"How does it feel?" Maerhyn asked as he ambled towards Tariel.  The surprised youth spun around to meet his former instructor.

"Great God, you almost scared me to death, Maerhyn."

"A Vizjerei Mage must always expect surprises, and meet them with a level head.  Are sure you actually deserve your Turinash?"  Maerhyn asked, his face serious.

"I was just… well…"

"It's okay," the old man smiled, his serious veneer falling away, "a little dreaming is in order for you, today is a very important day in your life."

"I know," Tariel hung his head low, "it just feels so… empty… everyone else is still grounded in the studies, but here I am… the lone graduate."

"Once, when I myself graduated from this very school, these fields would be packed with other graduates.  We stood elbow to elbow for yards, awaiting the School Master to hand out our robes." Maerhyn's face was clouded by the power of his memories. 

"What was it like?  I mean, in the old days?"

"Different," Maerhyn said simply, turning away from Tariel, "very different."

Tariel didn't chase the topic, seeing the far off hurt in Maerhyn's eyes.  The sun-whitened banners of the School flapped in the freshening breeze, dim vestiges of they once were.  He could almost see them, as they might have been when Maerhyn himself was a young initiate, standing proud and bright as hundreds of initiates awaited their ascension to Magedom.  The scene was powerful, as the ceremonies that had been carried down since the world was young must have been.

"Come young Mage, we will have your Ascension feast, then, at least for the others, it is back to class as usual."

Maerhyn and Tariel walked away from the parade grounds, Maerhyn leaning heavy upon his ironwood cane as the two made their way to the inner grounds where the training halls were.  The smells of roasting meat and simmering stew struck Tariel's nose as they made their way into the halls.  In honor of his ascension all the classes had been suspended until the feast had commenced and was over.  The lone graduate of a class of one score men and women, Maerhyn thought as he ambled towards the dining room, the world has lost its shine.  Arrayed at the long table which had once seated the masters of the School sat all of Tariel's classmates and three vice-instructors, all of them waiting for the kitchen staff to bring forth the feast.  Maerhyn himself sat at the high-winged chair at the end of the table.  At the other end sat Tariel himself, in the place of honor.  In a moment the staff brought out the steaming plates of food and the entire class began to feast.

Midway through the feast Tariel raised his glass, looking squarely at Maerhyn. 

"I propose a toast, to Maerhyn, and to everyone who has helped me in my studies."  He looked in Aliandra's direction and she turned crimson.

The rest of the class raised their glasses.

"To Tariel," they all said, "and to Maerhyn."

The old man looked down, bashful or ashamed of the acclaim.  A cheer went up as they all drank, toasting to the first graduate of their class and the man who kept the School going year after year.  In the fuss, Maerhyn quietly slipped away from the table.

"Hey, where is he?" Aliandra said after they all had sat back down.

"I'll find him," Tariel said, "everyone just stay where you are."

Tariel got up and left the table, leaving everyone there to wonder.  Maerhyn had left the building and was standing on the parade grounds as day was slowly giving way to dusk.  The wind has indeed freshened, and the banners of the school flagged proudly.  Yet there was no pride in Maerhyn's heart, only the feeling that there had been something wrong all day, something getting steadily more wrong as the day progressed.  A sinister shape on the horizon, a faceless danger that lay waiting outside the apse of his conscious.

"Maerhyn?  What's wrong?" Tariel said as he approached.

"Something doesn't feel right?  Something is wrong."

"Another attack?" Tariel asked nervously.

"No… something else… something I know."

There was a gust of wind that blew from the East, bringing with it the smells of desert sand and corruption.  Maerhyn turned to face the breeze and saw a dark figure silhouetted against the dimming horizon.  The figure's robes were blown back in the wind, making him look all the more sinister.  Tariel took notice of the situation immediately.

"Are we expecting an envoy?" he asked.

"No, we are not." Maerhyn replied as he began to slowly walk towards the figure.

"Who is it?"

"I don't know…" yet in his heart the pale blossom of fear was growing.

"Hail!  You out there!" Tariel shouted, "present yourself."

There was a flash of light as the figure cast his spell.

"Tariel, down!" Maerhyn yelled as he yanked the younger mage to the ground.  Ten shards of what might have been metal or glistening bone flew over them at high speed, fast enough to kill or grievously wound.  Tariel, incensed, was on his feet immediately.

"Who are you?  Why have you attacked us without warrant?"

The figure began to walk towards them, slowly illuminated as a cloud moved away from the sun.

"You…" Maerhyn said slowly…"what are you doing here?"

"You foolish, old goat… still doddering about on your pointless errands?" The figure inquired.

"Who are you?" Tariel asked again.

"I am Sithian." He answered.

"He is a Necromancer," Maerhyn said, "one of them…"

"A Necromancer?" Tariel mused, bewildered.

"Why are you here, Sithian… hasn't old Kavak let you in their order yet?"

Sithian's face grew red with embarrassed anger; he clenched his hands into fists.