Greg could feel the heat in his feet through the leather boots he had on. The shifting sands of the desert didn't make for the easiest surface to march on. Many of the guards around him were already seasoned veterans of the desert. They were already used to the heat, the hard march, and all the other challenges this hostile environment had to offer. Mixed in with them, however, were a decent number of recruits who seemed to be having a hell of a time even as they moved through the burning sands.Greg could easily pick out which of the guards around them were still green simply by how deep in the sand their feet sank when they moved. With the veterans, their steps only left shallow indentations in the ground as they moved. The greenhorns, however, sunk to their ankles, sometimes even deeper, with every step that they took. Greg could only wince at the thought of how much sand some of them had probably gotten into their footwear. With the constant march of the caravan they were guarding

Greg didn't have eyes on the back of his head, but with the ground under his feet whispering to him whenever someone got within a certain distance of him, he might as well have. Wasting no time, Greg immediately jumped to the side to evade whatever attack, if any, that came his way. With a quick pivot, Greg used the momentum of his turning body to swing at the bandit who had thought to get him from behind. His gladius, however, fell short as his assailant had already jumped backward after his failed attack. Given his quick reaction, Greg could tell he wasn't dealing with an amateur. Even the simple way the man held his dual daggers left him with the feeling of a viper baring its fangs, ready to strike.Rather than just look at his opponent's eyes, Greg did his best to take in everything about him. From his posture, which foot he had toward, the angle at which he held the daggers in his hands, and so on. Greg even looked to see if the man was injured in some way that he could exploit.

When Morpheus gave his answer, Greg's eyes had bugged out almost ready to turn down the offer on his teacher's behalf. Still, he'd suppressed the impulse and delivered Morpheus's answer. "I'll have to scrub any evidence you were ever in this town not just in the minds of the townspeople, but also in the temporal sense as well. Even one who can scry into the past will be unable to find any traces of you. All that will need about five hundred cycles of her life," Morpheus had proposed.Greg had expected his teacher to balk at the answer. Even outrage at the answer would have been understandable. But other than a slightly displeased twist of her lips, the healer didn't show that much of a reaction to the declaration. Unable to help himself, Greg asked. "How are you okay with that?""I don't think you understand the kind of threat we face Roka. If my former alliance finds me, I won't be alive a cycle from now," she replied in a grave tone. The look in her eyes quietly reinforced the fact

To whatever entity it was that Roka was attached to, he'd just be a bigger ant, easily crushed with a single finger. By all that was sane in the world, Roka was just a first-tier mage, and yet, he had enough power residing within him to help a seventh-tier mage back to the peak of her power. If he repeated this anywhere else in the magic world, he'd either be thought mad or killed for looking down on seventh-tier mages. And yet he'd seen it with his own eyes. Any thoughts of going back on his word and breaking the contract had gone out of the window the moment he felt that power. Lothar had thought that going up against the Draknar alliance would be suicidal. With this new revelation, however, Lothar liked his chances against the alliance far more than whoever it was that Roka had channeled. "Roka," Lothar replied to the taunt by Roka with a slight bow of the head. This was the fitting gesture of respect that a lower-tier mage showed one of a higher tier. Lothar was perfectly aware

"It would be months before Mother would wake from her injuries. For those same months, Zena was in the family's custody, being tortured day and night. I've never seen my father so distraught. He called in every favor he could. He even knelt before the gates of the Jareth family for three months straight, seeking mercy for his second wife. Grandfather, however, was barely moved by this. Zena had tried to kill his daughter and she would suffer for it. The only concession he gave, was that he wouldn't kill the woman, instead, he'd leave the choice of whether she'd ultimately live in the hands of the one Zena had tried to kill. If Mother could forgive Zena, then Grandfather would abide by her will. "It was the first time ever that the man I'd always thought of as my father was kind to me. Aran understood that, given their frigid relationship, he'd never be able to convince Mother to forgive Zena. Instead, he thought to go through me. For a few months, he was the father I always desired.