The apprentice Edom ran through the forest, branches whipping his face leaving red welts. It seems like he had been fleeing for an eternity, hiding in every cave and forest he could find. It didn't matter; his former master had been a great explorer in his youth, and knew every hole on the surface of Calidan. And always there was that maddening feeling of presence in his mind.

He was lost, anyway. The forest was known to be enchanted, and the trees of the wood writhed and twisted around him, confusing his path, and bewildering his sense of direction. Wry chuckling of the hidden Tuatha rang in his ears like the pronouncement of doom from his master.

You have betrayed me, apprentice. You have betrayed me and broken your oath. Why?

He had not had an answer then, and it didn't matter now. His master had touched his forehead, and an ancient rune had appeared in the True tongue, saying only "Thief." The only thing left for him was now to flee. A hopeless prospect, since a mere whisper from his master would bring Edom to his master's feet. But there was nothing left to do.

He heard the screeching of a forest drake in the distance and knew it had found his trail. The close cousin of the dragons hunted by scent and would find him soon if he did not get out of the forest. He saw the light of open space before him. Mingled hope and fear gave him strength, and he burst out of the underbrush onto the beach of a wide lake and into safety. The drake would not follow him out of the trees.

The lake glimmered in the noon day soon, a near perfect reflection of the cloudless sky. Mirros, he thought, pulling the name from his geography. The lake of the nymphs. He was as safe as he could be, at the moment; the nymphs only employed their seductive powers on those whom intruded into their domain.

Edom sat down heavily on the sands, and tried to rest, staring mindlessly at the surface of the lake. His options were now considerably few. He had enough food and water, some gold he had earned by small enchantments for villagers he had met, but no hope of salvation. At least, overcome by his weariness, hopelessness, and fear, he laid his head upon his arms and wept while the water played and danced with the sun.

The sound of boots on stone echoed across the library as the Master Therion paced in front of his class. He was short for an elf, and frighteningly thin, but his presence filled the room commanding attention from his otherwise distractable students. Brown hair fell in waves over his blue silken robes, while his full lips spoke to those gathered.

"Some of you may think that your actions are like an arrow shot into the air. You fire the arrow, and hit or miss your target, and it is finished. Consider that your actions may be rather like a stone cast into a pond, that every simplest gesture you make sends ripples across the universe, making waves in ways completely unknown to you. This is why we must be careful with what we do with our Art: the balance of the universe, and ourselves, must be maintained."

He paused to survey the enraptured eyes of his apprentices. Some of them had a tendency towards evil, he could tell by their auras, some towards good. Eventually, most would realize that they were but part of the games of the gods. The rest would leave him eventually for their illusions. It was as it should be.

"Class is now dismissed. I wish to see all of you individually tomorrow morning for review of your progress."

The myriad students of every race and color stood up. They nodded respectfully to him and vanished, gone to their respective desmenes. Therion sighed and sat down in his red velvet chair, lighting his pipe with a small match. There was a student missing today, one who had been headstrong and willful and supremely talented. The master had watched the rise of this student with growing pride, filled with the joy of finding a worthy pupil. Until the betrayal.

Therion shook his head. Never had one dared to break his oath, not a single student had thought himself above the consequences, excepting one, and the pain of that still rankled within the master's breast.

"It is time to finish this," he told himself, or perhaps spoke to the will o' wisp humming gently above his chair. He put down his pipe. "This has gone on long enough." He walked through his home to the ritual chamber, a magnificently constructed ediface of gray marble and gold. A geodesic dome above provided a dazzling view of the astral plane outside.

Standing in the center of the circle of pillars, he closed his eyes and focused his mind on the point of magical awareness. Reaching his senses out across the vastness of the planes, he found the one soul for which he searched, and uttered the magical phrase, now familiar by long usage:

"Gewbar."

The space before him twisted and flexed, threatening to break his hold on the magical current and send his subject tumbling uncontrollably into the astral. It was an old battle, though, and the master guided the energies to work with, instead of against against the tides. Suddenly, the weeping form of Edom appeared, framed neatly by the triangular engraving on the floor.

Edom looked up at the eyes of his master, and turned his face away.

"Greetings, master," he whispered quietly.

"Greetings, apprentice," Therion replied sadly. "Will you tell me now?"

"Damn it, master!" Edom looked up and glared icily at Therion. Scars ran across his arms and body, his face gaunt. Even Edom's hair had begun to drift away to more profitable careers. "I was foolish. I had thought I could get away with it. I was tired of talking and reading and practicing, and wanted to do something with what I had learned."

Therion said, "And now you have done something." Edom turned away again, unable to face his master.

"It is time now for your punishment."

"I have not been punished enough? You have kept me running for over a year, and that was not my punishment?"

"No."

"Will you kill me?"

"No."

"What then?"

"Those that cannot command themselves, must be commanded. You cannot be trusted, therefore you may not trust." A glow of power surrounded Therion and Edom began to feel a stabbing pain.

"You are irresponsible with strength, therefore you must nurse your weakness." Edom's body spasmed as he felt the center of his soul being ripped away from his body. Instinctively, he tried to scream, tried to defend himself as best he could, but there was nothing to concentrate on, no focus of being.

"You are not whole, so you are doomed to be broken." The apprentice crumpled as the bones in his legs shattered. He moaned incoherantly.

"Go from here," said Therion, "and beg the common folk for your food, and the gods for your release. tfiof horosafh."

Edom found himself on the eastern edge of Modrian, leaned up against a wall. The townsfolk walked by casually, pretending not to notice him, while defenders looked on him with pity. A mangy mutt sniffed him and walked away. With horror, he realized that where once there was power, there was nothing. He could not even remember the words to any of his spells. The magic was gone.

Powerless and broken in both mind and body, he sobbed into his torn rags until mixed drool and tears pooled on his crippled legs. When he had stopped, he relaxed into the final depths of hopelessness and looked up at the passers-by.

"Hey, lady!" he begged. "Can you spare something for me? Hard times, they are."

Back in his tower, the Master Therion was writing in his red journal.

The fate of my errant apprentice shall be left here unrecorded, for the sake of posterity. I would not have the compassion of future generations tainted by distaste for my unfortunately necessary methods.

There still remains the identity of the thief behind my apprentice's actions. He was extremely cautious, naturally, and left no clues as to his whereabouts. The mirror stolen from me has obviously been protected from scrying, and that indicates a certain savoir faire on the part of the possessor. It looks as though I will have to search him out by hand, as it were.

May the Gods have mercy on his soul, for I am not so inclined.

The greater sun rose over the city of Modrian, shining down upon the white city which was said to be the center of the world. Sunbeams fell first upon the tip of the white tower, where novices trained for their first stumbling steps in the paths of heroes. The light fell next on the shining white rooftops, awakening the birds that roosted there, filling the slumbering city with the twitters and chirping sounds of wakefulness. As light from the greater sun began to touch the streets, the lesser, brighter sun peeked out from the horizon, shining fiercely on the bright marble buildings.

The light filtered gently through the orchard of the tropical park, casting an otherworldly glow through the fading mists of morning. Slowly, the sounds of a stirring city broke the stillness, with the creak of carts and the far off babble of sellers hawking their wares.

The form of Therion faded into view, only slightly disturbing the grassy landscape's morning tranquility. He smiled to himself and walked purposefully through the park, appreciative of its natural beauty. Just outside of the park, he had a friend to call upon.

Darom was a mage, and as such preferred his own privacy, so his home was fenced, and sported a small maze of mirrors to bewilder any curious visitors he had no intention of entertaining. This morning, however, he was at the gate when Therion strode out of the park, as though he were waiting for someone.

"I've been waiting for you," informed Darom, as soon as the other mage was in earshot. "There are things afoot. Most interesting things, mind you."

Therion raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Good morning to you also, friend Darom."

"Oh," the wizard looked slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry, but there's been much on my mind. Please, won't you come in?"

"Don't mind those," recommended Darom as they entered the unassuming cottage. "They'll act to defend themselves, but otherwise they just clean. The place has been sparkling since I got them." Large silver watermelon-shaped objects were scurrying about the floor, seemingly at random.

"And they only eat garbage? Where did you find them?" Therion chuckled politely, amused at his friend's absent-minded brilliance. Darom had little mind for anything but the extension of knowledge,

"In an obscure portion of the Costal. They float high above the surface there, eating who knows what. I took one back here to study, and it actually survived the planar transition." Darom guided Therion into a study, gesturing towards a seat.

The Costal was a seperate plane of existence, where the fabric of reality was smeared across the walls. Most modern scholars argued that it wasn't truly a plane at all, but a tiny pocket dimension in which the astral connections had tied themselves in knots. Others argued that it was a plaything for the gods, mistakenly opened to the exploration of mortals. Therion didn't care for the place, considering it annoying and insignificant. There had once been great magical artifacts to be found in the region, but the chaotic, unpredictable nature of the place had stripped them of power.

"Interesting." Therion sat down in the antique chair next to an enormous crystal ball. "Now suppose you tell me what is happening here?"

Darom blinked, his attention brought back to the moment.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "You're aware, of course, of the numerous rifts in the fabric of time caused by the simultaneous experiments of the mages here in the present and the physicists of the future."

Therion nodded. He had been, in fact, one of the wizards involved in the experiment and his theories regarding the nature of time had proven to be a key element of the magics involved. The parallel experiments in past and future had come as a surprise, but were entirely logical.

"We softened the barriers of time with magic," Therion said. "And they did so with their technology allowing the passage to be opened."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Darom. "But have you studied the affects of that softening afterwards?"

"I had other things to worry about, and thought the research could be adequately handled by others." Therion raised his eyebrow. "Is something amiss?"

The scholar frowned. "Have you tried any truly powerful magics lately? Anything that drains you to incapacity for more?"

"You know I haven't been adventuring in years," said Therion. "There hasn't been a need for such things."

"Well, I have. I have noticed that my power has lessened greatly. Oh, my strength and skill is the same, even increased, but I no longer have the magical endurance which grants us long spell casting."

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the cries of the pigeons in the park nearby. Finally, Therion spoke.

"This is disturbing to me, Darom. Never has a mage lessened in power except by the will of the Gods."

"The Gods favor me still, old friend, never fear. I would fear the Gods' wrath, as well, if it were but I that was affected, but several of my collegues have also experienced the same. Can the Gods be angry at all mages?"

Therion nodded. "Have you gone before the High Tower?"

"Bah!" Darom spat. "The addle-brained fools can't see beyond the ends of their beards. 'Of course we know. We know everything there is worth knowing and rest assured that everything is under control.'" His face twisted in a characture of solemnity.

Therion chuckled politely. He shared his friend's feelings on the highly political organization of mages, but preferred to be more circumspect about them. "So you're asking me to leave my quiet life behind and go galloping about the countryside looking for the cause and solution, I expect. You mentioned the time rifts - do you suspect that these are the cause?"

Darom's eyes brightened behind his spectacles. "Yes! There's a possiblity that the increasing magical flows between times are causing a lessening of power on both sides."

"But the rifts were opened years ago, and this new disturbance is recent."

Darom held up his hand. "I only suspect, at this point. Perhaps there is something more, and I'd like for you to look into it. This affects us all, Therion."

Therion nodded solemnly, deep in thought. "Very well, Darom. I will do this thing that you ask. Now, I must ask of you a favor."

"Which you shall certainly be granted." Darom grinned. "I know how it rankles you to ask for assistance."

Therion ignored the gentle jib. "I've recently had an object stolen from me - a magical mirror. It was meant to investigate the properties of the astral vortices, but to do that, it had to been tuned to the energies of my home."

"Ah!" Darom cackled. "And it could be used as another entrance to your domain. I see why you would want it back. And the thief has wards against divination, or you would be trouncing him right now instead of discussing the finer points of applied metaphysics with your batty old friend."

Therion grumbled. "Indeed. I have far fewer information sources in the prime, living apart as I do, and I was wondering if you would look into the matter."

"Of course I shall." Darom smiled. "It's been a long time since I emerged from this shack in any case."

Therion nodded. "Then I must go to the High Tower of Magic. Although most of them are pompous fools, they may yet know something of interest." He reached within his robe, pulling out a leather bound book, and smiled. "Farewell, old friend."

"Farewell," Darom whispered as Therion placed his hand within the book and faded from existence. "May the Gods protect you."

Anito whistled cheerfully as he crossed the busy, dusty market square of New Thalos. This month, the month of the Grand Struggle, had been good for him, almost good enough to ignore his usual distaste for the hot and noisy city where he had come to both conduct business and answer the summons from the guildmistress.

He was a lean wiry man, with quick steps and nimble fingers which he often used to his advantage. He specialized in commodity transfers, as he liked to call it - a lucrative business which tended to cut into the coffers of the rich more often than they liked. Still, he had not been caught yet, and after his long years of experience in the field, he didn't plan to.

He had been on the road for many days, occasionally hitching a hide on the covered wagons passing constantly between Modrian and New Thalos, but mostly walking and enjoying the scenery. He looked conspicuous in his traveling gear, but that didn't particularly bother him. "Make 'em look up and you can steal whatever's under their nose," he'd say, eschewing the life of secrecy and darkness of most professional thieves.

A nearby street hawker noticed his unusual attire and rushed to meet him in the road, babbling in his harsh tongue about the many virtues of the gem he brandished in his left hand. Anito halted his walk, smiling wryly at the eager seller.

"Tooshka," said Anito after a glance. Glass. The vendor sputtered angrily and clutched at something within his cloak, but Anito had already disappeared from his view. A few minutes later, he noticed that the dagger he had hidden and his purse had similarly disappeared.

Anito left the market square and walked into a dark alley. A huge muscular man and a thin boy stood at the end of the alleyway. The man seemed to be deeply involved in examining his fingernails, but the boy stared at Anito in unabashed curiousity. Anito nodded amiably at the boy and made a quick fingersign to the man, who nodded and stepped aside, revealing an open grating and the top of a ladder. Anito tossed his newly-acquired small dagger to the boy, who grinned and waved silently as the elder thief climbed down the ladder.

Any guild hall of the thieves had a tense, quiet air within its walls, a consequence of the untrusting nature of its members. This day, the thieves guild was on the point of a silent eruption. Anito felt the disturbance as soon as he entered the doors, and warily sought out the guildmistress.

"Is there something amiss, my lady?" he asked as he strode into her office. The room was painfully tidy, he thought, suppressing the urge to create some sort of mess. Scrolls and papers lined one of the walls, each stuck within its own small box. The guildmistress sat behind a worn wooden desk, almost ornate in the simplicity of its curves. Her long blonde hair was tied back from her worn face, revealing dark eyes that swore of long ago suffering. No one outside the guild or within it knew her name, not even someone as high ranking as Anito. He privately suspected it was because she had been noble at one point, and wished to avoid a certain kind of attention. Not many street rats had the inclination to learn the organizational skills she possessed.

She smiled tiredly and sighed. "It's that obvious is it?" She gestured for Anito to take a seat and began to thumb absent-mindedly through the papers on her desk.

"If you'll recall," she began, "two years ago the physicists and the mages managed to create controllable wormholes through time."

Anito nodded. "That's pretty common knowledge."

"What wasn't common knowledge at the time was the disruptions that would occur in the social fabric. These people are different from us, Anito, no matter that they're supposedly our descendants. They're causing havoc with the economies here, economies that our guild depends upon to survive."

Anito stroked his dark goatee and took a stab in the dark. "Guildmistress, this has been under discussion for some time in every guild from here to Istan. What's the real problem here?"

The guildmistress's self-control snapped, and she slapped the desk. "Curse it, Anito! I'm talking about the hoods! They come through the rifts without any skills, without any code of ethics, without the slightest notion of social responsibility! Lynch mobs are forming all across the continent, aimed at us, Anito. The guild cannot survive a full scale assault."

"Well, what do you expect me to do about it?" Anito asked. "It's not as if we can keep them away."

The guildmistress smiled grimly. "That's exactly what you can do.

"We have to close the rifts. All of them."

To be continued...