate mesh of silver holding panes of glass in the shape of a spider web. He could see into the hall and could make out some type of activity.

"I believe that's Malvus now," he said to himself. Reaching into his robe he pulled out a small spyglass which he raised to his eye. The glass dome covering the hall was slightly translucent, rather than completely transparent, so the image he saw was somewhat distorted.

"What on earth are they doing?" he asked of no one in particular. He could see movement back and forth in the hall. At times it seemed as though there were many figures moving and at times, only a few. Occasionally he thought he saw smoke within the hall, but that too, disappeared as he stared at it. Finally, in frustration, he put the telescope back in his robe and sat down again on his mat and addressed the stars.

"My eyes are too old, Malvus can wait. It appears he's organized some project in the hall and I have no urgent desire to participate. I would much rather be here with you, my friends. Please don't think me rude, but I'm a bit tired, I am ancient after all, and I think I'll take a nap with you."

Pellus curled up happily on his mat and was soon asleep.

Malvus was not the most popular of wizards among his peers. Contentious, opinionated, and lacking almost all humor, he was not considered good company. In his favor, however, was a meticulous sense of detail and an obsession with order and rules, which served him well as chief procurer for the council, as well as the wizard in charge of reviewing and appointing apprentices for the council's consideration.

He had the soul of a bureaucrat, mundane, but vital to the smooth operation of the Council of Wizards. His lack of humor did not mean he was incapable of happiness. He was generally a happy individual, taking delight in the politics of the Council and his own obsession with protocol.

This night he was happy, sitting in Vattus' chair at the head of the enormous Council table in The Hall of Wizards. He had scrolls and documents scattered in front of him and was busy comparing the names of prospective apprentices with genealogical charts to determine their lineage in relation to the seven first families, and by extension, to Arisha.

It was quiet and he was pleased that most of his fellow council members were away. Of the remaining wizards, most were friendly to him, especially Logi, Jantus, and Stach, who were cousins and of a similar mindset to Malvus, conservative and cautious.

His relationship to Pellus was respectful, though he felt the old man was too liberal in regard to the non-humans, and that he lacked the dignity Malvus felt a senior wizard should convey. It was particularly annoying to him that the old wizard would often sing or whistle at times of meditation and laugh loudly at the slightest provocation. None the less, Malvus' absolute sense of protocol assured that he would always treat Pellus with the utmost of respect due a wizard of his experience and stature.

The remaining three wizards residing at the castle, Sigur, Parius, and Cader were quiet, scholarly, and pious, hard workers and early risers, who were already, at this early night hour, peacefully sleeping in their quarters.

At about the same time Pellus had decided to ascend the spire to visit his astral friends, Malvus had concluded his night's work and pushed his documents away, leaning back and stretching in Vattus' chair. He looked up to see Logi, Jantus, and Stach, entering the hall carrying an amphora of wine and a tray of goblets.

Jantus raised his hand in greeting and smiled.
"We come bearing drink, you are the only one toiling today," he said brightly.

Malvus managed a smile, answering cheerfully, "And you wish me to continue toiling so you won't have to. That aside, however, I'm done for the night and a spot of wine and fellowship would be most welcome. Please be seated, brothers, let us drink."

The wizards sat at the closest chairs. Logi took a sip and commented, "I suppose Sigur, Cader and Parius are sound asleep by now," he sniggered, "they live as much in their dreams as in the real world."

"Yes," Jantus answered, "I saw Pellus earlier, he was humming on his way to the tower."

"Gone to talk with his stars, has he?" Stach smiled.

"I imagine so," Malvus grumbled, "if it wasn't for the fact he's been this way for as long as I've known him, I would swear he's becoming senile."

"He is an odd one," Jantus smiled and added seriously, "but a great wizard."

"No question." Malvus agreed.

Suddenly there was the sound of a muffled cry from outside the hall.

"What was that?" Logi asked standing. He began to walk to the large doors to investigate. The other magicians stood and walked behind him. A brown swirling smoke began to seep under the doors.

"Is there a fire?" Jantus asked nervously. The smoke was billowing into the room now. It crept along the floor, not rising above two feet in height. Soon, the four wizards were surrounded by the fumes.

"We need to leave now!" Logi shouted urgently. He ran to the doors with his comrades close behind.

As he reached out for the handle, everything became confused. Logi cried out in pain, a sword point protruding from his chest. He fell to the floor, dead. Behind him a cloaked mink pulled the sword from his body. Stach was the next to cry out and collapse, clutching at the blood blossoming from his chest.

Malvus could not process what was happening. He saw Logi fall and looked over at Jantus. He had been thrown against a wall and four different mink stood over him stabbing with their swords. Malvus could not understand where these cruel assassins had come from and then he remembered something from the distant past, stories, myths. He could not think long, as suddenly, as if out of thin air, a tall brown-robed mink stood, sword drawn. He looked up into the mahogany-colored warrior's dark eyes.

The mink spoke.
"This is a gift from Prince Vasheron, sorcerer! We are free!" He thrust out with his sword. Malvus fell in a heap.

The mink commander pulled out his sword, wiping the blood off with his cloak. The smoke had disappeared and in its place, eleven of the cloaked minks stood in a semi-circle around their leader. On his cloak he wore three silver braids, signifying the rank of colonel. He looked at the bodies on the floor and addressed his men.
"What of the other wizards?" he asked.

A brown mink with a scar running down his chest stepped forward and answered.
"They were asleep, Colonel Taois, now they are dead," he answered crisply.

"Good Mobus, how many wizards slain?"

Captain Mobus thought for a second.
"Counting these four, seven total, sir."

"Excellent. Now let us complete our mission."

Taois turned and headed to the door. He stepped over Logi's body, motioning toward it.
"Someone cut off his hand and bring it to me."

The grisly task was performed and the appendage handed to Colonel Taois, who had left the hall and was approaching the niche which contained the Rubitar. He carefully wrapped the fingers of the disembodied hand around the handle to the steel door. The mink wrapped his own paw over the hand and pulled. The door swung open without effort. Taois laughed.

"So much for their protective spell." He looked into the niche. Resting on a large velvet pillow was a six-sided, pointed, ruby-red crystal, about four feet high and two feet wide. It emitted a soft burgundy light.

"The Rubitar!" Taois exclaimed in reverent awe. He stroked it gently, then turned towards his beasts.

"Remove it and bring it to our wagon," he commanded.

Captain Mobus walked up to the colonel as his men began their task.
"Where to now, brother?" he asked.

"We head back to our ship in Seth-E-Raman and await our prince. We will assist our remaining brothers on the Wind Spirit in locating the Guild of Assassins and the seer Gadral Neure."

Pellus awoke with a start. Something was wrong, he could feel it. He jumped to his feet and looked over the wall down at the Hall of Wizards. He could see no movement. The aged sorcerer turned and entered the door to the spire and began to descend the circular stairs as quickly as his ancient legs would allow.

When he reached the main level, he was overcome with a sense of dread. He ran to the sleeping quarters and went from room to room until he discovered the bodies of Sigur, Cader, and Parius.

"Oh no, no, no!" Pellus cried desperately, fighting back tears. He ran with renewed energy toward the Hall of Wizards. As he rounded the final corner, he saw the open door of the niche, with Logi's hand laying at its base.   

He ran over to find the Rubitar was missing. As he stood staring into the desecrated niche, he heard a low moan. Pellus turned. There lying by the door weakly reaching out, was Malvus. His robe was soaked with his blood. Pellus ran over and cradled the wounded Wizard in his arms.

"The Rubitar...," Malvus muttered weakly.

"Be still, I'll get help," Pellus insisted.

Malvus grabbed his robe, preventing him from leaving. He pulled Pellus toward his body.
"Seth-E-Raman....Guild of Assassins....Gadral Neure...," he coughed up blood.

"The Guild of Assassins did this?" Pellus asked gently.

Malvus coughed and tried to speak. He paused and tightened his grip on Pellus.
"No...no...not Guild...not...," he struggled to speak and coughed again.

"Who?' Pellus insisted, leaning closer to hear. Malvus whispered in his ear and Pellus' eyes widened in disbelief. Malvus went limp as life finally left him. Pellus stared straight ahead with look of grief and horror mixed on his features.

"The Deev!" he muttered and closed his eyes.