here was a time, he recalled, when his life had seemed well-ordered and set on a comfortable path. He was the treasured student and servant of Master Dojin Matabe, a man he had loved and whose loss still ached inside of him when he remembered that gentle soul and the cruel way he had been torn from the world. Now here he was in his old Master’s place, the leader of a once powerful and illustrious guild hiding on an island while making the best of a bad situation. He had his own apprentice now and, he imagined, the same regrets that Dojin may have harbored toward him. Was his kindness and gentleness merited or was it permissiveness, a kind of neglect that told his apprentice he believed him too weak and damaged to be of use to him?

Pendaran was almost his old self again. Almost, Zhou repeated to himself. It took the Wintersday festivities to clearly see the damage that had been wrought upon his friend and adept. It was more than that he wore the black of a widower, it was his evasiveness. That morning he had caught sight of Pendaran at the end of a corridor and had moved toward him to talk only to see him hurry away and feign ignorance of Zhou’s approach. He knew beyond a doubt that Pendaran had seen him and it hurt to be treated as if he were the harbinger of some terrible disaster.

Worse, Zhou had promised to protect him, to give him the tools he would need to keep himself safe from demons and their ilk. And he had failed. Lemony was fond of reminding him that Pendaran could have asked for help at any time, but the fact remained he had failed to see what was clearly demonic possession in his closest friend. The study of such things had encompassed Zhou’s entire life’s work for the last twenty years. Pendaran had to know what an epic failure that was, that it basically meant all of Zhou’s promises to protect and guide him were empty and disastrous. No wonder he did not want to deal with Zhou any more.

He rose from the table and bowed to Ebony Starfall when she finally arrived at the appointed hour. She and the other Elonians had formed their own little enclave and had even asked to make a guild for themselves on the island. She currently wore the deep red cloak of her new organization and was now an ally and equal. Its emblem was the silhouette of an ornate key in reference to their organization’s name, the Scarlet Key.

“Good afternoon,” he said, gesturing toward a chair.

“Hello,” she said, smiling broadly. Clearly she was still very proud and excited about her new venture. Zhou sensed she was spilling over with every exciting detail of her guild’s charter, its members and goals. He was glad that someone on the island was happy and hopeful.

“How is your new guild?” he asked against his better judgment.

“Wonderful!” she announced. He noted that she was still wearing her colorful Elonian caftans with their wild woodblock prints and colors. It was amusing for a necromancer, particularly an elderly one. Her deep mahogany skin hid the ritual scars upon her face, but she could make them stand out with a little dye and color. Zhou was fond of her, not only for the exceptional job she had done taking care of Pendaran in his absence, but because she was wise and candid. He never detected deceit in her and it was a refreshing change from what he normally encountered in other human beings.

“Khunzar and Ishalha have agreed to allow Dabar to be one of the officers of the guild. I think he was rather startled, but he warmed to it. I was hoping… well he wanted to know if you minded if he made a home in the woodlands on the northeastern part of the island.”

“If the Dunvael have no issue with it,” Zhou replied. He was happy to let other guilds take care of the wild areas of the island. He had all the space he needed now to house and train his own people and see to the orphanage. There was even space for a new magical academy if Lemony made good on her desire to build one in Uriel’s honor. Of course, he had plans of his own, but these did not include the island and he had not made them known to any but his closest associates.

“Thank you, we have already started talking with them about it.”

He sensed there was something else about Dabar she wished to discuss, but he was content to put it aside. Personally, he was fond of the centaur and owed him a debt of gratitude for helping Pendaran survive. Zhou had been around long enough not to place great emphasis on race or species, he respected Dabar purely on the basis of his good heart and deeds.

“Well, since you asked me to come here, I imagine there is something you wanted to talk about,” Ebony said and he smiled at her, relieved and humbled by her perceptiveness, “Is it about Pen?”

“As a matter of fact, it is.”

“I have been waiting for this chat,” she chuckled.

“Indeed?”

“I used to have them with my peers back in the day when I trained necromancers for the Sunspear. Some students are easy, and some are difficult. The art is knowing which is which and then finding the way to reach them.”

“Pendaran is both.”

“Yes, he is,” she replied, the smile leaving her face, “I realized one day that what made a student difficult was the degree to which I loved them. I could not detach from their pain and lived in fear of causing harm.”

“What did you do, then?”

“You have to weigh what you know to be good for them against your own fear of failure and regret.”

“Perhaps that is the problem. I no longer know what is good for him.”

Ebony gazed thoughtfully upon him.

“You know what is not good for him. It’s a start.”

Zhou felt a lump in his throat.

“He has suffered so much. Maybe I have no right to expect anything from him. Maybe I should just be grateful that he is alive and will be a father to his children. He has lost two wives and his own parents and his homeland…”

“Yes, he has.”

“And he runs from me now,” Zhou said, angry and yet filled with grief, “and if I were him, maybe I would, too.”

“He runs from everyone, Master Bei.”

“What?”

“Me, Lemony, Xiang Yi, anyone who reminds him of his past and what he was destined to become. When you asked the Fengs to move out of the servant’s quarters so that he could share a more spacious abode with them, it was he who protested loudest.”

“So I was told. Why do you bring that up?”

“He runs from the gods and his destiny. You allow him to serve as the guild’s accountant and he is perfectly content with that. Nice safe numbers, no reason to face up to his responsibilities as a servant of Lyssa.”

Zhou rose from his seat and began pacing.

“This makes you uncomfortable,” Ebony observed, “but Lyssa bound the two of you and now you are his appointed teacher. He is not an accountant, Master Bei, he is a mesmer.”

“And if he were your student?”

“He has had three months of peace, now he is becoming intractable. Impose rules or he will create his own.”

Zhou paused and gazed upon her, sensing a note of bitterness in her voice. There was no gentle way to train a student in the higher forms of magic. He knew from his own training that his master had been harsh and demanding when it was merited. And he remembered hating the man for that. Ultimately, his greatest fear was not for Pendaran’s well-being, but for his hatred.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, “I know what I must do now.”

“You are welcome, Master Bei. I am always here.”

“He should be here shortly. I wish to have a word with him alone.”

“Understood. Good luck.”

Zhou waited until Ebony departed before he went to the window of the study and gazed out into the yard. Several of his guild members were doing basic combat forms with some of the older orphans who showed promise. Most would go on to become guards or servants, choosing to stay in the only place they had called home. A few would go out into the world on their own, often coming back to visit but seldom staying. And rarely, one was chosen by the gods and would go on to receive training and join the guild.

He felt Pendaran’s approach moments before he arrived. His adept’s mind lacked its old calm, laced with anxiety and dread. As he drew closer, his attempts to mask his feelings caused Zhou’s temples to ache. Finally numbers sleeted through his mind, a frightened recitation of things that had no meaning beyond their raw quantity.

The infernal counting. He had caught Pendaran flicking through the beads of the abacus. At first Zhou thought his desire to take over the guild’s accounting an amusing phase, never imagining that his adept had no intention of yielding his new role.

“Sit down,” he said when he heard Pendaran pause at the doorway.

“Mabane and I have plans this afternoon,” Pendaran said evenly, “I have balanced the accounts for the day. You should know that at the current rate, we will have a shortfall of roughly fourteen thousand coins by month’s end.”

“I saw your report. That is not what I wish to discuss.”

He was counting the books that lined the shelf. Blessed gods.

“Close your eyes. Now.”

“I’m done,” Pendaran replied coldly.

To Zhou’s horror, Pendaran rose from his seat. Zhou spun around to face him, his jaws clenched with rage.

“If you are not back here at dawn tomorrow to resume your training, then I hope you truly enjoy your job as an accountant because that will be all you will ever accomplish as a servant of this guild.”

“Very well,” Pendaran replied.

“And I would have you return all items that were furnished you upon completion of your training in the mesmeric arts and you will move into your own room with your children in the servant’s quarters.”

“Leave my children out of this!” Pendaran snarled.

“And if you do not speak to me respectfully, our bond will be severed.”

Pendaran hesitated, running a trembling hand through his chestnut hair.

“I can’t do what you ask,” he said bitterly, “I’m… broken inside. I’m not ready.”

“Dawn, tomorrow,” Zhou repeated, “Now go.”