The Henge Sorcerous

[Caden Law]

Go far enough north and strange things start happening. Nights stretch for months, days just as long. The hours slip by until the only way you can count them is by how long it takes your stomach to feel empty. Numbness becomes a discomforting fact of life as the cold eats at your skin and snowblindness takes a seat on the horizon and dares you to look away. Details fade and warp until the mountains behind you look as if they're falling out of the sky, and eventually even that's gone. Just flat white in every direction.

Sometimes, the moons of the world chase each other through twilit skies like great hunters gone wild or ineffable dancers motioning poetry. The sun never rises, it just squints over the horizon and stares into you. Stars are out all night, and their progressions are a definition of madness. It's the kind of environment that can drive a man insane in a matter of hours. Civilization doesn't prepare people for this. That's why Berevar is known as the Wilderlands. There aren't too many animals this far out, but there don't need to be. Berevar is wilderness incarnate.

In eons past, this land chewed up civilization and spat it back out to the laughter of a Winter Lady. What remains are a few scattered tribes of barbaric humans -- the only people insane enough to live here -- and the barely more numerous clans of savage orcs -- the only people durable enough to live here. Lights and spirits riot in the skies, ribbons lashing and phantoms singing. The aurorae come and go, unreasoning and uncaring of those below.

Chuff, chuff, chuff...

Two weeks into his journey, the Wizard called Blueraven was having a hard time not caring about them either.

Chuff, chuff, chuff...

It was the autumn twilight, that time where summer sun winks out and the moons chunder through the skies unopposed. Six months of night were about to take this land and there was nothing Caden or anyone else could do to stop it.

Chuff, chuff, chuff...

Steady was the sound of hooves beating the snow like hammers. Steady and monotonous, broken only by the occasional snort and bleat of Caden's mountain ram -- the first of his steeds to actually survive this long, and the only one who could've ever taken to this kind of environment.

Chuff, chuff, chuff...

Charger knew not rest, not hunger, not thirst. The ram just kept going. Its stride was such that Caden had fallen asleep on its back several times, clutching the reins to his chest and burying his face in stark white fur as he tried to ignore the growling of his stomach or the parched dryness of his throat. Charger never stopped, and the scenery never changed.

Chuff, chuff, chuff...

It was like the ram was being driven by some higher power.

Chuff, chuff, chuff...

And maybe, if Caden had thought to look back over his shoulder through the frost-coated lenses of his goggles, he might've spotted the white-and-pink dotted mushrooms springing up in Charger's wake.

Chuff, chuff, chuff...

Or the ink stains freezing into mathematical formulae around them.

Chuff, chuff, chuff...

Chuff, chuff, chuff...

Chuff, chuff...

Caden woke up to find that the ram had stopped and his vision was completely blotted, first by hair and then by frost. He struggled momentarily, forcing his fingers to release the reins, then wiped at each lense in turn. It was dark out, the moons were like a pair of mismatched eyes peeking up over the side of the world, and the night sky was a war of celestial whips and witnesses. All of it was silent. The only sound in those seconds, measurable only by a sixth sense that Caden could never truly rid himself of, was the gentle crackling of torches. The hushed intake and release of breath. And with the cold numbing everything else, all the Wizard could feel was a subtle pressure of attentions.

He lowered his gaze from the sky and saw the landscape change before him. The endless white wilderness had been interrupted - not truly changed, just interrupted - by a set of tents and freshly iced holes. Some of the snow was colored a deep, vivid red, and all the tents were made of hide and bone. Caden didn't have to enter any of them to know that all bore makeshift floors of layered rugs, and memory alone was enough to tell him that the insides still stank of burning dung. There was a single fish spitroasting near one of the tents; something big and awful looking with stumps where tentacles had once ringed around its mouth and empty holes where the eyes used to be. Most of the scales were gone, and so were the fins and the spines that should've been lining its back and belly. The stalk where a glowing sphere should've hung like a lure was missing too.

Next, the Wizard saw people. Human and Orc in near-equal number, most of them flesh and breathing but a single one that looked like a construct of faded red and white silhouettes, barely opaque enough to make out any details at all. All of the natives wore hides and furs that made them look twice their right sizes, and only the ethereal figure had his face uncovered. Three dozen and more sets of eyes focused on him in utter silence, indicative of a larger gathering than this place had seen in years. Axes and spears of bone shimmered with frost in the starlight, and Caden's numb ears finally registered hushed, unfamiliar words spoken in a language he only barely recognized after so long.

"He stinks of ink and mushrooms."

"I can hear a rustling from him."

"A scent like nothing I've known."

"Call the Wizard."

"Call the Wizard."

"Call the Wizard-"

Caden looked up from the group surrounding him, and more of the scene unfolded before him. This came with a terrifying sense of finality.

First were the blocks of ice-covered stone, gleaming like obsidian beneath glass in the night. They were the stuff that giants could not move, each one a tower in its own right, and not a matching pair among them. Some were taller, some were rounder, one was a perfectly carved rectangle and another looked strangely like an hour glass in shape if nothing else. Above them but not touching them was a ring of solid, perfectly crafted lime stones. All were the same shade of yellow and each one seemed to join into the next by virtue of sand flowing between them. There were words and numbers shifting across every surface, and Caden knew that if he stared too long he might start to understand them.

So he forced himself to look back down. And by then, the tribesmen had split into two groups around an almost empty pocket of space. On the one side of it stood the red silhouette, familiar enough that Caden would've called its name if his throat weren't raw to the point of muteness. At the center stood a man.

He was tall and bald, with a thick gray beard clumping with ice and snow. His eyes were Salvic blue, and his skin had the tan of an arctic sun. He wore the tattered remnants of a white and blue robe over heavy Berevaran hide, and carried a staff of solid white liviol decorated with bones and teeth hanging by half-frozen sinew. He carried a bone-framed lantern fashioned from a fish's glowing lure, and a heavy tome slapped audibly against one of his thighs with every other step, hanging in place by a solid steel chain. His features were strong, almost blunt, and his face looked as if it hadn't smiled in a very long time.

He wore a Hat. It had been pointy once upon a time. Now it more closely resembled a commoner's ushanka. Parts were white, most of it was still-

"Greyspine," Caden rasped, clutching at his own throat.

"Blueraven," spoke the older Wizard, unaffected by the cold.

"You...know...why...I'm...here," Caden said, wheezing out each word as his vocal chords tried to flex and stretch and work again. He hadn't spoken a word in weeks.

"I do," Jolstice said. "Which is why you should know what I'm going to do next."

Caden choked on an incantation. Jolstice had no such hindrance. The senior Wizard raised his staff and shouted, a sound immediately echoed and amplified by better than three dozen tribesmen. He brought the staff back down and Caden barely managed to draw his wand and aim it when Charger lunged forward.

The ram crashed head-first into a wall of ice. Caden flew off, over that ice, and landed face down in the snow. He didn't remember anything that happened after that.

[Caden Law]

The very first thing Caden said when he came to was, "I'm starting to get tired of waking up like this."

Perfectly understandable when you stop to consider that he had been knocked out and woken up in a cage at the start of his journey in time, and again when he came back from it. And again when he ran into the Wanderers in Starlight in Raiaera. Not exactly when he first made it back to Salvar, but absolutely when he ran into Xem'zund's Rogues in the mountains and Caden had kind of experienced it again when he finally made it back to Evernorth. At least he was conscious for the last one.

"Get used to it," one of the locals told him in a language that Caden was already remembering. A few of the emphases and one of the prepositions had changed since he last visited these parts, but he got the hang of it easily enough.

Which allowed him to respond simply, "Blow it out your shit chute, caveman."

Absolutely deafening silence followed. Caden took the time to assess the situation in more detail: He was still in full winter clothes with Wizardly coat and all that, but his Hat had been taken and he was completely disarmed. He couldn't even feel the familiar weight of the wand hidden in his coat. He was also bound with ropes made out of frostbitten sinew, which didn't at all feel pleasant, and the only things keeping him above the hypothermia threshold were Salvic endurance and a fire that positively wreaked of shit and worse. More to the point, he was surrounded by aforementioned cavemen and a few women and children too. All of whom looked slightly inbred and completely insane. They were like rag-clad bags of violence waiting to be untied and dumped on some poor bastard's head.

By all appearances, the one Caden had insulted was this with a side of Napoleon complex: Short and angry looking and Caden was in no position to fight back. Should have been humbling.

"What? Too backwards to even have your own cave?"

It wasn't.

Napoleon Bone-Age lunged forward with a roar like a dire bear on steroids. Caden managed to sit up and tried to meet him with a kick-

But the little guy fell over, stiff as boards and covered in some kind of thin, gray string that glowed eerily in the dull light of the tent's fire. More silence followed, complete with a dramatic entrance that Caden willfully ignored so that he could scoot over and try to kick the little guy's head in.

"Out," spoke the Wizard Greyspine, his voice not quite magic but edging close to it in intensity. "And take Matvek with you."

One by one, the tent emptied. One of the women dragged Matvek Napoleon Bone-Age out by his hair. Caden had to fight the urge to laugh, but this was mostly because he was confused as to why: Laugh out of spite at the little guy or laugh in absolutely underwear staining terror at his former teacher? In the end, he settled for a manic giggle that didn't do nearly good enough a job in either direction. Greyspine let him finish before shutting the tent behind him and taking a seat on the opposite side of the fire - the better to intimidate him, but...

"The cryptic mentor trick won't work anymore," Caden told him, snapping out of giggles and into stoicism and then, "I've seen you do it better with fewer eyes and more hammers."

If nothing else, Caden was starting to get the hang of crypticism in his own right.

Jolstice Aramson was still better at it. And better at ignoring it: "I read the book, Caden."

"That was fast."

"You were out for three days," Jolstice said. And this was a lie, and Caden knew it was a lie.

"Twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds," he replied, grinning. "I counted."

Wizard stared at Wizard. The air between them sparked and chilled, and the fire and the arctic conditions had absolutely nothing to do with it. Jolstice grimaced as he shook his head. "I read enough."

"No you didn't-"

"Right now, there's a dracolich demigod waiting to awaken beneath the streets of Scara Brae. What the striking hellfire are you doing wasting your time up here?"

"Page three-ninety-eight," Caden answered. "Top paragraph. There's tell of a Bloodless Baron awakening in the south. Three-ninety-nine, second paragraph: I used my old eye to scry into what's going on in Alerar. Full-fledged mobilization of the army. Looks like they've been planning this for a while. I don't think Xem'zund's onslaught would've made a difference. Next page, top line: I saw something crawl out of the moon tonight."

"What point are you trying to-"

"I DON'T HAVE A REASON TO BE HERE!" Blueraven Screamed, his Voice shaking baubles from the tent's bone-struts. Jolstice stared at him, mouth hanging open in shocked silence. Caden strained forward onto his knees, spitting a bit with every other word. "I've fought monsters, I've killed people, I've been tortured, hunted, hated, broken every single striking one of my own taboos and for what? It's hopeless! I can put out a fire a day for the rest of my life and the world's still going to Hell in a handbasket! Don't you get it, Greyspine? I'm just some pawn in the games Gods play with each other when they're not busy doing...whatever crazy things Gods do to keep the universe running.

"Worse, I'm a pawn without a motive. So the world's gonna end? Whatever. I'll die and it's gonna be horrible, let me tell you that. Read enough into the book and you'll vomit at what happens to me. And that's before I get resurrected and thrown at everything I ever knew and loved. Yeah, you didn't tell me that part when I met you in the future, but it's written. It's written in there, just like everything else.

"One apocalypse or a thousand, Greyspine. What difference does it make?"

Caden finished with a slump, hanging his head and sputtering for air. The fire had gone out half-way through his rant, as if the will to live had been sucked right out of it. Jolstice stared at him in near total darkness, then re-lit the flame with a snap of his fingers. He opened the book -- his own Grimoire, written by his hand, telling the story of things he had not lived to see. Caden fell over to one side, cursing and struggling against his binds, and Jolstice ignored him.

This went on for almost half an hour before the older Wizard finally asked, "Veshua didn't wait for you, did she?"

Caden stopped struggling, but said nothing.

"Figures. Dumb kid. Always framing that as your only reason for doing anything."

"Shut up."

"You've got a reason still. Wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Shut up, Greyspine. And cut me loose."

"What's your reason then?" Jolstice asked, closing the book and looking at his old student.

"I don't have one," Caden told him.

"What is it?" Jolstice asked, patience breaking his grizzled exterior with something very near sympathy.

"I don't need one," Caden spat.

"Why are you here?" the Wizard Greyspine asked, his Voice rumbling like steps of mountains.

It took a long time before Caden admitted, "I don't...know."

Eventually, Jolstice sighed, "And neither do I."

Another minute after that and Caden asked, "Could you please untie me now?"

Jolstice snapped his fingers again and the ropes untied themselves. Caden sat up, rubbing at his wrists. There they sat for a time, like a long lost father and son with so many things to say to each other that they couldn't find words for any of it. Which was true in some ways. Caden's real father had passed on not long ago, nevermind his banishment from Evernorth. Jolstice was effectively the only family he had left. He couldn't bring himself to admit that. It would've felt like a trespass of some kind. Especially after what had happened between them so long ago...

"...sorry I tried killing you that one time," Caden said. And meant it. (Mostly.)

"It's the thought that counts," Jolstice answered, rolling his eyes. "Aim lower next time. Body shots count for more when all you need's to take out a lung or the heart."

Silence.

A very long, uncomfortably awkward silence.

Followed by laughter that was somewhere between ordinary disbelief and genuinely morbid humor. Wizards do kill each other often enough that it's considered a natural cause of death, after all.

"So have you come up with a reason yet?" Greyspine sighed as the laughter died down.

"No," Blueraven admitted. "All I keep coming up with is an excuse."

Greyspine shrugged. "Good a place as any to start. What is it?"

"If," Caden stuck out a finger. "I am to be a pawn of some mad gods, the least I can do is be prepared for what they throw at me. Or what they throw me at. This place always struck me as the one proving ground that would do the trick..."

"That's not the whole truth," Jolstice noted.

"It's the only truth you're going to get," Caden told him impassively.

This was met with a nod, solemn and not very understanding. Jolstice had been around the block enough times to know when he wasn't going any further. So, like fathers everywhere do when confronted with something uncomfortably personal, he changed the subject: "A few nights ago...a few months, I should say, the Henge changed. That halo appeared from nowhere and blue feathers flashed on all the rocks. That's how I knew you were coming."

Caden nodded. "I was expected."

"By who?"

"Hells if I know. The Gods don't exactly tell their pawns what the plan is."

[Caden Law]

"You're insane," declared the astral projection of one Shaman Redhide, hovering in a seated position just outside of Greyspine's tent. "Do you actually know what this place is?"

Caden stared at the spirit of his old friend(?) and eventually shrugged without answer. Heedless of the freezing temperatures, he stalked over to one of the other tents. Jolstice came out a few minutes later, sighing heavily. Redhide looked to him with expectant, if ghostly, eyes, and the old Wizard just shook his head.

"He's hellbent on doing this. I couldn't talk him out of it."

"He knows the penalty for failure?" Redhide asked.

"He knows what he saw when I tried. He knows what we both expected when I failed. I think he believes he can cheat the system and get out of it alive if he screws things up," Jolstice said.

A thoughtful growl was the closest Redhide came to responding. The two stood in silence for several minutes, waiting for Caden to come back outside. He emerged from one of the other tents sporting a small bruise on one cheek and adjusting his goggles. There was a muffled profanity or twelve following him out into the night, all of it rendered mute when the tent's door flapped shut. Caden cracked his knuckles as he walked back to the other two, sword sheathed across his back and rod holstered at his side, next to his belt. His wand was nowhere in sight, his Hat had practically been frozen upright and he walked with a purpose that all but melted the snow in front of him into a neat, easily navigated path.

"I'm ready," he told them.

"No you're not," Jolstice replied.

For a fraction of a second, it looked as if they were going to start flinging spells at each other. Redhide was just a little quicker on the spoken word than either Wizard was on the draw. "There are rituals to follow before you can enter the Icehenge, Blueraven. Otherwise all you'll accomplish is several minutes of standing around like an idiot while people stare and laugh at you."

Caden looked at him. Jolstice added, "Forgot that part, didn't you?" And then a few seconds later, "Can't see how, considering all the crap we did getting me ready for it..."

"...thought that was just hunting and cleaning," Caden mumbled.

"Oh, because I enjoy spending seven hours bathing naked in half-frozen high-arctic fish blood-"

"In my defense, I was preoccupied."

Redhide raised a spectral brow.

"Don't ask," Caden ordered. "It involved liquidating spells into the snow."

"...I don't want to know," said the wise Shaman.

"Well, what's the first order of business then?" Caden sighed.

There are, in actuality, something like twenty-seven different ways to begin preparing for the so-called Icehenge experience. The vast majority of them are unpleasant and highly ritualized, designed to strip away dignity, pride and ego such that by the time an entrant finally enters the stone circle all he has left are a pile of questions and a sense of self-loathing nihilism and despair that could kill a sunflower in spring at fifty yards. It is a truly diamond mind that can withstand the suffering inflicted by what occultists of all shades consider Proper Precedure for an Icehenging. The method Jolstice had in mind was particularly vicious in that it involved digging a hole in the ice, diving face-first into the water and going fishing with nothing but a knife.

It's a lot quicker than it sounds. The things beneath Berevaran ice don't get warm meals all that often.

Fortunately for Caden (or unfortunately, depending on your point of view), there was a lesser known twenty-eighth way of starting the journey into Icehenge.

Just get it over with.

Mushrooms bloomed in the snow, ringing around the Wizards and the Shaman, rising and decaying in rapid succession. It was almost like watching a visual expression of music, except for the one place in the circle where the mushrooms kept blooming higher and higher and less like mushrooms and more like something else. Someone else. First came the legs, rising and falling, and then the hips, the waist, chest, arms, shoulders, hands, neck, face; all of it pale and blue-green like frozen flower petals...or perhaps more like an overly artistic rendition of fungus in the basement. The hair came last, verdant green and shimmering teal in starlight. It whipped about in some unseen, unfelt wind like the aurorae above.

She let them gawk for a few seconds before deigning to manifest any kind of clothing. It was not the burlap robe. Never the burlap robe. That was just a public relations bit, like the weeping and so much else. The Lady Chaos wore silk and jewels, barely enough of the former and far too much of the latter. Such was her beauty that it transcended race, species, or anything else for that matter. She was the kind of woman whose face could launch ten thousand ships and whose fashions could kick off a trade war.

And then, at long last, she opened her eyes.

It was like staring into the universe, except it stared back. Ineffable and judgemental, and you were always going to be found wanting beneath the weight of its gaze. Confronted with this, men became humble whether they wanted to or not. And in some cases it was worse than that.

Caden and Jolstice both knelt, as did every single person within the camp whether they saw Her or not. Redhide just screamed, his essence vanishing away as if he were a flimsy prop flayed to nothing by a strong gust of wind.

You're already as purified as you're going to get, Caden Law. Step into the circle and have done with it, she ordered, her every syllable causing stars to flicker in and out of view. She spoke without even moving her lips, as if the act was somehow beneath her station. When no-one so much as shuddered to move as she commanded, her expression changed. It was like watching an earthquake made out of modern libido and classical artwork. I see how this is going to go then. Won't move until your patron shows up, is that it?

"I don't know who my patron is," Caden Said, his puny Voice sounding like a candle trying to get the attention of an entire galaxy of stars.

It was the perfect cue to melt the snow all the way to the ice and dirt packed away beneath it. This happened so quickly that no-one even had time to notice that there was no steam, only the stale heat of a dry desert wind whipping through the night. With it came the sounds of pages rustling, of great books being shelved and unshelved, squeaky wheels turning and the glow of lamplights burning. Beneath glassy clear ice, crabs and sea scorpions the size of houses and outdoor markets could be seen tapping the surface in praise and worship.

The Sage God made his entrance with less rhythm and madness than the Lady Unbinding. A book opened on the ground, huge and bound in solid oak with a spine of platinum rings thicker than anchor chains. When its cover hit the ice, all of Berevar cracked and the world shuddered just a little bit in answer. The tome existed only for the time it took to open, for its pages to turn, for its words to flood up into the air and take shape -- but it had always been there. It had a permanence that made mountains look like blinking eyes. The letters did not twist, spin, swirl or anything of that nature: They constructed. They moved into place with purpose and brilliance and a plan too vast to be summarized by what mortal eyes could comprehend.

And what took shape when every word expanded and merged together was a great black cloak and mantle, worn over stark white scholastic robes that looked like they belonged to a desert prophet. The clothes were empty for a time, and then he appeared. His hands burst from the sleeves, innumerable and unfathomable and incomprehensible in every way -- but only for the time it took him to settle on a human shape. His head emerged in much the same way, pouring out into the air as tentacles, eyes, insects, stars, fire, and finally settling on human. He wore a turban of white silk covered in black mathematical formulae. No gems. No blades. The only accessory he carried now was the very book he had materialized from, suddenly so small that he could hold it under one arm without difficulty.

Like the Lady before him, he opened his eyes and nothing human looked out upon the world below. They were compound, shimmering like a billion billion diamonds made by force of intellect and will alone.

Showoff, the Lady noted.

The Sage God smiled as well, and it was more like watching someone pen the greatest work of science ever written than anything else. It helps to make a certain kind of impression when dealing with mortals.

The Lady rolled her eyes. You know my stance.

Which, it seemed, was the cue for another dramatic entrance.

Dramatic in the sense that the ice two miles away erupted all the way into the night sky. Dramatic in the sense that the geyser to follow was briefly made out of fire bright enough to outline a completely inhuman, completely unfathomable silhouette. Great armored wings arced through the night sky, blotting out moons and stars and aurorae all at once. Just as quickly as the wings appeared though, they began to fill with holes. Within seconds, they had collapsed back into the geyser, which itself collapsed into into a tiny ball in the night sky.

A tiny ball which got a whole lot bigger, a whole lot faster than anyone would have preferred.

The Ancient slammed down to the icy landscape just a few yards from where the other two stood, where Jolstice and Caden still knelt. He landed with a force that ends civilizations, and a restraint that encourages worship lest it be unleashed. There was no crater, there were no further cracks in the ice. There was only a great hulking figure, his appearance topheavy and its limbs powerfully muscled and already rotten with undeath. Water dripped from his mouth, his nostrils, ears and every gaping wound, until all of that vaunted muscle and every scale fell away to reveal a nine foot tall skeleton of solid gleaming gold, wearing only the tattered remnants of relic armor and bearing a trident crafted from whatever concept had given rise to Adamantine.

He had no eyelids. Only flames burned where his eyes should have been, tiny violet suns that reduced the water in his skull to steam and left his bones shining that much brighter.

I was wondering if he would show up, the Sage God mused.

All this for one little mortal. I don't think this many of us have gathered since we empowered those spoony little bards to put down Aesphestos. A giggle. A divine giggle. D'you guys remember that one bard clapping like that?

The Sage God groaned, which sounded something like a printing press being smashed. The Ancient One merely shook his skeletal head and Said, I'm simply here to keep the peace.

His Voice, it bears mention, was more like the tidal wave that washes away a harbor city in the night. Apathetic and unstoppable.

The Lady cocked her head to one side, expectantly. It was the Sage God who saw the Ancient One's reason, and he explained it accordingly: With this many of us gathered in place, for one purpose, with a mortal like this one, she will notice it. And she may already have a vested interest in him, just as I do.

All the better to get him out of my domain then, said the Lady with a dainty little shrug that could've sparked avalanches in Alerar.

Your domain is all the world, the Sage God noted humorlessly.

Exactly.

Another deific sigh. This passed for a conclusion to the Thaynes' congress, and the Wizards finally looked up from the ice -- just like everyone else -- to see the Sage God raise his hand in offering.

The time has come, Caden Law of Salvar. Rise.

Caden did. For a long time, he was the only one who did.

Your trial awaits.

[Caden Law]

Icehenge was bigger inside than out. Caden took this in stride, except for the part where Icehenge kept getting bigger inside than out. Every step further into the great stone circle put another mile between him and the nearest exit, such that by the time he finally reached what his gut told him was the center, Caden could barely see the original pillars standing around him. Only the halo remained, spread from horizon to horizon like walls of sand and gold bridging earth to sky. The stars themselves perched there, watching like a million billion little voyeurs to a spectacle that had not yet truly begun.

Caden watched them in kind for a few seconds, then took off his glasses and put on his goggles. He put the glasses away in his Hat, steeled his resolve and tried not to hold his breath too much.

The Trial began not with a swung sword, a cast spell, a dissonant insult. It started when the ground began to shake, and the snow shifted from winds that weren't there. At the Henge's heart more pillars shot up out of Berevar's desolate earth, sundering ice and permafrost on their way to the surface. Seven in a circle, great obsidian mirrors covered in snow. Three of them flashed, first white and then some other color in turn: Blue, then violet, then yellow. When the second color faded, each mirror showed Caden another picture of himself.

Blue, just as he was now. The only differences were the presence of his old Raiaeran chestplate and shoulder pauldrons, and the fact that this version had a spear to accompany some striking new scars. The spear was exactly what Caden had wanted to build when he first left Raiaera: Five feet long, glossy red wood with three grips, a counterweight shaped like a great iron ring and a spearhead measuring twelve inches of liquid crimson metal built around a sapphire core. It pulsed with magic even as a mere reflection.

Violet was himself, but different. He wore a violet mantle on his Wizard's coat and a matching belt on his Hat, and in lieu of the Arcanist's Rod he'd bought at Dendrestok was a long steel truncheon like the ones used in Evernorth and other Salvic cities. It bore gems and rubies and a handguard etched with scripture and a wedding vow. Caden didn't have to read it to know what it was.

Yellow was the least recognizable, but Caden knew him in the same way he knew words in a book. He wore yellow robes and a hooded cloak to match, plain and simple. Brown boots stuck out beneath the robes' hem, his hands were stained with ink and in his grasp were Caden's Grimoire and the Staff of Power he might have built in another life: Six feet of oak that the Wizard knew was cored in liviol, capped at one end and bearing a solid silver knob on the other. The entire thing was covered in Diamonic runes.

Lightning flashed overhead, cutting through the aurorae that still danced in the night.

The blue mirror cracked, and Raiaera's premier War-Wizard, Commander Caden Law of the Blueraven Brigade stepped out into the world. He made it all of four paces before stopping, hanging his head just long enough to reach up and adjust his goggles. He looked up, the lenses momentarily tinting white, and then he began to draw in power.

But there was something wrong, and the real Caden knew it.

"Doppelgangers don't have pupils," he muttered. "What the hell are you..."

"Myself," Said the Siege-Wizard Blueraven, hefting his spear with one arm. "Pilum Arcana!"

He threw it. Caden jumped out of the way and it wasn't nearly good enough. The spear arced low and came in more like a cruise missile. It struck the snow between where his feet had been and suddenly there was nothing but naked ground in a perfect circle around the point of impact. It expanded to sixteen feet and Caden felt an unseen shockwave hit him from behind, throwing him a few more yards from the spear. An instant later, everything in the circle just collapsed. A crater formed all the way to the way to the permafrost that Icehenge stood upon, its walls crafted from molten glass -- walls that immediately collapsed until the spear itself was out of sight and only a steaming bowl remained in the ground.

"Siege Arcana with a spear," Commander Blueraven explained. "The spell you failed to come up with because you weren't there for the Battle of Galonan."

There was suddenly a chain in his hand, linking all the way into the glass-filled crater where his spear once stood. The Commander gave a yank and his weapon erupted back out of the ground, tumbling end over end until it landed perfectly in his grasp. He gave it a little spinning flourish, just because Caden knew that he could, then hoisted it up for another shot.

"Pilum Arcana!"

"Won't work on me!" Blueraven Said, his hand gesturing the Wand of Nevermorrow flying from its place on his belt and smacking hard against his palm. "Gravity Gambit!"

The spear struck an invisible ball of clashing gravity and anti-gravity. Magic collided with magic. The spear went wide of its target by precious inches and power driving it nailed Caden in the side. He twisted all the way to the ground and came right back up on his feet, wand already aimed and lightning already bursting from its tip.

The Commander countered it with lightning from a wand of his own, a steel number that looked like a railroad spike pretending to be a fencing dagger. The spells met a little less than half-way, absorbed into a ball of electricity and imploded in a spray of ghastly little sparks. By then, the Commander was charging forward, his free hand enveloped in ghost-chain and his wand flicking and swishing through spells given without an incantation: Magic missiles, arcane bursts, bolts of lightning, rocks that tore up out of the ground and went wide.

Caden countered every single one. His responses were blunt, ugly even; nothing as graceful as a Wizard so exposed to the Bladesingers of Raiaera. War waged between pragmatic art and utilitarian survivalism, and with every spell the Commander drew closer. His spear was in his hand, his eyes had purpose. Soon they were too close for Caden to even counterspell him.

Commander Blueraven lunged in for the kill.

Caden sidestepped, jumped forward and kicked his other self's leg out from beneath him. Bowie in hand, he went for the kill without even looking.

And he missed because of it.

The Commander hit the snow with a bloody gash from cheekbone to nose. Grounded, he kicked Caden's own legs out from under him and tried for another stab. Caden slapped the spear's blade away, took hold of the spear and missed several killing blows due to the Commander's chestplate.

And then the Commander nailed him in the face with a great big magical fist fired right from the tip of his wand. Caden felt every tooth in his skull rattle, his nose broke and his Hat flew off as his body accelerated from zero to fifteen on impact, fifteen to forty as the fist drove him into the air, and forty to sixty as it finished catapulting him skyward. The Wizard landed with a scream and a roll, thankful that he was already numb from the cold. It was the only reason he was able to recover so quickly.

"Pilum-"

Stone Maiden Mausoleum requires a few spoken words and, more often than not, some measure of prep time. Caden had neither. So he just focused on the ground in front of Commander Blueraven and willed a pillar of rock to shoot up through his lower jaw, into his skull, and out through his scalp. The Siege Wizard flailed for a few seconds, morbidly comical, and then he was dead.

Caden watched it happen.

His stomach twisted a little bit at the sight of his own dead face, blood already frozen at the entry wound.

Oh dear. Looks like the first one's done for.

Unsurprising, the Ancient One sighed, and a great invisible hand seemed to brush Commander Blueraven's body out of the way -- out of existence, for that matter. Only the bloody spike remained, as even the spear vanished before it could touch the ground. War may harden a man, but a hero only dies once.

Caden stood up, his breath coming in ragged little clouds that were all tinted a bit red. The blood was already congealed on his upper lip, and he didn't know or care why it didn't just freeze outright. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

The world shook a bit, as if shrugging in answer.

"...so that's how it's gonna be," Caden muttered.

Lightning flashed again.

[Caden Law]

"Now," Caden said to himself, barely audible over the dragging roll of thunder; of the Lady's capricious whims. "Now comes the hard part."

He tightened his hold on the Wand of Nevermorrow, then drew the Arcanist's Rod from his belt and gave it a few practice swings. It wasn't like using a sword, but it was close enough. And it was a distraction from the inevitable.

The thunder died away, and in its place came the crushing of snow underfoot. The sound of a truncheon arcanum being given a few practice swings of its own, and Caden could hear the rustle of immaterial feathers coming from every single jewel in the process. He closed his eyes, shut out the empty pit in his stomach and focused on the pain covering his face. Focused on it hard. Enough that when he asked the inevitable question, it came out with a straight face and an unwavering voice.

"When did you diverge?"

"Not following you," spoke Watchman Law, one of Evernorth's Clerical-Wizards and the only one of its members fully commissioned to wear a badge.

"I'm guessing that you're all...derived? Shot off? Whatever. You all come from specific parts of my life where it could've gone differently. The good Commander seemed like that anyway. So, tell me," Caden looked up, willing himself to stare sidelong at the man he could have been, in the velvet he really would have worn. "Did you run from Salvar? Did you fight in the Day of Untold Agony? When did you stop being me?"

"When did you stop being me?" Watchman Law asked, incredulous and amused in the same breath. "I never left Father Salvar. Ever have I striven to uphold the good Saint's teachings. Blessed are the Sway, loved are they that walk in their ethereal light," he declared, and the words themselves were not frightening. Words alone are hardly ever frightening. It was the tone behind them that shook the Wizard Blueraven right to his core: Simple, honest belief. The kind of faith that he had never been able to muster, the kind that he was no longer capable of.

"Veshua married you?" Caden asked in genuine disbelief.

Watchman Law smiled pityingly. "Yes. Yes, she did." He held up his hand, and the studded silver ring worn on his finger. It was violet, just like the mantle and belt. "I'm sorry that things didn't work out so well-"

"Shut your godsdamned mouth," Said the Wizard Blueraven, and the battle was joined. He didn't wait for the Watchman to make the first strike. Caden stuck out his wand, grabbed a few hundred pounds of solid rock and threw it at his violet-clad self with one catapulting swing.

The Watchman replied with a wide swing of his truncheon and a wall of violet-blue feathers billowed into place after it. The rocks slammed into the wall and came through as dust. By then, Watchman Law was already spinning through to his counterattack: A battering ram in the likeness of a raven's clenched foot.

Caden dodged it. He took aim with his rod as the spell blew by, then unleashed a stream of magic missiles. Watchman Law threw up another wall of feathers and had to dodge the missiles that got through in spite of it. Caden kept him off balance like that for a few seconds, then fired off a lightning bolt from his wand. Watchman Law met it with his wedding ring.

And where there had been a wall, now there were only wings. Great big blue-feathered wings, every line between them defined in violet. They completely encased the Watchman, shielding him from harm until Caden finally let up with the missiles. An instant later, the wings snapped open and stretched wide in fifteen foot arches, each of them glimmering in the dark of night as a violet flame burned from the stone in the Watchman's wedding ring.

"In nomine Amor, punirò tu," the Watchman declared, his truncheon suddenly catching holy fire.

"Bring it," Blueraven told him, crossing wand and rod with a sneer on his face and hatred in his eyes.

The Watchman burst from the ground, snow ripping up in his wake. He closed in with a Scream and Blueraven met him in kind with a Thermal Lance and an Arcane Blast. Wings blocked the first, a hard swing of the truncheon took the second. An instant later, Watchman Law went for a haymaker with his wedding ring-clad left hand. Caden ducked under it, twisted out of the way of a blind kick and fell under an equally blind sweep of Watchman Law's left wing. The Watchman slammed down a few feet away, turned around and Caden rolled away just in time to avoid being pulverized by Law's right wing. He came up with a defensive swing of his rod and barely parried his other self's truncheon.

This close in, the battle would be decided by subtlety.

The Watchman was an officer first, a Cleric second, and a Wizard last.

Blueraven was a Wizard to his dying breath. And his Wand, low and seemingly useless in a melee, had its end aimed right at the other Caden's face.

Arcane blast took off the right side of Watchman Law's head, tearing away part of his hat, neck and shoulder in the process. He collapsed in a heap, leftover momentum dragging him down on one side as his wings evaporated and the fire went out from his truncheon and ring both. He went to the ground in the order of knee, knee, hip, hand, elbow, side, back, head.

Caden watched him on the way down, staring at the thin chain around his neck. It was only visible now that he was up close. He knew it lead to a locket though. He had a good idea what the interior would've said.

And with another sneer, Caden deigned not to linger over it.

He left the body where it fell and didn't bother watching as it too evaporated into thin air.

Ouch, spoke the Lady Entropy, and Caden could not ignore her or any of the other gods.

Love is over, noted the Sage. Only wisdom remains...

The Ancient One rumbled disagreement. Lightning struck again.

[Caden Law]

There was now exposition with this one. The Scholar in Yellow struck out as soon as his feet hit the snow: Spells arced from his staff in streams of mathematical lunacy and prosaic rambling, each one trailing feathers the color of the mid-day sun as they went. Caden scarcely had the time to turn around and his reflexes put him on the defenses so quickly that he actually didn't think about what he was going to do next.

He just didn't have time to.

In amber clad, the Scholar hammered away at him without even deigning to raise a finger or shout an incantation; his magic was Wizardry in its purest, least somatic form. All willpower and long-term goals. Caden could counter the magic missile stream coming down on his head but he'd have to be ready to sidestep three rolling rocks the size of chariots doing it, and then he would really want to pay attention to the shifting letters melting their way into the snow in a circle around him and-

He couldn't win.

The best that Blueraven could do was to catch up to his yellow cloaked self; match defense for offense and try to buy himself some breathing room.

"That strategy won't work," the Scholar told him, and Caden's own common sense bitterly echoed it. "I can cast faster and my magic is stronger."

As if for emphasis, he finally gestured with his staff -- a very weak motion that managed to plow one of his magic missiles right through Caden's defenses. Arcane blast detonated at the very heart of the spell with no effect whatsoever, and then it dove for him like a nimble bird. Its beak took Caden square in the stomach and drove him to the ground, piercing his coat and shirt and skin and leaving blood all over his midsection.

Ignoring the pain was easy. He was already going numb from the cold. Ignoring the fear was not. Blueraven focused it, drove it to quicken his reflexes and thoughts. He all but danced on the edge of a knife as he stuck the arcanist's rod up and let fly with a machine gunner's stream of magic missiles, all of them looking like blue ravens that arced high and spiraled back down in a ring around him. What spells they couldn't destroy on impact, Caden tried to counter with his wand. And it worked for a while but...

"You can't keep that up either."

Another shot snuck through and Caden felt blood splattering all over his face. An arcane blast, weakened but potent enough to flay skin and spray blood. He bit back on a scream and instead demanded, "So who the hell are you supposed to be?"

The onslaught stopped.

It was so ridiculously quick and simple that Caden wasted precious seconds trying to defend himself from attacks that weren't coming. His other self made use of the time to raise his staff and, as he did this, raise a great stone chair as well. He took a seat and the chair ripped up from the ground, levetating by the time that Caden himself had managed to get up on his hands and knees.

The Scholar rested his staff in a slot on the chair's side, opened his grimoire and waited for Caden to struggle to his feet. Then he asked, very simply, "Who the hell are you?"

"That's my-"

"No, it isn't," said the Scholar, paging through his book in frustration. "You keep asking each of your opponents that question and yet you never stop to think about it the other perspective. Who are you, Caden Law? Who are you, Wizard Blueraven? It's not about when we diverged from you. You didn't even know we existed until you came here, and in all probability, you're still not sure we exist even now. The question then becomes: At what point did you diverge from each of us?"

Caden stared at him. The Scholar adjusted his glasses and kept on, his chair rising higher and higher with every word. "That's the real question. When did you decide not to take up a spear and develop Siege Spellcraft? When was it you decided that mere Survival trumped Love and Tradition? When did you give up your pursuit of Knowledge Arcana to become a silly little play-thing for a pantheon you refuse to truly believe in? Has it ever even occurred to you just how many avenues of power you've given up over the years?

"And for what?" the Scholar asked. "What have you gained, Caden? What has it all been for?"

"Stone Maiden Mausoleum."

The chair suddenly restructured into something the size and shape of an outhouse or a particularly large coffin. The Scholar's staff tumbled free of it before he could so much as scream, and then the spikes hit. Blood leaked out from cracks in the bottom. The Mausoleum hovered for a few seconds, dropped and shattered when it hit the ground.

At least the Scholar's body was gone by the time the Mausoleum came apart. Caden clung to his wand and rod in the meantime, breathing hard and foggy as red blood congealed and froze its way down his arm and across the side of his face.

"Son of a bitch," he spat in defeat.

Because he might've killed the Yellow Raven, he might've undone the Scholar Caden Law, but he hadn't won the battle. He hadn't answered the question. The aurorae churned overhead, colors blurring and changing as the winds stilled in mocking silence.

"Well?" he sneered into the night. "Is that it? IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?!"

As was rarely the case when a mortal made demands of the Gods...

Not even close.

...the Thayne of Althanas listened...

[Caden Law]

The sky changed. The colors of the aurorae multiplied, and the layout of those dancing lights became a swirling madness of beauty and terror; like a hurricane made out of clashing rainbows, the souls of dead ancestors gone to war. At its heart lay an empty calm through which stars could be seen. Caden stared at the shifting wonders in breathless awe, such that he wasn't even paying attention to the cluster of figures now dominating the horizon.

The Ancient One, the Sage God, and the Lady Entropy spread to the true nightside of the world, each one standing tall as a mountain and seeming to fall short of the auroral tempest by whimsey alone. Across from them, where the sun had long since set and would eventually rise anew, stood three more figures just as tell and just as impossible to comprehend.

The Strong in his guise as the Hunter, lion's head and mane contrasting with a great ape's body and a man's hide-clad legs. A war-axe hovered next to him, so large as to dwarf whole commerce fleets, its head a hammer on one side and an axe on the other. The haft was wrapped in skins, those that the Mad Hunter had judged over the eons; judged and found wanting.

The Wilder clad in great gold wings that were studded with stars instead of mere gems. She was a beauty of twisting incomprehension, her color changing from human tones to natural camouflage to urban grays. Her clothes changed like her skin, from primitive rags to sophisticated dresses to garments that no native-born Althanian would have words for. Only the wings remained a constant, draped over her shoulders and sweeping down to provide modesty when clothing would not -- and only because the Wilder enjoyed secrets.

Last was the Queen of Seasons, come to watch the show in a form that was written in no book, because words couldn't do it justice. She wore reality in the ways that mortal princesses wanted to wear ballroom gowns and in the ways normal women wished they could wear lingerie. The appearance of her was beauty and fertility, lust and life incarnate.

Caden's gaze shifted from the trial's first three sponsors to these new godly gatecrashers, and his stomach fell somewhere in between his knees and only stayed from going lower because he was a Wizard. A Wizard is always thinking, always grasping, always trying to understand even that which, by its very nature, cannot be thought, grasped, or understood by mortal minds. Caden looked upon these elder gods, these Thaynes of the World, and could not help but feel humbled by their presence.

Humbled and terrified and focused. And just a little bit sardonic: "Feels like I'm at a clerical reunion dosed on bluebread and Father Tzalm's special wine," he mumbled, looking away from the gods and turning his attention to the task at hand.

Lightning struck, sundering the auroral hurricane above. Green, teal, and orange slammed into three of the remaining stones. Each one positively burned white-cold, then black-hot, and then assumed one of the three colors in turn. More of him stood within them, but he didn't have enough time to study this next round of selves.

Forth! Queen of Seasons called, her Voice thundering through Caden's bones and right into his soul. He almost fell over in shock. Go forth, my champion! My Spring Knight Rising!

There was literally just enough time for the Wizard Blueraven to think, That can't be good.

The next thing he knew, there was a raven's shrill cry and the world went green and violent.

[Caden Law]

Blood hit the snow in a lengthy trail of dots and drags, like some kind of twisted morse code. Caden screamed and screamed and ran out of breath and kept trying to scream anyway. He went forty, maybe fifty yards before hitting the ground again. It was with a roll that cost him both rod and wand; hard to keep a grip when your body's going through numb spasms of thermal shock from rising heat and crashing cold and the added pain caused by water freezing and steaming your clothes in the same instant.

He eventually did stop. And he lay there for a while, trying to remember why any of this had ever sounded like a good idea. Then he heard the crush of snow, and the determined huff of breath, and Caden knew that his time of rest was over.

He got up. It wasn't quite that simple, and nowhere near as clean, but the Wizard Blueraven pulled himself up and his blue coat was now stained very red in the shape of a crow's foot; both shoulders, one side just beneath the armpit and the other wrapping around a leg. The actual clothes weren't damaged. Caden was already certain that the skin hadn't even been broken. Whatever spell hit him had basically tried to exsanguinate him on the spot. He took a moment flexing his fingers, then looked up with a vision half-blurred by ice and mist in his goggles, to say nothing of blurs inherent in his vision.

He didn't recognize himself for a long while. This new Caden was that different. He wore a pointed hat, but it was green. He wore a long t-shirt sleeved tunic or tabard in lieu of Blueraven's coat, and a longer-sleeved Akashiman kimono shirt beneath it, judging by his arms. His pants were heavy and black, the boots brown and both Coronian in style. He had a mantle of cold iron, its texture patterned after grass. His belt was heavy leather and pure utility of a sort that Caden had only heard about, never seen: It had no pouches, no satchels, no holsters of any kind. Gear simply stuck to it by magic, arming this version of him with no less than three increasingly eldritch wands, dozens of seeds and nuts and leaf-shaped bits of metal that could've been anything from weapons to decorations to reagents.

Even the weapon he carried was unfamiliar. It was like a greatsword or a short spear, its hilt stretching for three feet and its blade sweeping four more. The wrappings were leaves, the guard consisted of branches, with more stretching up along the back of the blade itself. Eldritch symbols littered the thing. Littered the man holding it.

Could've been war-paint, but Caden doubted that. You don't daub on war-paint beneath your clothes, and this version of him had lines that went right into his sleeves and collar and didn't stop. They looked like a tangle of vines, symmetrically patterned all over.

Even with all of this, the basic features were the same. What made him so hard to recognize was the way that he moved. Caden had a certain gait to him, a body language he recognized instinctively. This being moved differently. It almost reminded him of the first Blueraven that Caden had fought tonight, except even more like an elf than that. Every step was measured in passing. Every twirl of his blade, a calculated flourish aimed at psychological impact. Even the set of his shoulders and the steady way that he breathed and the fact that he didn't wear glasses or goggles of any kind.

"So," Caden asked. "Where the hells did you come from?"

The blade stopped twirling.

Caden grimaced, flexing his fingers and his magic with them.

"I did what I had to," Spoke the Spring Knight Rising, the Verdant Raven of Queen Lurline; Sir Caden Law of the Spring Court. "And so will you."

Blueraven favored him with a nasty smile and Said, "I like you already."

And on this they agreed, "It's a shame you die here."

The Green Raven lunged forward and the Blueraven met him with a draw that, not three months ago, would've gotten him killed. Steel Raiaeran pommel clanged violently against cold faerie iron, and Caden had the wherewithall as a swordsman to pivot his weapon up and over his opponent's blade even as he parried the strike. It was the perfect setup for a killing blow and any amateur would've died for it.

Sir Caden blocked, wrist against wrist, and the next thing Blueraven knew was a boot to his stomach and the taste of blood in his mouth. This didn't stop him from reaching out with his magic and grabbing hold of the Wand of Nevermorrow. Even as he came up swinging with his sword, Caden summoned the wand back to his empty right hand -- and it was a testament of the Spring Knight's instincts that the wand didn't clock him in the head on its way back. He ducked away, sidestepped Blueraven's follow-up and effortlessly broke a point-blank blast of raw arcane energy with one sweep of his faerie blade.

Caden gave the wand a swish and flick, and a blast of heat shot out in the Spring Knight's face. The air around him burned green and by sleight of hand, nuts and seeds flew from his belt, met the heat-wave and detonated into flashes of light and rapid plant growth. Blueraven backpedaled as a line of trees, vines, bushes and more literally erupted in front of him, heedless of the cold and the lack of sustainability available in the arctic. Plant-life reached for him, grew at him, and Caden willed up a stone wall to block its progress.

The wall crumbled.

The Wizard settled for improvised fire instead.

All of which gave the Spring Knight time to catapult himself around the growing forest on a grass-topped boulder, bouncing high and leaving flowers and weeds wherever it touched the ground. He came for Blueraven's head with a scream, and missed in fury.

"Lance!"

Verdant Raven smashed the spell apart with his blade, then leapt from the boulder and came down like a falling star. Blueraven met him with a smile and a gambit.

A Gravity Gambit.

Birds can fly. So can Wizards, if they've got the right magic for it.

The Spring Knight Rising didn't have the right magic for it.

How he shrugged off the forces of gravity and anti-gravity clashing, Caden didn't know or care. He pressed the attack with geomancy, spiking and pitting the ground where the Knight landed. Cloth armor tore, skin cut and bled in steady rivulets that knew not the cold of the arctic. Sir Caden threw down seeds and the Wizard Blueraven's earth fought them for dominance; blasts of light and growing, quickly broken plants of every size and shape.

The Spring Knight burst sideways from an earthen meatgrinder, a gnarled wand in each hand. He let loose Spring's emerald flames with one and a great green raven-shaped magic missile with the other.

Lightning travels faster than fire or flight.

Caden's spell met Sir Caden's defenses and shattered around them, but the blast of light and sound was enough to disorient the Knight's magicks. Magic missile and Spring fire went wide and wild, and Caden closed the distance in a run that he didn't think himself capable of. He wasn't quite point blank, but that was okay.

Caden threw his sword and took the Spring Knight squarely in the collar with it. The blade pierced out through his lower back with a spray of blood at both ends, and the Knight gagged out a scream of rage more so than pain...

...and he still stood.

Blueraven couldn't believe it.

"Not like this!" Sir Caden howled, his Voice wavering as he took aim with one wand again.

The Wizard hit him with another lightning bolt. The Knight staggered, but did not fall. Another lightning bolt and his clothes were smoking, his face leaking blood from the nose, ears, eyes and mouth. Another lightning bolt and the Verdant Raven finally went down to one knee as Caden slowed from a run to a jog to a quick walk.

The wand sagged down. Caden grabbed his sword and-

"Make it quick," the Spring Knight pleaded.

"I'll try," Caden told him.

Ten seconds later, he was staring himself in the face, except his reflection was icy and tinted green. A few seconds after that, Caden smashed his own head off with the Wand of Nevermorrow, then shattered the remnants of the corpse when he drew the sword out of it.

It would've been nice if there were time to rest.

Lightning flashed, and Caden rasped, "No rest for the wicked."

[Caden Law]

"Come out, come out!" Caden called, separated from his next adversary by several hundred feet of burnt wood and deformed, half-frosted rock. His Voice wavered only slightly under the strain of his injuries, and although he certainly had the look of a total maniac by this point Caden was still thinking. Thinking. Always thinking.

Who the hell are you?

Not necessarily about the battle waiting to be fought, but thinking nonetheless.

He was shocked from his reverie not by a spell, but by a sound like nothing he could name. It had depth, an echo, and it dragged in ways that he had never heard before. It was stark opposition to the musical magic of Raiaeran bards, of the Bladesingers and their Starlit counterparts. It was carnage, fine tuned and electrified. It was freedom, soaring high and leaving a trail of arcane afterburn and ethereal feathers in the night sky.

In more modern terms, the sound Caden heard was kin to an electric guitar symphony in an echo chamber.

"What the...hells...oh shi-"

The ground all around him suddenly lit up with runes. Caden ran on instinct and barely avoided a spell that reminded him entirely too much of Siege Arcana: A tiny black hole cannonballing into the ground at the circle's center, crushing all the way to the permafrosted ground below and leaving a pillar of antilight and black ice in its wake. Caden dodged the actual blast, and then the air collapsed in on itself in a reverse shockwave; a kind of vacuum effect the Wizard had experienced too many times for comfort in his years on the road. It knocked him over, rolled him a few times and let him go -- which was fortunate, as the ground around him lit up in another circle.

Caden dodged the second attack better than the first. He had even better luck on the third go round, when even the collapsing air didn't reach him.

Predictably, that was when the attack routine changed.

Two circles this time, and Caden had to change completely to avoid them. He did. And just as he knew would happen, his attacker finally deigned show himself.

The Skyrider Wizard Blueraven swept down at better than a hundred miles per hour, his appearance not quite alien to the Caden Law of Althanas proper, but damnably close. He wore boots, but his pants had been cut off at the knee and the coat was a fond memory at best, replaced by an open blue vest worn over the mangled remnants of Caden's white shirt. His Hat was gone, replaced by a leather cap that had been dyed blue. He wore a backpack with scrolls holstered on its lower half, a saw-toothed short sword sheathed on the small of his back and a wand carved from bone in his left hand, leading the way. He was surfing on a cobbled-together board fashioned from a skyship's hull, complete with a tiny arcane turbine burning on its rear.

And he carried a sectioned scythe with three blades on the trailing end, each one longer than the last.

Caden dove out of the way and the scythe blades still got him. He spun to the ground with an awful scream, his side erupting in pain and shock.

The Skyrider swooped up after his attack, gaining altitude quick and hard, and Caden just screamed. He couldn't even tell how deep the cut actually was, just that he needed to put a hand to it or something was going to come spilling out and-

Who are you, Caden Law?

"Not now," Caden spat, focusing on the pain and using it as a channel to the here and now. Philosophical discourse could wait.

Who are you, Wizard Blueraven?

"Not now," he said as he froze the wound shut and willed himself into a run that, by all rights, should have killed him several times over. He left the sword somewhere along the way. The air collapsed behind him and Caden booked it for the wrecked woods as his skyriding counterpart lined him up for another shot.

Caden reached out with his wand, grabbed the ground and threw it up in the Bomb Arcana's path. The result was a glass sphere and collapsing air, but no shrapnel or anything of the sort. He fell over on one knee a few seconds later, knowing what he had to do -- and knowing that his aerial opposition wouldn't fall for it.

"Do what you have to," he said to himself, standing up and knowing that the Skyrider was coming for him. Bomb Arcana was a high-end spell. Skyrider was throwing it out in ones and twos, and Caden had just negated it. If this version of him had evolved even remotely similar talents, that meant most of his power was mid-range. But if he was reliant on speed, he was going to come in for another pass with the scythe. Skyrider had all the advantages, but he only had so many options.

Caden tracked himself in the sky, following the Skyrider by arcane afterburn and the riffing sound the board made every few seconds. Runes melted into the snow and shifted into the dirt around him as he waited, a double Circle that began to glow after a few seconds. Birds crowed from nowhere, and feathers began to surge up and down along the Circle's edges like racing flames.

"Don't let me down," he said to the Skyrider, even as another string of runes shifted into the dirt beneath the snow. These didn't glow. Yet.

The Skyrider wasn't idle up there. Now that Caden had a chance to watch him uninterrupted, he saw his other self writing in the sky with the trail his board left behind, each rune and sigil raking in magic for the next round.

This was going to be the end. Both of them knew it without even speaking to each other.

"Make it quick," Said the Wizard Blueraven, breathing and bleeding his last.

[Caden Law]

The resolution took all of ten seconds. Maybe less.

It ended with a dead body lying in pieces on the ground.

Skyrider struck first, but Blueraven had a defense prepared: Bomb Arcana smashed into a boulder ninety or a hundred yards short of the target. Skyrider was counting on it. He came in behind the spell, swerved around it and then barrel rolled to avoid Blueraven's own Siege Arcana, which went wide and hit the first Arcana's glass sphere before it could finish collapsing.

Skyrider had to outrun the shockwave. Caden tried to blast him twice; missed the first spell, was blocked on the second. Skyrider swept by and Blueraven went down screaming -- the scythe trailed just inches short of his head, so close that the chain and the arcane backdraft from Skyrider's board actually took his Hat off before the blades could cleave it in two. And as he went down, Caden triggered the runes under the snow, launching up a field of spikes that his other self was in no position to dodge.

Skyrider must've expected it. He just didn't expect all of it. He smashed the first few spikes with magic, then one got through gutted his board and it was all over but the dying after that. He was impaled, his own momentum carried and his body ripped in half in a brutal display that Caden didn't have time to watch.

The Wizard stood up in time to see his other self's broken carcass drop out of sight while his board went careening into the distance and exploded like in a raven-shaped cloud of feathers and light.

It took him a few seconds, but Caden finally slouched, rasping for breath as he reached out with magic and grabbed his Hat. On it went, before he even tried thinking about anything else. Blueraven would at least try to die a Wizard, no matter what happened.

"One more," he wheezed. Trying to reach out for his rod. It smacked hard into his grasp, and he almost lost it twice in the process. Caden smacked the focus into the snow and leaned on it, waiting for the lightning to strike...

[Caden Law]

Lightning struck.

Caden collapsed again, barely able to keep himself up on one knee at this point. It didn't help that his final opponent seemed content to let him wait, and for once in his life, the Wizard didn't have it in him to try and exploit the opening that time gave. He had lost too much blood. He was too exhausted. The only thing even keeping him alive at this point, let alone mobile, was a combination of spite, stubborness and magic. It wasn't that a mere lesser man would have collapsed and died by now. Greater men would have done that well before the Skyrider, maybe even before the Scholar. And the more that Caden thought about it, the more he realized that greater men had fallen by now.

Commander Law, Hero of Raiaera. Forged upon the anvil of war; he was called to greatness and he answered it. Repeatedly, he fought and laid it on the line for people he did not -- could not know.

Watchman Law, Clerical-Wizard and husband of Veshua. He was noble in the way that fathers and men of the church should be.

Sage Blueraven, scholar and master of the arcane. A lesser kind of greatness, of humility, but genius and talent second to none.

Sir Caden Law, the Spring Knight Rising. He had made the choices, and a Thayne had called him by a Title that held more weight than the rest of them combined.

And the Skyrider, a Caden Law perhaps forged in the skies of Kebiras. A revolutionary, maybe, or perhaps just a vagabond trying to find his way home. His magic told the story of a fighter, his style told the story of courage.

They were all dead, and only the lowly wretch remained. The Wizard Blueraven. Caden Law, seventh of eight, who had a question that still wasn't answered.

"On your feet!" Spoke a Voice of power and strength, if not reason or wisdom. "STAND UP!"

Caden complied. A few seconds later, there was a familiar chuff and his sword lay in the snow before him. Chuff, and there was his bowie. He snorted congealed blood from his nose, then wheezed and forced himself to stand straight, tall, rigid. The man standing before him would expect no less.

He was different from the rest of them, except maybe the Spring Knight. Broader, more muscular. His eyes needed no glasses, and the iris was the orange of his patron. His hair was butchered short, something approximating a crewcut, and he had probably thrown away the Hat years ago and the coat with it. He wore the garb of a warrior-cultist in the most literal sense: Bands of cloth around his feet, leaving his toes exposed; a long brown kilt beneath hanging plates of armor on the outer leg and straight down from the belt buckle; a tattered short-sleeved shirt beneath a black iron chestplate of Kachukian origin, heavy matching pauldrons covered in spikes and the vambraces to match. Last was the cloak, tattered and hooded, clinking with every step as if to indicate the chainmail woven in.

He carried a sword much too big for Caden himself to even lift. Four-handed on the hilt, its pommel flanged like a tiny mace head, sporting a thick cross guard bordering a wide, sturdy blade that was more like a slab of silver and onyx than shaped steel. Runes were carved and etched in orange along the blacker portions of the blade, each one misting slightly in the cold evening light.

And there was another thing that reminded Caden of the Spring Knight: Lines. Displayed much more prominently upon the stranger's arms, his feet, face and neck. Thick orange things that were patterned in perfect symmetry, and as the blade began to glow so did the lines on his skin.

"So," Caden said to himself, stooping down to try and pick up his blades. He came up clumsy, sheathing the knife and his wand in the same motion. The sword and rod stayed out. "Who are you supposed to be?"

Orange eyes narrowed, but Blueraven did not falter. He was too tired to be intimidated or frightened now. "I want to know something about you before I bury you."

"I serve no petty court," Spoke the stranger in his skin. "When Raiaera fell, I ran the Wilds of Tembrethnil. That's all you need to know."

He raised his sword, awful thing that it was, and the air burned with power all around him. It knew no solid shape, the way that the myriad Blueravens' powers had. It was truly wild, truly uncontrolled by anything but the loose constraints of savage intent. Caden responded in kind, drawing his rod and sword up and crossing them momentarily before assuming a defensive stance taught him by a dwarf in the mountains: Feet spread, sword low, rod straight out.

"Do you still have a Name?" Caden asked.

"I don't need one."

"Too bad," Caden said. "I dub thee-"

[Caden Law]

Banecrow struck, hard and fast, before Caden could even finish reNaming him. The Wizard didn't have much chance to defend himself and, in what little crimson reflection he could muster afterwards, it probably wouldn't have made a difference either way. First came the ground; a pillar erupting beneath him and throwing him skyward. Then the pillar collapsed as he started to fall, and while Caden tried to cast some spell or another, Banecrow smashed the pillar out of the way with one hand and followed with the flat of his sword.

It was like getting hit by a battering ram that wanting to be a catapult. The sword took Caden in the middle, its path arced and Caden was dragged along until Banecrow chose to launch him skyward. Snow and orange light burst all around the Wild Wizard as he threw Blueraven, erupting with a sound like screaming eagles and mythic thunder. It was all Caden could do to slow his own fall, and all that did was to control the angle of how he landed. Snow formed a huge pile behind him, and his body carved a trench clear to the ice and permafrosted dirt below.

Banecrow waited a moment, his power still clearly building. He took one step forward and the whole battlefield shook. He raised his sword and the aurora above split in response. He took a swing and the air between he and Caden blurred orange. A trench scorched itself into the ground at the same time. It was all the Wizard could do to roll out of the way, and even then he was close enough for a shockwave to flip him from front to back in the process.

"Five down and this is the best you can do? I should have gone first!" Banecrow roared, his Voice almost loud enough to match a whispering Thayne. This close in, it actually managed to reopen Caden's wounds and cloud his vision for a moment, though neither was enough to stop him from struggling back to his feet.

"Stop dicking around and be done with it then," he Said.

Banecrow surged forward, geomancing with every step so that the ground itself moved with him. Caden barely had time enough to duck out of the way; he didn't bother paying attention to Banecrow's attack, nor did he pause to watch the chaos wrought by it. He reached into the ground with magic and willed up another pillar, elevating himself just in time to avoid the follow-up strike -- which, incidentally, cleaved Caden's little pillar in two at the base. Banecrow struck again as Caden fell-

Metal shattered.

Caden landed a few seconds later with a broken sword and an arm that was finally paralyzed from the amount of damage he'd taken. Banecrow came for him with a Scream that rattled the Wizard right to his bones. He pointed the rod anyway. Banecrow struck.

Gravity Gambit: A swirling mass of gravity and anti-gravity. By its very nature, physical attacks enter one way and come out one of a hundred thousand others, and almost always with some kind of damage taken in the process. Caden had bent an assassin in half with it once, and broken at least a few swords with it as well.

Banecrow's attack hit the Gambit and stalled for a little while. That was it. There was no lasting stop, no damage to the mad mage's sword, not even the slightest change of direction in his attack. It bought Caden enough time to get to his knees, then Banecrow split the magic in two and cut the tip off of the arcanist's rod like a hot knife through butter.

Magic destabilized and exploded in a glorious arcane fireball, and only pure luck meant that the blast went for Banecrow's face instead of taking out the Wizard holding the rod to begin with. Blue light became white became orange turned to blue again; feathers rained down in every direction...

And Banecrow's hand erupted from the flames, utterly unscathed as the mad mage took the Wizard by the throat and ripped the broken, dying rod from his grasp. Banecrow had thrown away his sword out of what looked like sheer spite, and power now built in his hands and the world was going black and-

Caden drew his knife.

It sank right through Banecrow's elbow at the joint. The mage howled and Caden ripped the knife out without thinking. He ducked and Banecrow punched the Hat right from his head, impact ripping the belt off and scorching the material black in the shape of a fist. Caden threw himself forward and jammed the knife up into his other self's armpit.

The pommel exploded in a tiny geyser of magic.

Banecrow smashed Caden in the face with an elbow, but the strike wasn't anywhere near the level of what he'd been managing at the start of the fight. Caden stayed conscious, gritting his blood-stained teeth and trying to wrap himself around Banecrow's midsection -- anything to keep the knife in and keep the power bleed going. It wasn't easy. Banecrow had been in a lot of scraps. He knew how and where to hit, but he had forgotten how to deal with pain and fear. Every punch he threw became sloppier, weaker, less effective. Caden began to absorb the power from his other self directly, enough that his limp arm started responding again. He adjusted his grip, drew in power for his legs and stood, hoisting Banecrow up in a knife-riding bearhug.

It wasn't quick.

But it was what he had to do to survive.

Three minutes later, the mad mage finally stopped struggling and went limp. He gurgled up some blood and Caden dropped him lest they both fall. The Wizard staggered back and braced himself on his knees, watching his lunatic counterpart flop to the ground.

Banecrow held on for a while after that, but every single breath was squirting a little less blood out of his mouth and nose. Caden had gotten a lung, maybe part of the heart too. No more magic to draw on, and all the Mad Mage of Tembrethnil could do was bleed out, as pitiful in dying as anything Caden had ever seen.

The body disappeared. The terrain collapsed, craters and trenches filled with snow, and all that remained was a single pillar at the heart of an imprehensibly vast henge.

A few seconds later, the Wizard threw up and fell to his hands and knees. A few seconds after that, his body was wracked with spasms and he collapsed to his face in the snow.

[Caden Law]

Caden awoke not to the cold comfort of a cage, ropes around his limbs or even a knife at his throat; only an uncertain warmth that his body told him was wrong and experience told him was worse. He pushed up on sore and tired limbs, every single bone from his fingertips to his sternum to his toes feeling hollow while his head felt heavy and clogged. His throat was so parched that Caden almost immediately collapsed in a fit of coughing, each one spraying the snow with little red and brown chunks.

He fell to one side and lay still, just trying to breath and bring his temperature out of delerium and back into actual warmth. It wasn't easy, but the Henge had a lot of background magic by its very nature. That was the chief reason he and the others had been able to throw around so many heavy-duty spells with such little restraint. Excepting, of course, the Spring Knight Rising and the Mad Mage. Whatever they had been wielding, it was nothing Caden knew of.

He rolled onto his back and slowly but surely sat up. By this point, the Wizard was covered in snow and patches of frozen blood and sweat. He was an ugly trainwreck that happened to pass itself off as a human being. Up he went on tottering legs, yawning every few breaths from sheer exhaustion. He reached out one hand, felt around in the air and called up his Hat.

It was scorched, floppy without the stiff leather belt, and would've probably gotten him killed in some parts for crimes against fashion. Caden dusted the soot off and put it on anyway, then pulled down his blood-stained goggles until they hung around his neck. Out came the glasses, instantly fogging and unfogging as cold vied with magic for influence. Magic won. Caden put the glasses on and drew in more power, until the patches of ice melted from his skin and clothes, each one vaporizing until only naked scabs remained. The gaping injuries to his side were less severe now, having healed a little at some point during the fighting, but Caden lacked the skill or affinities to treat them properly on his own.

He called up his knife, sheathing it where it belonged. Called up his sword and, upon seeing its broken blade, threw it away just as quickly. Caden didn't even bother with the Arcanist's Rod. Once a focus is compromised that severely, it's more of a hazard than a tool. The best Caden could hope for was that the rod had emptied itself of stored magic and wasn't in danger of exploding or worse.

He cleared his throat a few times just trying to say, "Well," and only got it right after coughing up a red wad of something or other. After that it was, "Well...that was all perfectly useless."

Caden looked around now, taking in the world of Althanas and trying hard not to think about the six dead men with his face, or the lives that they had left behind, or the choices that had lead them to the mass grave he dug. Wizards are murderers by nature. There's a lot of window dressing, but any Wizard worth his Hat is bound to kill someone at some point, assuming someone else doesn't kill them first.

Blueraven just never expected to be killing himself, let alone that he would do so repeatedly for the sake of-

-what?

No way to hide from it now, and the Gods had left their perches. He was alone, his only company the question: "What the hells was all that for?"

He looked around again. The Henge was still as colossal as it had been throughout the trial, and every step Caden took away from it had no effect on that. The Wizard studied a bleak landscape, and then he noticed something.

The aurora borealis wasn't there anymore.

The stars were all gone.

Not even the moons lingered.

He looked back to where the mirrored stones had been and six of those were gone too. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Caden reached for his wand and knife-

And he wasn't alone anymore.

The Ancient One, the Sage, the Wilder, the Strong One, Queen of Seasons and Lady Entropy all stood around him, giants by man's standards but nowhere near the size of mountains. The Ancient One held a sword at the rock, and the Strong One grasped his war-axe with a terrible finality. Power surged and wove itself around the Queen, spring growth and summer songs, autumn decay and winter despair. The Lady grasped at nothing and pulled Unmaking from all around her, willing it into the shape of something that could've been a short spear or a long sword. Wilder's wings spread wide, each and every feather standing on end as suns burned between them.

Only the Sage remained calm, as he ever did.

Let her speak.

The Strong One bellowed inaudibly, if only because the sound was too loud for any part of Caden's existence to register. The Ancient One was much more subdued in his displeasure, voicing it only as a growl that threatened to knock Caden over and blow his eardrums out.

Hers is the Seventh Rite, Spoke the Sage God, inclining his head respectfully.

...and there she was.

There she was. Permanent like a mountain or a lake or the color of the sky. Permanent like distant suffering or the death of a friend's loved one. Permanent like the certainty of the grave. Something so blatant and unavoidable that, after a while, you just stop noticing it all together. Someone who had been there all along, because she was everywhere that wickedness dwells -- and it dwelled deep in the hearts and minds of all living men, be they Wizards or not. Looking upon her now, in comparison to the other Gods of old, Caden was almost surprised by how small she was. How easily he could see himself standing face to face with her. How easy it was to relate to the primal darkness that made life worth living.

Evil is something you can meet on even terms. It's the only thing you can always meet on even terms. That's why evil is so seductive.

And the Scarlet Silk Queen was nothing if not seductive.

She looked like a true Drow -- a Dark Elf from an era when the elder peoples and the Gods weren't so distant from one another. All the features were ones that Caden was, to some extent, familiar with and lustful of: The high cheekbones, the narrow jaw, full lips and barely slanted eyes; thinly arching brows and a long neck leading to dainty shoulders; a figure like a slendger hourglass and long, long legs. The differences started with color: The pale skin Caden had grown accustomed to was darker with her, more like glossy obsidian than anything merely organic. Her hair was long, silky and red. Her eyes were like glittering rubies in a pitch black void. She wore little; just enough to feign modesty, and all of it was barely opaque enough that the mind inevitably filled in any missing details.

And her smile was the kind of thing that made it awkward to stand up straight.

Well said, my bookish old lover and comrade. Mine is the Seventh Rite, the Scarlet Silk Queen declared, her Voice simultaneously managing to live up and down to her namesake. All six of you have tried to give him what he came here for, with special tests of character not seen in this Circle since times Forgotten by mortal histories. And all six of you have failed. Only I remain.

You cannot be serious-

The Sage God deigned raise a hand, or at least the idea of one. She can and she is and it is her Rite. The three of you saw to that when you came here.

The Strong One, the Queen of Seasons and the Wilder all looked at the Sage, their gaze intense enough to blast a hundred or more miles of snow into the sky beyond him. The Sage's calm was such that every last flake returned to its place within seconds.

And then the Lady Entropy spoke up, laughing with each word. He's right, you know. While the first three of us all had a stake in the Wizard's progress so far, none of you did. She has a stake as well.

By coming here and taking part, you expanded the trials to include all of us.

The Strong One bellowed again. It fell to the Queen of Seasons to say, She is not one of us.

And it was in that moment that the whole debate was settled. Not by the Strong One and his hatred, the Sage God and his reason, or even Entropy and her unpredictability. It was the Ancient One who lowered his sword first, and said only, Right are the furious naysayers in all their reason. Magnificent is the schemer and manipulative the chaos beside him. I choose to side with them in this matter, but only to an extent. The choice is none of ours to make.

It must fall to the Wizard. This is his trial. It will be his destiny decided here tonight.

None of the three dissenting Thaynes argued. The Ancient One had seniority by default, and though the Scarlet Queen wasn't counted among their proper ranks anymore the vote was still, technically, four to three. All that remained now was the matter of whether or not a pebble might cause an avalanche.

Caden stood up again, struggling under the weight of gazes older than his mortal mind could comprehend. He considered the Gods, and he considered his selves. The Commander with his scars and the Watchman with his duty; the Scholar with his power and the Knight with his resolve; the Skyrider and his freedom and the Mad Mage with his power. And all of them with pride, with purpose, with their own forms of honor and dignity that he had never known. Every single one had been a reflection of who Caden could have been.

All that remained was the question of who Caden would be.

What was it all for? the Scholar asked, and Caden still didn't know.

Well, Wizard Blueraven?

The Wizard grit his teeth in a fierce, bloody little smile-

"Let's go."

-and lightning struck...

[Caden Law]

...and when the light faded, only Caden Law remained. He stood in two places, his likenesses little more than opposition incarnate.

To one side, the Caden Law of Althanas, the Wizard Blueraven. He stood slumped and exhausted, paler than normal and wearing the blue coat and hat of a man who'd gone through war and come out worse for it. An empty sword sheath hung at his side, his hands were already filled by a bowie knife and a wand, respectively, and his expression was a bloodied mask of determination and false bravado -- one that was worn over absolute doubt. He had nothing left worth losing.

To the other side, the Caden Law summoned by the Seventh Thayne, Champion of the Scarlet Silk Queen. He was a Wizard in red, almost indistinguishable from his worn down counterpart in every other way but one. They were the same height, weight and build. They had all the same scars, they wore the same goggles and glasses, and their Hats would've been the same shape and style if not for battle damage. The newcomer even had the same sword, and carried with him the very same rod that Caden had only so recently lost. He stepped into the world with eyes closed, and here too would be a difference. Before that was another one.

Lines tattooed into his skin, covering his face in web-like pattern that was symmetrical on both sides. It was all red, all of it, and even at this distance Caden could see that it followed the same pattern as the Spring Knight Risen and the Mad Mage Banecrow; even the places where the lines converged were the same. Only the style and color differed.

They matched the new Wizard's eyes, red as anything Caden had ever seen, and he knew now that this had been a mistake. It had all been a mistake.

But it was a mistake worth making, and Caden had few enough regrets to at least try and go out snarking: "Red Raven, Red Raven, how does your power grow..."

"Redcrow, actually," said the other Wizard, in a voice that wasn't at all dissociated from Caden's own. "And my power grows just FINE!"

Redcrow's webs glowed and he swept his hand down as he Spoke, and a great translucent fist trailed it at a distance. Blueraven had just enough time to dive out of the way before the fist slammed into the ground where he had been standing, but he was utterly helpless to avoid it when Redcrow backhanded him a second later -- not up close and personal, but with the same conjured hand as before. It hit Caden like a moving brick wall, casting him some twenty or thirty feet along the ground and fading out before it could come for a third strike.

"How about yours?" Redcrow asked, just vicious enough to match the same tone Caden had used when he confronted a Death Lord in Tembrethnil. The same tone he used before that whole place went nuclear.

Wand in hand, Caden came up with a spray of Magic Missiles. Redcrow summoned his own wand into his grasp and met spell for spell -- and even though his missiles were fired later, Blueraven's spell didn't even touch him. Redcrow stomped forward, thrusting his wand out. Caden brought up a wall of solid rock and a single Arcane Blast completely annihilated it. Blueraven fired off a blast of his own immediately and Redcrow shot it down; blue fire danced into red, and the red was very obviously winning.

Redcrow grabbed him this time. The hand conjured into being before Caden could even see it coming. The next thing he knew, Redcrow hauled him in with one great pull and a Scream of, "GET OVER HERE!"

"Gladly!" the blue Wizard Shouted back, inhaling the power behind whatever spell Redcrow was using. It was disorienting. Familiar and unfamiliar at once, following all the same lines as it ever did but in ways that were impossible to explain.

Blueraven worked through it. He hit the ground rolling in front of Redcrow, dodging a massive hammer-shaped forcefield that bore a passing resemblance to Redcrow's wand. Blueraven came up swinging with his knife and Redcrow had already dodged it, was already drawing his sword, was already getting blasted with a Magic Missile at near point blank range -- and had already blocked it with another force conjuration, one resembling an overgrown faded red elbow that completely shielded him from frontal attack.

Conveniently enough, the Wizard's left elbow was bent into the path of Blueraven's spell.

"Figured you out!" Caden declared, violently twisting the ground beneath Redcrow's feet. The other Wizard simply spun with it, drawing his sword and taking Blueraven across the chest with a shallow cut as he went.

There was another blast of raw force, and this time Caden was relatively certain it was shaped like the tip of Redcrow's wand: Roughly hexagonal and flat. He was too busy flying backwards to study the details any further. Blueraven hit the ground rolling and immediately willed stone up beneath him, catapulting himself up and to the left. Less than a second later, a great ethereal blade swept beneath him and sent up a wave of snow in its wake.

Lightning ripped through the night, and the Gods had little to do with it. Caden rolled the boulder in front of himself and it was almost immediately little more than arcane vapor the color and shape of red bird feathers. Blueraven tumbled back down to the ground and shot off a volley of lightning in kind, but Redcrow simply sidestepped it and paused.

The pause was worrying.

After so many battles where a pause just meant Something Worse Is About To Happen, Caden had good reason to be worried.

He came up slinging magicks and shifting and melting runes into the ground around him, tapping into the leylines of the Henge for strength. Redcrow just smiled, and a great circle of red and gold feathers danced around him like racing flames as he said-

"Siege Arcana."

"Rise!"

The earth beneath Wizard Blueraven shot up as a pillar, rising two or three hundred feet into the air by the time Siege Arcana slammed into it. The effect the spell had was instant: The makeshift tower snapped in two at the point of impact, imploding into a tiny black-and-red ball of glass that immediately detonated. Ground boiled and froze where molten shrapnel hit, and the Wizard himself only avoided shrapnel because Redcrow didn't trust him to die from it.

A great red hand clenched shut around him. The next thing Caden knew, he was being pitched to the ground like a cheap toy ball in the middle of a temper tantrum. Geomancy was the only reason he survived, as Blueraven pointed his wand earthward and shifted a tunnel into his path. He vanished from sight just before a whole spray of raven-shaped Magic Missiles could take his head off.

"Now that is a new one!" Redcrow commended him, just before slagging a runic circle into the ground around him. The red Wizard drew in power the way a drain sucks in water, such that magic visibly channeled into the lines on his skin, beneath his clothing, and it even fell into his mouth and eyes, ears and nose. He threw his hands up, the whole Icehenge raised a few inches for miles and miles in every direction.

He threw his hands down, and the result was exactly the same.

Redcrow paused after that, panting and looking around.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are! I know you're not dead yet!" he Shouted into the night.

Four narrow pillars of rock shot up around him. The Wizard tore them down before Stone Maiden Mausoleum could form. A few seconds later, he was running away from that spot. Blueraven somehow managed to follow him, throwing up one Mausoleum after another, until Redcrow had smashed three and didn't bother with any after that. Caden nine before the ground finally opened up.

Out came the man in the blue coat, and Redcrow ran him through with a colossal sword made of pure willpower; a redlight version of the very blade in his right hand.

All he hit was a rock in Blueraven's coat.

"Shi-"

One of the Mausoleums erupted into a spray of rocky shrapnel, and try as Redcrow might, he wasn't blocking it this time. Blood sprayed where stone bullets found their mark, and while none of the wounds were especially deep or disabling, they hurt and that was the entire point. Redcrow collapsed with a roll and Caden came running out of the broken Mausoleum, wand leveled and spell already in mid-cast.

Arcane Blast.

It would've been a deathblow, except that pure human error made it miss.

Redcrow came up swinging and Screaming, and a massive phantom arm swept through the air and bowled Blueraven over like a straw doll in a hurricane. He went flat against the ground, rolled almost belatedly and came up so disoriented that he fell right back down. In a single bated breath, Redcrow burnt runes into the snow, the ice, the stone all around the blue Wizard, and then said a single Word that cut off all magic within.

"You bastard!" Caden screamed, throwing his knife and-

It fell short.

Blueraven ran to escape the Circle and there was a massive stone wall in his path. He tried for another way out and met only the same. One by one, Redcrow cut off his adversary's avenues of escape, and then sealed him in from on high with an arched roof. The end result really did look like a mausoleum.

"Sorry," said Redcrow. "But this is where you die."

"Wait!"

Against all better judgement, Redcrow did.

"At least tell me what you are! At least tell me the difference between us!"

"Power," said Redcrow. "Power and not much else."

"How?"

"I did what I had to," said the Wizard Redcrow with not a single shred of remorse. "Goodbye."

[Caden Law]

Time slows when you're about to die. Caden had experienced it before. It slows enough for strange things to happen, for possibilities to play out in depth. For resolve to come, or will to falter.

As he heard the spires launch from Stone Maiden Mausoleum's walls, all Caden could do was ask himself, What happened? How? Why?

What solitary event changed him from a fugitive Wizard to a loving husband and town Watchman?

How did he go from being a vagabond mage to a heroic Commander in the Raieran War?

Why did a hermetic scholar devote himself so utterly to the mastery of the arcane, knowing he would probably never use it?

And as he thought about these questions, Caden could see where the world splintered. He could finally pinpoint the moments where he became himself, and they all splintered off.

Commander Law was never taken to the future, to N'Thayn'sal, to see his homeland in chains and his world dying slow and hard. He spent his life a hero on the front lines, hard enough to survive, never dying that one heroic death that Caden himself was supposed to get in coming years. He fought because he knew duty, never because he truly knew love.

Watchman Law never spent a morning by the lake, wondering if anything bad would happen if he didn't attend his studies so that he could watch the sun come up and see the birds flocking south from parts unknown. He grew up to become an upstanding member of society, and he waited for Veshua to return, and made the proposal when the time was right.

The Scholar in Yellow journeyed to Raiaera sooner, and as a consequence found the libraries of Istien open and inviting. He discovered lores forgotten by men, and dedicated himself to their research and propogation -- and their protection. Alone he stayed within Istien's libraries, taking up a staff to protect that knowledge and wrapping himself in the Sage's colors because that pursuit was all he had left.

The Skyrider was what Caden would have been if he had chosen to escape the skyship Red Skull before it could leave Kebiras. He was a freedom fighter by chance, because Kebiras was too full of strife for him to be anything less. He was a Skyrider by choice, because ships would never do and he didn't want the responsibility of command. He loved the skies, and he loved the freedom, and he loved little else.

The Spring Knight Rising faced death in a place that Caden did not yet know, and he did what he had to because he was afraid and saw no other options.

The Mad Mage ran from death in the wilds of Tembrethnil, until he had escaped Felhammer's hordes only to find himself in the court of a different beast altogether. He ran from the Wild Hunt, and when he finally bested it, had no choice but to accept its boon if he wanted to be free of the Death Lord's pursuits. He did what he had to.

And finally, Redcrow.

It might have been in the wilds of Tembrethnil.

It might have been in the cold valleys of northeast Salvar.

It might have been when he laid it on the line for Evernorth.

...and it might have been here, and it might have been now.

But Redcrow did what he had to, because he didn't want to die. And all three of them pulled it off using the same power from different sources to different ends. The lines they wore were already there, just beneath Caden's skin, between his body and his soul. Between the numbers lay the intricacies of asymmetry, and while Caden's journey hadn't quite been a homecoming and he had long felt marked as the Wizard that did it...

...in other lives, he had taken a different path.

In other lives, he had chosen differently.

In this life, the Laws of Wizardry could be broken within the Henge Sorcerous.

"I'm not dying here either."

[Caden Law]

Blueraven did what he had to, and he did it well.

Redcrow's Mausoleum shattered out in every direction as a pair of great blue hands swept through its walls, scooped away the surrounding snow and warped the red Wizard's Circle of Nullification into a proper Circle of Power. The hands faded away just as quickly as they'd appeared, leaving behind a tall man in a beaten-up blue Hat, its tip billowing in a wind arcane and all too visible. Sapphire ravens raced through the air around him, leaving trails of feathers in cresting paths along the Circle's boundaries. Power flooded in and out in the same foggy breaths, sorcerous silver that burned bright as a morning star.

Redcrow stood his ground in mute shock, and Blueraven met him with only a cold determined Stare that still boiled the snow and blood from his adversary's clothes.

"What made you change?" Blueraven asked, his Voice audibly heavier. It blurred the air around his mouth and lit the whites of his eyes blue.

Redcrow didn't waver. He dropped his wand and drew his rod in the same motion, slagging a Circle of Power around himself as he Spoke in answer, "One apocalypse or a thousand. I chose N'jal's. At least with hers, the world will be born anew! At least there's still hope! What did you choose, Blueraven? Whose apocalypse will you bring?"

Caden Law smiled the Sorcerer's smile, and the air to the side of his face shifted in echo.

"I chose to live, Redcrow. I'm not compromising. There won't be any apocalypses."

Hope glittered -- literally glittered -- in Redcrow's eyes as the realization dawned on him that-

"You don't have a patron."

"I don't need one."

Redcrow took aim with his rod then, Laughing loud as the Circle around him filled with red and black crows -- Missiles and Sieges Arcanae, blended seamlessly through sheer force of will.

Blueraven drew back with wand and knife, bracing the one against the pommel of the other. His own Circle filled with nothing but thin outlines formed from the feathers and the ravens that represented his power.

The Sorcerers struck.

[Caden Law]

There was at last a great flash of lightning within the Icehenge, and the whole village outside shook with the roar of thunder at point blank range. Several of the tents fell over, as did several of the Berevarans and a number of the pack animals. Only the stubborn, finnicky goat Charger dared to remain standing, accompanied by the Wizard Greyspine and only a few of the natives who weren't immediately cowed to their knees in fright.

When the light faded, the eight of them emerged in pairs: Strong and Wild, the Queen of Seasons and the Lady Entropy, the Ancient One and the Scarlet Silk Queen, the Sage God and the battered, bloodied, grinning form of the Wizard Blueraven, carrying his shredded coat on one shoulder, knife and wand holstered on his belt. He was Marked now, and would carry it for the rest of his life: A blue angle on his right cheek, accompanied by fading crow's feet under both eyes and other lines and angles slowly but surely fading as he moved away from the Henge.

Before Greyspine could speak though, the Strong One halted the procession and the Thaynes spread out, each one becoming a giant among mortals as they went. His was the first Voice heard, and the only confirmation anyone really needed.

The Wizard Blueraven, Caden Law of Salvar, has passed his trials.

This alone would have been reason enough to throw celebrations...

And in doing so...the Wizard has earned a Boon from each of us. Seven has he fought, Seven shall he receive.

...but with those words, it was already a legend among the tribes bearing witness.

Caden half-swaggered, half-staggered to the middle of the circle of Thaynes, and each of them came to him in turn. First was the Lady Entropy, grinning from ear to ear like a temple street harlot on a particularly good night. Of her, Caden asked, "Undo the harm you caused Shaman Redhide."

Gods shouldn't pout. Entropy did anyway. She nodded her head in acquiescence and said, As we are departed, so shall the Shaman's spirit be restored.

She courtseyed and was gone. Second was the Strong One, huffing fire from his nostrils as he looked down on the puny little Wizard who had bested his champion. Of him, Caden knew well enough to ask only, "Fix my sword and rod."

It is done, said the Strong One, holding out his massive hand and dropping the weapons perilously close to the Wizard's head. Caden didn't have it in him to jump, and the God left in disappointment. He stalked away into the night, leaving howling wolves and rising stars in his wake.

Third was the Scarlet Silk Queen, and of her Caden did not know what to ask. He thought about it at length and finally said, "Don't bring about the Days of Torrent?"

She laughed, dainty and not at all spiteful. Then she patted him on the head and Said only, No. Try something else.

Caden grimaced, thought some more and shrugged. "Fix my clothes?"

Done, and better, she Said with another of those devilish smiles, and Caden's clothes were suddenly clean and whole once again. My finest silk, for a Sorcerer's garb, she added, and was gone before Caden noticed the changes to his coat and Hat.

Fourth was the Queen of Seasons, and of her Caden could only think to ask, "Could you undo whatever curses she put on these things?"

Smart, she Said, and tiny ethereal spiders jumped away from both the Hat and coat. Like the Strong One, the Queen left with a little more fanfare: Billowing snows and autumnal leaves accompanied by spring flowers and summer showers -- where the rain flowed up and away.

Next came the Ancient One, and were it possible the great draconic skull would've been smiling. With the way moonlight was reflecting off of it, it still looked like he was smiling. Of him, Caden asked, "Some decent armor."

About time you saw its use, the Ancient One said, and produced a very familiar piece of battered steel chock full of holes, dents, scratches and worse. He tapped the interior and Caden's old Conscript Breastplate repaired itself in an instant. He tapped it again and the metal polished itself clean as symbols and patterns of blue and black lines intwined across its surface, all centered around a single raven at the chest. He handed it to Caden and waited for the Sorcerer to put it on before smashing a fist to his own chest. Caden knew well enough to parrot the gesture, and the Ancient One walked away at that.

Next was the Wilder, who favored Caden in the way that a colleague might. Of her he didn't know what to ask, and that was fine: Would that I may, I seek to delay your boon to a later date. I have need of you, Wizard-Sorcerer, as does the world.

Caden sighed, but for once he did not even think about complaining.

A trade for now, she said, touching Caden's forehead and reaching into his skull as she did it. This didn't feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, at least not physically, but Caden didn't appreciate the slishing sounds between his ears. A few seconds later, the Wilder drew out a tiny glowing sphere and Caden no longer had the sense that he was in Berevar. Or anywhere for that matter.

The Thayne had taken his global positioning sense, and now she twisted it into something else: A compass that looked like a stopwatch made out of glass, its needle and directional markers all colored gunmetal black. Tiny candle flames burned at the edges, each one literally marked desired destiny. He looked up and all she had to say was, Go to Knife's Edge. Give this to Rayse. You'll know him when you see him and the rest will be clear enough from there.

And then she was gone, and only the Sage God remained.

He stood before the Wizard with a cryptic, unseen smile and his hands in his robes, saying nothing for the longest time.

Of him, Caden asked, "I have no patronage, do I?"

You have accepted none, and such offers are rarely made twice...not even to the most valued pawns.

"...then my power is my own," Caden said, flexing his fingers and his newfound Sorcery with them: A blue hand appeared over the real one, shadowing its movements and fading away. Caden felt a sense of discomfort afterward. He knew then to ask, "Knowledge Arcana. Sorcery."

There was a blinding flash of yellow behind his eyes, shining out through every single orifice in his head from the pores of his cheeks to the ungrown hair of his scalp. When it passed, the Sage God said merely, The rarest boon is the one granted to you, by you. In ages past, only a handful of magi were able to access the power you have now without some sort of divine favor. They were stronger. Greater.

And now, those that remain are Forgotten.

You are as much a Sorcerer now as any since the closure of the Tap, and your potential is much the same.

My final advice to you is this: Don't let it go to your head.

He was gone a few seconds later, as was the ring floating above Icehenge.

Caden stood still after that, staring up at the sky and then back to his hand. He flexed again, the mark on his cheek glowing in kind. The power came less willingly this time, but it still came: A translucent hand forming over its flesh and blood counterpart, shadowing each movement in kind, and then fading away. This time he felt somewhat lightheaded, and he knew exactly why.

"Sorcery uses one's own soul to channel the raw magic of the Tap itself," he explained to noone in particular. "While the soul regenerates based on emotion and physical wellbeing, time and other factors, it can still...be used up...if you're not careful," he mused, deciding at once that some powers were best left to emergency considerations.

Not long after that, the Shaman's spirit quite literally swirled back into existence with a mute scream. It took one look around, Said, "I need to rest," and vanished just as quickly as it appeared. Caden sighed.

A little while later, Greyhide finally worked up the nerve to tell his former protege, "We need to talk about everything that happened to you in there."

[Caden Law]

Caden stayed until morning two days later.

At least from a clock's perspective. It would've been another few months if he stayed until the sun came up again. He explained the entire ordeal to Greyspine and, eventually, Redhide as well. From his battles with himself to the grand finale, where Blueraven's Sorcery stabbed through Redcrow's and took him with a murder of raven-shaped Magic Missiles.

As it turned out, all of his arcane magic now had a certain avian theme to it. Caden didn't mind so much.

When he left, Greyspine finally dared to ask him, "Did you find a reason yet?"

"Yeah," Caden told him as he put Charger's saddle back on and strapped it tight. The ram bucked a little, but grudgingly accepted. The Wizard turned to his old mentor with an honest smile, the first one to grace his Marked face without the weight of worlds on his shoulders, and he told the old man, "I don't wanna die."

Jolstice frowned.

And Caden continued, "And I don't want to see the rest of the world die either. One apocalypse is too many. I'm not about to let a thousand happen without a fight."

The older Wizard let out a sigh of relief at this and asked, "Where will you go now?"

"Knife's Edge. I'm apparently still on a mission from somebody else's god. So." Cue the shrug. "And if I'm right...then this is just going to be another apocalypse I have to prevent sooner or later anyway."

"You don't have to do this alone, you know."

"Why d'ya think I'm leaving you with the N'Thayn'sal Grimoire?" Caden asked. "I copied everything in there already. It's up to us to spread the word. Get out there and kneecap the forces of evil before they screw us all over."

Jolstice grimaced at this, but it was a half-hearted effort to keep from smiling. "You want me to handle Kebiras, don't you."

"Only until I'm done with Althanas as we know it."

"And how am I supposed to do that at my age?"

Caden looked around at the Berevarans, and at Redhide. Then he shrugged, smiled, and said, "You'll figure it out. If an idiot apprentice like me can pull it off, you probably won't even break a sweat."

He mounted up and rode off before the old Wizard could finish laughing. Blueraven raced into the night, and before long the chuff, chuff, chuff of Charger's hooves hitting the snow became too quiet to hear.

"Boy's gonna be the death of me," Greyspine mumbled.

"He is what you made him," Redhide pointed out.

"No," the old Wizard said. "He is what he made himself."


END

[Caden Law]

REQUESTED SPOILS

Oh boy...

Sorcery: As a consequence of his passage through the Icehenge, Caden has acquired the ability to use Sorcery. This reflects itself in three ways: (1) Caden is able to create force field constructs in the likeness of limbs or weapons. At present, the size, strength and resillience of the constructs is limited; he requires a very, very high magic environment to create anything more than three times the size of whatever body part or object he's replicating, can lift no more than 300 pounds, and the resillience is no greater than Iron. He can only project one construct at a time. (2) Caden can use Sorcery to temporarily boost his conventional magicks. In gameplay terms: Individual spells gain an extra level (pushing most of them to a maximum Level 4) while general powers get a boost in terms of area of effect/speed of casting. 3) Caden's Voice can now cause extremely minor effects of its own, such as jostling snow or loose dirt. This has no meaningful effect on a character.

The Sorcerous powers will be further clarified at Caden's next character update. Weaknesses include: Caden cannot use them with any hard frequency. He can only cast one Sorcerous spell per post and can only cast a maximum of three in a row before he starts to suffer from physical damage, fatigue, and probably the law of diminishing returns. He requires a cooldown of three posts for every Sorcery, and the cooldowns stack (1 Sorcerous spell = 3 posts, 2 Sorcerous spells = 6 posts, 3 Sorcerous spells = 9 posts).

His status as a Sorcerer has physically Marked him. The brand resembles a stylized blue 7 on his right cheek. When using Sorcery, the Mark glows. Extended use of Sorcery leads to other Markings appearing for the duration of the spell, but only the cheek Mark is permanent. It cannot be removed.

Knowledge Arcana: Sorcery: Boon from Khal'jaren for Caden's trial in the Icehenge. Much of this knowledge is locked away, to be uncovered instinctively rather than written in a book. For the most part, it's how Caden knows not to overuse Sorcery and kill himself. This knowledge is strictly limited to the applications of Sorcery, how it relates to the Tap, and its interactions with Caden's existing Wizardly powers. It does not grant any historic knowledge, nor does it apply to...pretty much anything else, really.

Raiaeran Conscript's Breastplate: Steel, Above Average quality. Originally given to Caden during the Siege of Eluriand, he gave it up after heavy damage suffered during the Scourging of Tembrethnil. It has been returned, repaired, and slightly improved by Draconus the Ancient. It bears several symbols and lines, the most striking of which is Caden's newfound personal heraldry: A blue raven on the center of the chest.

Upgrades to existing equipment:

Caden's Wizard Hat and Coat have been modified courtesy of both N'jal and V'dralla. Both now consist of N'jalian Spidersilk with a decreased weakness to fire (re: It only burns as quickly as regular silk would). Both are considered Masterwork quality. Any money that would've been gleaned from this quest can be used to pay for these upgrades.

Misc:

Caden has lost his GPS Sense. Y'edda took it and refined it into an actual physical item known as the Compass of Destiny. This item will only remain in Caden's possession until my next thread, at which point ownership will either default to Rayse Valentino (who can barter over its make and abilities on his own if he wants to keep it) or it will be Lost for the Questing of whoever else wants it. Assuming it isn't destroyed.

EDIT: Caden has also lost Greyspine's Grimoire. He retains the information about the myriad N'Thayn'sal apocalypses in his own Grimoire, but that's about it.

[Duffy]

I’ve been reading this since the start, and have to start with an opener, why aren’t you on my bookshelf yet?

Continuity - 8 The sense of progressing trials and moving from one stage to another and Caden’s demeanour and appearance and physical changing done was nigh short on fantastic.

Setting - 8 A little less rock, and more of these fantastic descriptive passages, you add humour and subtle metaphors to give more life than long winded detailed descriptions ever could, good work.

Pacing - 7 Lost a little here, the tempo in the action, as fantastic again as it is is a little jarring.

---

Dialogue - 10 With the exception of the use of the S word too much, some of the best dialogue I’ve had the pleasure to read on Althanas. The coloured text isn’t too obnoxious, and easily identifies who is speaking.

Action - 8 Great, enduring and involving. Perhaps you could’ve delved into Caden’s somewhat vast repertoire a little more, and mixed it up somewhat, but other than that, it’s clear as day and gripping.

Persona - 9 Historical and character references really helped add to Caden’s personality, you really get the sense of him being who he is, no questions needed. I can’t help but draw comparison to Rincewind with magic, but it’s a fitting and honourable title.

---

Technique - 9

Mechanics - 9 One or two minor slip ups, to the point where I’m not sure if they’re intentional or not. It’s so polished and gleaming you couldn’t forgotten to use capital letters and still gotten a 9 though!

Clarity - 9

---

Wild Card - 8 An absolutely pleasure to read, truly it was. Less use of shit wouldn’t go amiss though, running jokes are cool but I only laughed at them because I’m immature :p Another Judge's Choice recommendation coming your way sir!

Total - 85!

XP and Gold - 5,123 xp! (Gold taken as per spoils request.)

So awesome sauce is this, all spoils approved! If you can fit them all into your bio :p

[Taskmienster]

Exp added!

Move pending JC decision.