Joel's ear hopped off his head, and walked away – on adorable little legs – to squeeze under the door and listen in. Joel was pretty chuffed with himself. He'd adapted a body extension spell from one of the oldest Golden Era books in the Citadel library.

The spell was used to 'disembody' your own hand so it could reach or fetch or move great distances without being attached to your body. The incantation was very handy, he'd thought, but what would happen if you used it for other body parts? So he'd tried and succeeded, first with an errant leg that could hop and kick, then with a wayward ear that just lay there listlessly. He switched up the spell and changed the wording until he managed to give the ear some minor sentience and mini responsive appendages – and now, it was perfect for spying.

It didn't really matter that he could have just cast a generic magnify hearing spell. This was way, way more his style.

Spell creation was something that people didn't do anymore. Firstly, there weren't enough talented and powerful arcane spellcasters to be bothered. Secondly, there were tomes and tomes of spells that already existed from which to choose and which no-one had exhaustively tested. Thirdly, those spells were tried and true, and didn't involve experimentation ... that could (and often did) go horribly wrong.

But making spells was what Joel had always felt he was meant to do. Unfortunately, as a rebel in a time of war – and as the only known caster with four different magic aptitudes – the world disagreed; he was a valuable weapon, not an artist with skrit writing. And, so it was.

But he still liked to dabble. And, he thought, it wasn't his magic that defined him: it was his creativity and his sense of humor. Joel didn't want to be the greatest magician or the greatest warrior. Hells, all he wanted, all he had ever wanted, was peace. To feel safe to pursue his dreams of crafting his own spells. Not that that did him any good at the moment – his time and effort were monopolized by his duty to protect, to do what was right, and to strive for a better world. With his talents – that many seemed to envy – came a weighty responsibility. His aptitudes were both a gift and a burden. He hadn't asked to be able to affect the world in such a significant way, so if he was going to have a life expectancy of less than thirty, he figured he might as well squeeze as much enjoyment out of living as was humanly, sinfully, possible. Make tweed out of twine, as they say.

Which was exactly why his attentions were currently divided. His ear was listening in on the colossal argument happening behind the heavy oaken doors of Jorah's Grand Magistrate office, but his eyes were following the pretty new teacher at COTR, the Children of the Revolution Academy, who was wending her way down the hall with an enticing wiggle.

Joel was leaning against the wall, nonchalantly, looking rather cool, if he did think so himself. He'd heard her name was Lisa. She had a pretty librarian look going for her – brunette with bangs and a high bun, great big glasses hiding beautiful big, brown eyes, short, and curvy in all the right places. She was probably in her mid-twenties – to his nineteen – but he liked a more mature woman. To be honest, he just liked women in general: the way they smiled and flirted coquettishly, how their hair always smelled like flowers, that there was always something aesthetically pleasing to admire whether it was the elegance of a long slender neck or the way the bounce in their step made their ...

"Lisa, isn't it?," He inquired conversationally.

She turned back, books clasped to her chest, and smiled at him, blushing bashfully.

"Yes. And you're ... Joel?" she asked in a sweet, high voice that sounded like the chiming of bells. Unfortunately, the loud yelling in his right ear was making it difficult to concentrate. Which was particularly annoying because Lisa seemed awfully sweet.

"Glad to hear my reputation precedes me," he flashed her his most devilish grin, while trying to ignore the angry brawl he was overhearing. "I hope the teachers and students have only said good things!"

She dropped a book self-consciously and he caught it before it even had a chance to hit the ground.

Perhaps Ellie was feeding the rumour mill again, if he could make an adult woman so nervous with hardly more than a flirtatious hello. Or it might just be that the teacher was distracted, taking quick glances at the tattoos that wound up his arm in a colourful sleeve up to his shoulder.

"YOU ARE THE MOST IRRESPONSIBLE GENERAL IN MY ARMY. I SHOULD DEMOTE YOU FOR GOING OUTSIDE OF ORDERS!" Jorah was shouting, and Joel felt like he was being berated himself, almost as if he was standing right beside Rowan and Jorah. He felt a bit guilty for letting Rowan take the heat, while he flirted with a pretty lady. He might have to barge in and interrupt ... but ... Rowan was good at handling herself. And Lisa had very pink lips.

"Yes, of course. Only good things!" Her eyelashes batted furiously behind her smart rims, a perfectly feigned image of innocence that was, in Joel's expert opinion, very effective.

But all of a sudden the girl's expression warped. She was giving him a funny look. Really very strange. Not at all the look he normally got from interested parties. Her hand flew reflexively to the side of her head, and it immediately dawned on Joel.

"Right, my ear is missing, isn't it? It normally isn't, I swear. My head is generally much more symmetrical. I look far more handsome with two ears. I'm using my other one to listen in on a conversation though, so it was needed elsewhere." Joel winked at Lisa conspiratorially and she giggled.

"I should probably get back to the class I'm teaching," Lisa said, her tone conveying disappointment. He still had it, he thought, smugly, whether he had one ear or two.

Joel let out a long and obvious sigh. "And I should probably intervene before my best friend is murdered by the Grand Mage & High Commander."

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE CONSEQUENCES OF WHAT..." Joel heard Jorah yell. Damn. He should really get going.

"Which class are you teaching?"

"Oh, the year nines! I'm teaching them the history of rune magic. They're a lovely grade." She shifted her books and balanced them on a hip.

"Do you have the Freds in your class, then?" They were his favourite students, three identical female triplets who nobody could ever tell apart. Their parents had decided not to even try, apparently, naming them all Winnifred, much to Joel's amusement – now they went by Winnie, Fred, and Fredrica. But if you shouted for Winnifred, three dark-skinned twelve-year-olds with matching afros would respond in unison. Joel had an important task for them to do today that he knew he wasn't going to get around to and he suspected they'd like the extra cash he'd be willing to pay them.

"The triplets? Yes, they're all so bright!" Lisa's wide lips broke into a mesmerizing smile, her perfect, straight white teeth gleaming.

"Would you send them down to the Colton Bridge after class? I need to talk to them."

"Mhhmm," she nodded. "Will do."

"IT WAS COMPLETELY UNSANCTIONED, AND YOU SHOULD HAVE CLEARED IT WITH ME FIRST. YOU'VE PUT EVERYONE HERE IN DANGER ..." blared in Joel's ear, along with quite a lot of expletives and some more angry accusations that ended in "AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"

"I really gotta ..." Joel pointed at the door behind him.

"Me too," Lisa said, adjusting her square-framed black spectacles, pushing them up the bridge of her slender nose with her index finger.

Joel gave her a wink, turned towards the door, hesitated for a moment, turned back and waved, pulling himself away with considerable effort. Then, he twisted the golden lion door-handle and barged in.

For a moment there was utter, and completely blissful, silence as both Rowan and Jorah glared at Joel. Jorah, all four-feet of him, was rigid and tense. His long white hair and beard, almost the full length of his body, looked tussled, and a wisp of his beard was ensnared in the pages of a book that sat on the desk beside him. He had been caught mid-mad-gesticulation, arms in the air, the wide sleeves of his blue robes billowing.

Rowan stood about a foot away from Jorah, towering over him perilously, hands balled in angry fists at her sides. She was still in her battle leathers, her platinum hair braided on one side, down on the other.

Though the Grand Mage & High Commander was a little person – or dwarf, as the Htraeans would say – he had a commanding and formidable presence. Normally meticulous in appearance, his unkempt hair being dotted with spittle was a pretty good indication that he'd been berating Rowan with the full force of his incensed wrath.

Joel also knew Rowan's withering look and was rather grateful not to be on the receiving end of it this time.

Joel shrugged at them both and leaned down to pick up his right ear. It was hiding quite visibly under the corner of a large Naccorom rug. The office, filled as it was with enchanted items from all around the world – a full suit of armor that had a watchful air about it, a wall of masks, sundry paintings and statues and doodads – had given the ear plenty of hiding places to choose from. Joel put it to his head, mumbling under his breath and ordering it to re-adhere to the side of his face.

"Strictly speaking, it's not all Rowan's fault," Joel said. "It was my idea."

Commander Jorah laughed, a disbelieving and unforgiving laugh.

"Joel," he said, sternly. "I don't need a truth spell to know you just lied. You've been trying to take credit for Rowan's schemes ever since the two of you could plot. I know you both well enough to know that you were involved, but I also know that this has Rowan written all over it. Don't think you've managed to diffuse the situation. There will be plenty of punishment to go around," he finished, crossing his arms over his chest.

In Joel's experience, one of the problems with having a war Mage as your guardian was that they were almost always wise to your tricks.

"But you're so much harder on Rowan!" Joel protested. "It's not fair. She saved people, good people who deserved to be saved! You should be proud of her. She was brave." He would stick up for her, and rightfully so, until his last breath.

Rowan shot Joel a grateful look.

"And you think I should give her an award for insubordination!? For putting everyone here, children at the Academy included, at risk?"

"How did I put everyone here at risk?" Rowan interjected, defending herself. "The mission was a success. We got everyone out! Nobody was hurt, nobody died, there weren't any casualties!"

With Rowan at the helm, there were never any casualties. Her team was the best. Well trained, responsive to orders, a true tactical dream team.

"Think, Rowan!" the Grand Mage growled at her. "You saved, what? Maybe thirty people? And put yourself in danger in the process? Put the team and Joel at risk. For Rathion's sake, don't you see how you possibly just put the whole rebellion at risk? You are wanted by the Empire. You know this. You are the rightful heir to the Aary kingdom! You are most likely the key to the Empire's downfall and the queen knows it. If she caught you ..." Jorah was irate and red in the face.

"Right, and a Queen or Empress should take care of her people! She shouldn't leave them to suffer when she could stop it. She shouldn't cause their suffering."

"I understand the sentiment, Rowan, but you don't seem to understand the stakes. You should have come to me, told me. We could have sent a different team."

But they'd probably come back with casualties. Would have buggered it up, Joel thought.

"No! You never let me fight. You treat me like a child, not the heir to a throne! And certainly not a decorated General."

"Then stop acting like a child! Generals follow orders. The mission should have been cleared by me."

Rowan glowered back at Jorah, steely eyed and stubborn.

"Come on, guys. You both have good points. Can't you just agree to disagree? Rowan, you promise to clear all future missions with the head honcho and Jorah, you say you'll try to take Rowan's opinions and advisement into account?" He smiled at them, oozing charisma and charm as he tried to gain footing as the mediator.

"No," they both fired back at Joel.

"Fine, but ..."

"Did you use a teleportation spell?" The Grand Mage asked, his eyes boring into Joel this time.

Joel threw up his arms to indicate that he was guilty as charged. "Yes, but we left from a hidden vantage point a ways away from the camp, somewhere hard to find in the forest. AND, I used a mirror which we broke on return. If they even managed to track the location we left from, they'd still have to trail the spell down thousands of different paths and directions based off of the refracted light trajectories from the reflective surface. It would be next to impossible. And the evidence of the final destination has been broken so ... they could get permanently lost and ..."

"Not good enough. It would still be possible to track, slim though the chance might be. And if the Empress knew that Rowan was involved, she'd stop at nothing to try and find her. They could track us back to Headquarters with the full allocation of a thousand Arcane Wizards. If she found us ... I don't need to tell you what that would mean. She'd wipe us out. All our hard work would be ..."

The old wizard, the war veteran, let the consequences hang in the air, unsaid.

"Just tell me ... you didn't ... use fire," Jorah said, and his tone conveyed disbelief that they could ever be so stupid.

Rowan looked instantly guilty. "I didn't have a choice! I had to get the little girl out. I'm sorry. It was a last resort. I – "

General Jorah slammed his hands down on the desk violently, and Rowan and Joel jumped.

"How much fire? How much? Did you leave any evidence?"

There was a tense silence and Joel moved to squeeze his best friend's hand in a show of solidarity.

"A room of burned soldiers and one mage ... and likely some scorch marks." Rowan's hand subconsciously traced the burns on the side of her face, under her hair, as if the gesture of touching them could wipe them away, and with them her culpability.

"She'll know," the Wizard-Commander said, his voice resolute, certain, laced with concerned indignation.

Jorah moved back behind his desk and plunked himself into his regal chair, crumpling, deflated. He was immediately engulfed in his tufted and elaborately-carved, small throne. He rested his elbows on the desk and put his head in his hands.

Gods, their Grand Mage and High Commander already looked defeated, Joel thought. Always a good sign during a rebellion. Jorah raised his head and stared at Rowan.

"How many female rebels do you think there are who are able of controlling fire like you?" Jorah demanded. "I'll tell you! Not many. Gods-damn, probably only you! That amount of fire magic is not only a signature, but like a fingerprint! Years ago, after you escaped, for all the Empress knew you were dead. Now she knows you're alive and that you're here, working with the rebellion. It was stupid. Rash! We've managed to keep you hidden this long and you've gone and exposed yourself. We don't have much time now. She'll come after us. We'll have to move, close down the school, go underground. She'll be doubling her efforts to find us and squash us now she knows."

"No!" Rowan cried out. "That has to be an exaggeration!"

"No, General. It most certainly isn't. I'll have to inform the Counsel, see how they want to respond. You, Rowan, are the Empire's biggest threat. It's not only the prophecy, it's your bloodline. You are the next in line to the Aary throne and a symbol people can gather behind. I'm disappointed in you. Disappointed that you didn't foresee the possibilities. A good General looks at the bigger picture, projects all possible consequences to their every action. If you can't even be a good General, how will you ever be a reigning Queen? I thought I taught you better than this!" His lesson came out, hard and brutal, the way Jorah intended.

It was his disappointment and not his rage that made Rowan's indignant anger deflate into dejected defeat. Rowan and Joel had been best friends for so long that he knew her moods like he knew the changing tides of the sea. Her stubborn defiance had given way to personal beratement.

She was always so serious, so responsible and hard on herself. Joel would have to cheer her up, remind her that she'd saved lives. He had always seen it as his responsibility to teach Rowan how to have fun. She'd feel better once he brought her back to visit with the refugees. After looking at all the happy faces, all the people she'd been responsible for freeing, they'd go for a pint. Or two. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to try her hand at flirting. Fat chance, but he could try. It'd be like trying to teach a goat how to dive. Funny enough to be worth the effort.

"It's okay, Rowan. You did your best," Joel said, supportively. A pathetic attempt at comfort, he realized, but until he could get her to a bar it was the best he could do. She looked stressed.

"Yes, well, I'm sure those you saved are thankful, Rowan. But, you will be punished," Jorah, their leader, their warden, the disciplinarian who had raised them, continued the lecture.

"But I have important information. I was going to speak with you this morning, before..." he let the rest of the sentence hang in the air, the tacit admonishment most likely something along the lines of before 'you did that stupid thing you did' but with more correct language.

"I have news of a personal nature. It will come as a surprise I suspect," Jorah hesitated.

In all the time Joel had been his ward, he'd never seen him digress.

"Rowan," the Grand Mage and High Commander Jorah cleared his throat, and paused again, as if he wasn't sure exactly how to say what he had to say. As an intimidating and naturally authoritative man it made Joel rack his brain for what could possibly create this sort of reaction. Normally, the punishment would be doled out and this conversation would have been concluded. There would have been yelling, and then orders and it all would have been done efficiently and succinctly. Their guardian was a busy and preoccupied man. But it was as if he was... irresolute.

"WHAT?! I what?" Rowan snapped. "I'm a big girl. I can handle whatever it is you need to tell me. You want to disown me? You want to demote me? What?!

"Well, no. This is unrelated to your disobedience."

Jorah's stalling was a clear indication to Joel that the old man didn't want to have this conversation. Curious.

"General," Jorah began, "your mother is alive. You also have two siblings – twins, a brother and sister."

Joel and Rowan gawked at their Mage-Commander.

"That's impossible and you know it!" Rowan blurted out, alarmed, when she had a moment to think it over. "Why would you taunt me like that! Why? Why would you say such a thing?" She looked crushed.

"Because it's true," Jorah conceded. "It was classified information, Rowan. I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you. But when your mother jumped off the cliff after the Meridian Battle, she didn't jump to her death. She survived because of the shields my brother and I had up to protect her. And she was pregnant. With twins."

"How long?! How long have you known this and kept it from me?" Her voice was cast at a low pitch as she punched the air with each and every syllable, straining with barely contained, quiet and dangerous rage. "I had a family somewhere and you didn't think to tell me?!"

Joel couldn't believe it. This meant ... he couldn't even begin to grapple with what it meant.

"Get your emotions under control, General. I understand this is difficult, but I need you to be strong, understand?"

There was fire in Rowan's eyes. Joel clasped her hand tighter, keeping it constrained, hoping she would be able to hold back the urge to slap the man who, at this moment, should have been the father-figure she needed and not the cold and determined head of a revolution. He was ruthless and the only man for the job, but he made a poor excuse for an adoptive-father, even at the best of times.

Jorah continued in his unyielding, unsympathetic and insensitive tone, all business no compassion: "They don't live in Htrae. They are currently in a different world, a twinverse to Htrae called Earth. They've been raised by my brother, Olleander. Even if you had known of them, you would not have been able to meet them."

"And you didn't think to tell me that my whole life, I wasn't an orphan. That somewhere on some sort of twinworld to Htrae, I had people who I belonged to? I trusted you! How could you do this to me? You kept my family from me! Where's my mother? How do I get to her?"

Rowan, slender and athletic, began to pace back and forth, almost frantically. Her hair fell into her ice-blue eyes as she struggled with the sheer enormity of this new knowledge.

But then, she stopped, pivoted. Her voice became pained. "How could she leave me here alone?" she asked, eyes looking glassy. "With you!" she spat, this time growing with vehemence. "Why would my mother leave her own daughter behind?"

Rowan's eyes watered and she swiped at her face furiously. Joel signalled for Jorah to stop talking as he moved in front of her and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her, holding her protectively.

He pressed his mouth to her ear. "It's going to be okay, Row," he whispered. "It'll be okay. Listen to me ... this is good news. Your mother is alive. You have siblings. This is great news. There's no way anyone would ever choose to leave you behind of their own free will, do you hear me? There has to be – has to be an explanation. You and I will get to the bottom of it. I promise. And then you'll have a real family: a mother, a brother, a sister..."

Rowan was shaking and overwhelmed, but she was Rowan. It didn't take her long to let go of him and compose herself, wiping the tears from her face and turning back towards Jorah with a willful air.

"Explain," she demanded. And Joel, not for the first time in his life, was proud of her ferocity and strength. She deserved a kingdom and he was going to help her get it back. One day, she would be a Queen to be reckoned with.

Jorah's nostrils flared with this blatant challenge of authority, but he capitulated. "For a long time, I didn't know what happened to your mother. After the battle of Meridian, Olleander and I went our separate ways. I came to Aary to try and find you, to save you before ... I failed."

Yes, he'd failed. He'd been too late and Rowan had been captured. Held and tortured. Burnt and left for dead. But neither Rowan or Joel ever blamed him for that. He couldn't have changed that.

"But my brother," Commander Jorah continued, "went after your mother. For years, I heard nothing from him. I thought both of them were dead. It was Sky, with her ability to look into different realms, who eventually found them a few years back. Apparently, Earth has certain physical and magical restraints that make inter-world communication impossible ... "

Jorah proceeded to explain it all: the other world devoid of magic, the fact that Rowan's mother was alive but completely and utterly mad – just a shell of a human Witch. He told them what he knew about the twins, limited though it was, and that Sky was there, now, convincing her siblings to come to Htrae. Jorah defended his decision not to tell Rowan, saying it had been the Council that had decided, that they were concerned it would distract her from the mission. How could she blame him when she made such reckless and impulsive decisions? Rowan probably would have tried to go to Earth when she had a responsibility to Htrae, to the rebellion, to the non-magicals, to the lost kingdom of Aary.

It was a lot to take in, all that self-righteous and sanctimonious bullshit, thought Joel. Rowan's life had just changed irrevocably in an instant, and Jorah was still thinking only of the cause. He had no faith and no trust in the young woman who had grown up as his ward.

Rowan sat there, still, calm, like a stoic anchor during a storm, listening and waiting.

"Sky has found a way to bring the twins back here. They too, will contribute to the war effort. They might be real players in the war to come," Jorah concluded.

When it was clear the Wizard had finished speaking, when he'd said all he wanted to say, Rowan took her time, her eyes drilling into the man who had just withered in esteem to little more than her General.

"You" she said, "have kept my family from me." He tried to speak again and she raised a finger to silence him. "You have lied to me. You have betrayed me."

Joel saw hurt in Jorah's his eyes that made him look old and tired, but he didn't argue this time, and he didn't protest.

Her voice was steady and her ice-blue pupils were devoid of all emotion. "I will never ever forgive you for this. Never."

And with that, Rowan turned her back on Jorah, her platinum plaited hair flipping with her, and she walked out.

Joel frowned at the Commander, then took a rolled piece of parchment out of his rucksack, tossing it at him. The commander caught it, looked down, unfurled it. It was a drawing. On worn yellowing paper were a little man and a girl in graphite, matching in height, crudely rendered, the words 'Jorah and Rowan Wumble' written in unconfident letters underneath. She'd drawn it, age twelve, six months after Jorah had taken them in. Sentimentalist that he was, Joel had kept it and carried it around with him as a reminder. It had been a hallmark for Joel: two orphans had found someone who wanted them. It was the moment he'd realized the broken little girl he'd rescued was going to be okay.

And this was the moment Rowan had realized that maybe they had only ever been wanted by Jorah for the impact they could have on the war, for what they could do for the rebellion.

Jorah Wumble's old arthritic hands shook as he held the parchment spread out in front of him.

"That could have gone a hell of a lot better, old man. Next time, why don't you just tell her you love her and that you can't stand the idea of her getting hurt? Making the wrong decisions? Wouldn't that be easier?" Joel never understood why Jorah always had to make things so difficult. Deep down, he cared. Joel was certain of it. And probably more about Rowan than him, though he had an odd-as-hells-way of showing it.

Jorah placed the drawing on the corner of his desk, and moved an orb, a crystal-ball-like paperweight, on top of it.

"You should be ashamed. You damn-well should have told her, and you know it! As soon as you knew," Joel said. He wanted his disapproval to be known.

"Be that as it may," the Grand Mage sighed, letting air out in a long, tired wheeze, "I chose not to. And there's still the matter of her punishment."

"Really?! You aren't done, yet? You haven't done enough damage? You know, you might be disappointed in her, but I'm just as disappointed in you, dad," Joel said caustically. "You might be a good leader, but as far as families go, you're a sad excuse for a father."

And for a moment, just a moment, Joel saw his words cut the old Commander, as sadness and hurt were expressed in the lines of his furrowed brow. There was something about Jorah that wouldn't allow him to let his guard down with Rowan, Joel thought, because they were both so damaged and so similar. He had always been the one straddling the two sides and brokering peace between them. This time Jorah had gone too far. Joel was quite staunchly in Rowan's corner. And he wasn't in a forgiving mood.

"I know," the Wizard conceded. "I never asked to be anyone's adoptive father. I've never been any good at it. But I do, did, my best. And I can't help that I'm also your commanding officer. Hard times call for unforgiving measures."

Joel shook his head at Jorah. Joel had known his parents. He'd loved them and they had given him unconditional love in return. Rowan had been too young to remember her parents. It was a travesty that this man was the closest she'd ever come to having a parent. He'd taken them in and extended them what love he knew how to give and for that Joel had always tried to be thankful, but family was supposed to come before kingdom. Always. The High Commander and Grand Mage, Jorah Wumble, had never understood that, so preoccupied was he with the weight of the war on his shoulders.

"I've decided that you and Rowan have to be separated. From here on out, the two of you are in different units and on different missions. Perhaps, she'll get into less trouble then. I feel that's quite lenient as far as punishments are concerned. I'll also be keeping her here, confined to rookie training on base. Meanwhile, you'll be sailing to the port of Mittgura, to pick up her siblings and escort them back here. Do you understand, soldier?"

But Joel didn't stay to hear the end of the command or to give the affirmative, yes sir. He had fled the scene, making no secret of flipping his leading High Commander off, and jogging after Rowan.

She was going to be so pissed. She'd need her best friend tonight. And likely, more than her fair share of the top-shelf hard shit. Good thing Joel had an in with the sexy red-headed bartender at the Empty Tankard. 

***

Joel!!! I can't help but have fun when I write Joel chapters. What do you think of him? Let me know. And if you enjoyed the chapter, please comment and vote. Thanks, Emmy :)