Tariel stood there, large beads of sweat slowly forming on his brow.  In front of his outstretched fingers was a small ball of loose, mystic threads that pulsed with crimson energy.  If you looked long enough you could almost see their pattern, like a word on the tip of your tongue that you almost but cannot fully see. 

"Remember that the true essence of Fire lies at the borders of matter and energy, Tariel." The old man said, remembering that the same words had been spoken to him as well when he had been an initiate.

"I'm concentrating.  It's just too much…"

"And how is it different from a Firebolt, Tariel?  Size is an illusion…"

Tariel's face was set in grim lines of concentration, his features stretched in a grimace of effort.  Tariel was at the top of his class, a 2^nd Circle adept at spells of a fire basis.  Today his instructor, Maerhyn, was teaching him the basics of the Fireball, one of the most potent spells in existence.  He had seen so many of the other mages use this spell with comparative ease, why was it so hard for him?

"I can't do it…"

"Then stop."

The lines of force winked out of existence without a sound, leaving Maerhyn and Tariel in the training room with only the light of a brazier to see by.  Tariel hung his head down, ashamed.  Maerhyn looked disgustedly at Tariel; his right hand balled up into a tight fist.

"Why did you fail?"

"It was too much, I didn't have the energy… the spell was too complex."

"All petty excuses… why did you fail?"

"I… I don't…"

"You don't know?"

"No… I mean, yes… I don't know…"

"To your quarters, and may the lack of supper or breakfast bookend your meditation on why you failed."

"Yes, instructor."

The mage's school lay at the end of the great desert of Lothiar, it was one of the last Vizjerei strongholds dedicated to the instruction and teaching of Vizjerei mages.  In recent times their attendance had faltered as the world lay at the brink of darkness.  Maerhyn was the last great Instructor at the school, and he was nearly into his ninetieth year.  He walked with the aid of an old, gnarled staff that was nearly as old as the bricks of the school.  Rightfully feared by all the students, he was a tough, embittered old man, but still a staunch believer in the Light.  He walked slowly down a hall of nearly crumbling masonry, his ankles and knees creaking with age.

"Lord Maerhyn?" a young voice called out from behind him.

It was Aliandra; one of the school's few Sorceresses.  Since its conception in the ancient times the Vizjerei Brotherhood had been exclusively male and women were not allowed to learn the rites of sorcery and magic.  Only in recent years had this changed, but it was not a widely accepted practice.  The school sported only three Sorceresses, one of which stood before him now.

"Yes, Aliandra?" he said roughly.

"What happened to Tariel?  When he passed by me he refused to speak about it."

"He failed… I punished him."

"Why?" she seemed shocked.

"He was so full of himself before the Test started… and he does not know why he failed.  I want him to fully realize his mistakes."

"Isn't that a little harsh, Instructor, I know he's a little arrogant… but…"

"But what?  He overestimated himself, that could have gotten him killed had it been a heated battle."

"I see."

"You see nothing, Aliandra… you must not blind your logic with emotions, there is a time and a place for both."

Aliandra backed away from the old man, shocked and afraid. 

"Did you know that I trained your mother, Aliandra?" he said, getting off the subject of Tariel's failure.

"Why, no… she never said she attended…"

"She didn't attend the school, that was before the Council of Covenants allowed women to learn the Vizjerei arts.  She was quite good, you will succeed her."

Maerhyn walked away from Aliandra, leaving her to wonder.  Tariel incensed Maerhyn in a number of ways, the first being his obvious arrogance.  He did not listen to the lectures; he paid no attention to demonstrations.  Like all callow youths he thought he knew everything, but he had much to learn.  Perhaps Aliandra can teach the lad something of humility, Maerhyn thought, but then remembered the youth's attitude towards the Sorceress, perhaps not.  Unlike the others, Tariel did not have a lack of skill or learning, only of the proper attitude one must have.  In magic, failure and weakness of character is not an option.  The old man was tired, he didn't have the energy to stay up all hours of the night anymore.

In the adepts' rooms things were different.  Tariel sat down on his bunk, his face red with anger and embarrassment.  A curious cluster of other adepts sat around him, eager to hear his story.

"The old bastard!  I almost had the Fireball…" Tariel raved.

"But Tariel," Aliandra countered, "master Maerhyn said you failed."

"Once, Aliandra, I failed once.  He didn't give me a second chance."

"In the heat of battle you wouldn't have a second chance," Aliandra stated, quoting Maerhyn's words.

"Odd words from a little adept who can't even use a Firebolt yet…"

"You… arrogant stripling!" Aliandra fumed, walked away from the boastful mage.

Suddenly the doors to the adepts' room burst open and a portly man still dressed in his nightclothes entered the room at full speed.  His face was a hectic red.

"We must escape, the school is under attack!"

"Attack?" Tariel stood up from his bunk, "by what?"

"Skeletons!  From the deserts… huge beasts!"

"What in the name of Izual are you talking about, old man!" Aliandra shouted.

"Demons from the wastes, they'll kill us all!" the man went running past, still screaming his warning.