"Pardon me?" the man asked.

"The sages! Have they come and gone?"

The scribe master blinked in confusion and sputtered, "How do you know… Yes, they just—"

A scream echoed down the empty street.

Ghassan il'Sänke was barely half a block away when he heard horses' hooves and flattened himself against the nearest building. Before the Feather & Parchment were five—no, six—of the Shyldfälches. And that annoying Captain Rodian was badgering the master scribe.

Then Miriam's terrified scream pierced Ghassan's ears.

He glanced the other way, and all three sages were gone.

The young ones were in danger—and the folio as well—but he could not be seen here.

Ghassan ducked low, pulling his cowl forward to hide his face. He turned his eyes upon the city guard and saw Rodian running toward him.

Six at once was not easy.

Each of the three arcane patterns doubled in his vision. Six patterns drifted over his sight, centering on each city guard. All patterns expanded until they overlapped and linked. One recitation of the incantation sped through his mind.

Ghassan bolted onward, racing ahead of the captain as he searched the night for three young sages.

Rodian dropped Snowbird's reins and ran toward the scream as horses' hooves scuffled on cobblestone behind him.

"Captain, wait!" Garrogh shouted.

Then something moved near the base of a building.

Rodian swerved toward the street's center and pulled his sword. The nearest street lantern was too far off to reveal…

He looked again, but nothing was there.

Another scream erupted.

He had no time to search the shadows, and ran on. His boot heels ground on cobble as he halted to check a narrow side alley. Halfway down the shadowy path he spotted a light, but it was low to the ground and didn't fill the space between the close buildings.

A black mass stood between the walls, like a piece of slowly shifting night.

Rodian took one quick step, then flinched at a shout reverberating out of the tight space.

"Fire… from light!"

Flames erupted across the alley floor.

Rodian stumbled back as flickering orange-red tongues curled up the side walls. A sudden wall of heat rolled out around him. But the darkness remained up the alley's center path, splitting the fire's light—and it moved.

A black mass… a tall figure with its back turned… stood amid raging flames squirming over its form. Fire crackled but barely illuminated the figure's garments of night-black fabric. A great cloak writhed as if the heat filling the alley made it dance, sending its folds spreading to the alley walls.

Cloying fear crawled over Rodian. He shuddered once and lunged into the alley, raising his longsword as he shouted, "Hold and yield!"

The figure didn't turn—and it lashed sideways at the alley wall.

Rodian thought he saw a robe's sleeve emerge from beneath the billowing cloak. The sleeve slid up an arm wrapped in strips of black cloth. Its like-covered fingers gouged straight into the brick, tearing out a hunk as smaller fragments scattered everywhere.

Rodian raised his free hand, shielding his face from bits of brick.

Before he recovered, the figure whipped its hand, slinging the chunk of wall down the alley beyond it.

A dull impact cut off a shriek, and the fire instantly vanished.

Rodian blinked, blinded for an instant by the sudden loss of light. He cocked his sword and rushed in.

Ghassan faltered at the dark form filling the alley. A wave of fear washed over him—into him—as though northern autumn rain had drenched his clothing. He did not look away from the figure, even as he heard the captain coming up the alley behind him.

The light upon the alley floor was a cold lamp crystal cast there, still glowing brightly. And Ghassan heard a whisper from beyond the tall, black-robed figure.

He would never have recognized those nearly voiceless words, even if he had heard them clearly. But he knew what was happening. All mages found their own utterances, just as their symbols, necessary for their art.

Somewhere down in the alley, Dâgmund was chanting.

Out of all those of Ghassan's order at the guild branch of Calm Seatt, only Dâgmund had shown true aptitude for the deeper skills. Not even Premin Hawes had the boy's instinct for thaumaturgy via spellcraft. This was why Ghassan had chosen the young journeyor to accompany whoever retrieved the folios.

He had tried his best to tutor Dâgmund, sharpening the young man's well-developed skill. But Dâgmund was not a seasoned mage—and thaumaturgy could not create as conjury did. The journeyor was too slow for this moment, even with the speed of a spell.

"Fire… from light!" Dâgmund suddenly shouted.

Flames erupted from the alley floor—from the crystal's brilliance—and raging red light silhouetted the tall black cloak and robe.

Ghassan shielded his face from the glare and heat. He knew what Dâgmund had done.

The journeyor had cast his crystal at the figure's feet and used thaumaturgy to transform and magnify its light into fire. An easy change, since light and flame were of the same element. But Ghassan was still startled by the magnitude of the effect.

Flames licked high around the figure, more so than Ghassan would have expected Dâgmund could call. But not one bit of the night-black fabric even smoldered.

Flickering red-orange tendrils tangled about the writhing cloak, slipping along its curling and rolling surface to splash off like water upon oiled cloth.

"Hold and yield!" Rodian shouted from the alley's entrance.

The last thing Ghassan needed was the captain blundering into his back, and he banished the glimmering patterns held in his sight. They had barely faded when he replaced them with one doubled square framing nested triangles. Fresh glyphs, signs, and sigils ignited in the pattern's spaces as his mental incantation finished. The pattern raced across his sight, centering on the back of the black cowl.

Flecks and chips of brick struck il'Sänke's face as the figure lashed out at the alley wall.

Ghassan lost focus as Dâgmund cried out.

He flinched, growing colder inside as he heard the journeyer's voice cut short.

The fire died instantly.

Ghassan heard a rustle and snap of cloth. His sight adjusted to only the cold lamp crystal's light. He flattened against the alley's wall as the figure turned.

The cloak's wings snaked and twisted up both walls, clutching at the brick surface as if alive. And the creature held the folio in one hand wrapped in shredded strips of black cloth.

Its cowl, that pit of blackness, turned directly on Ghassan.

He instantly released the pattern and symbols, quickly calling others. As they rose in glimmers across his sight, he collapsed them inward around—into—himself, sinking deep into his own mind. Someone shouted, "Sir!" from the alley's open end, and the black-robed figure raised its other hand.

Ghassan threw his will against the ground beneath his feet.

The figure lashed out at him just as Ghassan's body shot upward into the night.

Rodian squinted, trying to make out the dark shape filling the narrow space and blocking out the small light upon the ground. Fear sharpened as he made out layer upon layer of black cloth billowing like a cloak over a dark robe. The cloth lashed the alley walls as if the air were still driven by heat.

And the figure whirled about.

Though it was backlit by the light beyond it, Rodian couldn't make out a face inside the heavy cowl. There was only more darkness in that hollow—but it didn't center on him.

It swung left, and whoever hid within it fixated upon the wall. In its hand was a leather folio.