A single, scarce beam of moonlight shone weakly down into the center of the dark room. There, it cautiously touched a circle of seven chairs, where it competed with several odd, low burnt candles for possession of the flickering shadows. The chairs themselves were very old, and fashioned from an intricately carved red wood gilded with gold and dark rubies. Seven men sat in the seven chairs; six silent, stern-faced professors and one stern-faced superintendent.
Near the door, there were nine others – Timothy, Yule, John, and their five antagonists, whom the Superintendent was addressing.
“Do you know what you just taught the younger classes?” he asked, standing up. He was a tall, well-built man, dark skinned, and betrayed to age only by his close cut white beard.
None of them spoke, and several glanced at the polished wooden floor to avoid his gaze. “How should I address this?” he continued in a sharp tone. “You will all be in the oldest class next year – you nine especially. It is no secret that you are the leaders within you class, but you may also be its ruin if you do not show some control.”
The silence of the room was audible when the Superintendent paused. Finally, he uttered a tired sigh, and glancing toward the window said, “Go. Change out of those filthy cloths. You will find out your punishment later.”
There was a quick shuffling and the slam of a door, and then silence again. A steady breeze was still blowing outside, and small wisps of it were drifting in through the window, causing the candle light to flicker quietly across the room.
“My Brothers,” the Superintendent began again, speaking to the other men around the circle as he seated himself. “I have not called this meeting merely to address issues of discipline. There are two item of startling importance which we must discuss, so that you all will be aware of the happenings at this school.”
Pausing, he picked up a letter from a small table by his chair. “I have just received this from the counsel. They are still at an impasse about our situation – and I have not received word yet from our friend as to whether it is safe for us to proceed. We must use caution. We do not know when or how exactly the prophecy is supposed to be fulfilled; and the counsel thinks that it could be turned to our advantage.”
“That is ridiculous,” interjected a long-bearded professor, whose name was Darkworthy. “The stars never lie. Does the counsel not know this?”
“The counsel has lost its perspective,” returned the Superintendent. “They see no army, and so they do not fear.”
“They are weak,” said another professor, Lord Elegand by name. “My brothers, hear me. These are perilous days for the Society. Casagovian pirates have been raiding the western shores, pillaging and enslaving without resistance from either the Kepland Valley or the Northern Kingdom. The counsel claims that the losses from these raids are insignificant, but we know better.”
“The counsel does not wish to admit that the pirates are no longer under their control,” added Darkworthy.
“There are the Warlocks of the Southern Marshes as well, on the Dourish border,” Lord Elegand continued. “Rumor says they are gathering strength.”
“I don’t understand,” interjected the professor of arms. He was a short, stocky man with a long, wild mustache and a thin crescent of hair about his head. “The Society has always had its enemies, and we have always dealt with them.”
“This is true, my friend,” Lord Elegand continued, lowering his voice. “But I have received news of something different. There have been whispers; small whispers, and yet deadly ones, of a great evil. After all these years, we thought we had killed the last of them; but somehow some influence of our old enemies, the Bards, steals quietly across the world.”
“Then times are grave indeed,” said another professor.
After a moment of quiet, the Superintendent, whose name was General Donnel, spoke again: “Lord Elegand asked me to call this meeting, and I think now you can see why. With the first situation, the prophecy, we must bide our time. It seems that the subject herself knows nothing; so we are safe, for now.
“The second reason for this meeting is the issue of who will be chosen as the head of the upcoming class. Brothers, for twenty years I have not seen a class like this one. As a whole, they are vastly superior to the preceding classes in all ways: as warriors, as leaders, as guardians of the Secret Arts, and even as healers.”
“It is the truth,” said Darkworthy, as he stroked his long beard. He was the professor of the Secret Arts.
“I would also agree,” said the professor of arms, twirling his mustache. “There are at least seven of them who I would say are better than the champion of the current graduating class. And the two who were facing each other on the table top when we entered the dining hall? They are the best I have ever taught. Do you know, they haven’t faced each other during practice for over a year.”
“Which is the problem,” said Lord Elegand, folding his hands. “The two commoners, Timothy and Yule, seem to have taken it into there heads that they are somehow equal to the sons of kings and nobles. And, much to his disgrace, the Dourish Prince, John, has made them his friends.”
“I would ask the Professors of this assembly to remember,” interjected the General, “the original reason for allowing commoners into this school. After the bloody Rebellion of the Shearers, which was entirely led by peasants, the High Counsel decided that it would be in the Society’s best interest to accept young commoners of renowned skill and indoctrinate them into the society.”
“I agree with this decision,” Lord Elegand replied. “However, I do not think that it was the original intent of the High Counsel for them to be on an equal footing with their classmates.”
There were nods of approval from every professor in the room, save the professor of Arms.
“The problem comes, then, with the fact that those three friends have a chance at winning the majority of events in the weapons trials and the Quest,” continued Professor Darkworthy. “In that case, we would look foolish, not choosing one of them as the class leader.”
“You have a problem with choosing John?” the Arms professor questioned.
“I do not think it wise to reward his choice of friends,” Darkworthy replied.

As older classmen, Timothy and John had the privilege of a two person room on the third floor of the old stone dormitory on the south wall. The room had been made comfortable by the addition of a large, worn old rug and several stuffed chairs, which were arranged by the old fire place across from the door. There was a small fire crackling away on the hearth, and a lamp shining steadily from its hook on the ceiling. Yule, who had joined the two roommates to study, was seated in one of the chairs, while Timothy sat on his own bed, and John sprawled out across the rug.
“Bother this,” John said, slamming his book shut. He rolled gingerly over onto his back and placed his hands under his head, wincing from where he had been kicked earlier. “You know,” He said, staring at the ceiling, “I should have used a bigger pasty.”
“With cream,” Timothy added, nodding but not looking up from his studies.
A small breeze floated in through the window, causing the lantern to swing and creak slightly.
“So, did you talk to the girl?” John asked suddenly.
“Girl?” Yule questioned, looking up from his book.
“There was this girl from the new class, sitting outside by the old gardener’s shed during afternoon study,” Timothy explained, not looking up from his notes. “Anyway, she was being punished by her warden – probably unjustly.”
“That brings back memories,” said Yule. “Do you think it’s because she’s a girl?”
“That wouldn’t make sense,” John interjected. “Her warden is a girl. It’s probably because she’s poor or something – um – no offence.”
“That’s alright,” Yule said, smiling and closing his book. “Tim and I wouldn’t want to be fat, lazy princes, like you.”
“I’m not fat,” John protested sharply.
“It’s because she’s an Agurri,” Timothy interrupted, putting his book down.
“You asked her?” John questioned.
“No,” Timothy replied in a low voice. “You can just tell if you’ve been around them before.”
Yule was staring incredulously at Timothy. “You’re not serious,” he finally said.
Timothy would not meet Yule’s stare. “She’s just a little girl,” he replied.
“How can you say that?” Yule’s tone was insistent.
“Yule, please,” Timothy said, quietly.
“No. Tell me,” Yule continued, shaking is head. “How can you say that? You’ve been around them – you know what they’re like. Thieves, liars, murderers; she probably lied to you out there to get your sympathy.”
“Yule, she hasn’t done anything to you,” Timothy said forcefully, raising his voice.
“She hasn’t?” Yule yelled, standing up. There was a dreadful silence.
“I’m sorry,” Timothy said.
Yule did not reply, but stared into the burning embers on the hearth. Finally, without looking at his friends, he stood up and left the room, closing the old wooden door hard behind him. John, who was no longer comfortable on the rug, heaved himself up and set his book on a shelf next to his bed. Walking over to the window, he closed the rickety shutters and put the bar in place, blocking the cool night wind from the room. For a long time, neither he nor Timothy spoke.
Finally, setting his book aside, Timothy said in a grave voice, “It must be hard, having you family murdered like that.”

It was not long before both friends had climbed into their beds. An occasional draft settled in through the shutters, and the embers in the hearth began to dwindle low as Timothy’s mind drifted off into the darkness of sleep.
As he slept, however, the drafts of air from the window grew until they were a steady breeze, whipping at his blanket and his hair.
“I thought you closed the shutters, John,” he mumbled, shifting in his bed, which suddenly felt hard beneath him.
Confused, he sat up and opened his eyes. To further his bewilderment, he found himself seated on a rock, looking down on an endless field of clouds, which grew slowly brighter as he watched. He glanced around and saw that he was situated on the side of a massive hill of rocks and shale, which seemed to be rising out of the clouds like an Island in an ocean. Further on, there were other islands, massive slabs of rock piercing through the clouds, spreading out on ether side of him like an archipelago until they were lost to the thin, cold air.
“What?” he mumbled, standing to his feet. Looking around again, he said quietly, “This must be a dream.”
It was then that he noticed a figure, standing on a rock ledge near by and gazing across the clouds. He began moving toward the figure, climbing over several boulders and stepping gingerly across piles of shale. Whoever it was was wearing a long, simple brown robe with a deep hood, and a white cloth of finer material draped over one shoulder like a mantle.
“Excuse me,” Timothy said as he approached the figure.
There was no response.
“A dream,” he mumbled again to himself.
“A dream indeed,” the figure replied, to his surprise.
Timothy paused a moment, and then asked, “Then how are the rocks beneath my feet so cold and hard?”
“That is how I made them,” the figure replied gravely and slowly, without turning.
Not knowing what to think, Timothy followed the strange figure’s gaze out into the clouds. The sun, which had been absent before, was just beginning to peep up from under the horizon, revealing in its full glory a vast array of colorful, silent towers and arches of mist.
“Are we standing on a mountain?” Timothy asked.
The figure nodded.
“Who are you?”
After a pause, the figure replied. “I am known to one of your friends.”
“Which one?” Timothy was starting to become impatient.
“You will also know me before a long time has passed,” the figure replied.
Looking away, Timothy shook his head. “Why am I talking with a dream?” he said out loud. “Why can’t I wake up?”
“I brought you here for a reason,” the figure said, suddenly.
His change in tone caused Timothy to look back up. The figure had removed his hood, revealing a face which, while not old, showed many lines of care. The expression there was one of concern and compassion, and his eyes seemed to radiate a deep wisdom.
“I brought you here to tell you that kindness and mercy are more important even than many things which you hold dear. You have crossed paths with her for a reason.”