Soren stood up and stretched his neck, which crackled as it readjusted itself. His short, black hair was a spiky mess, and his eyes were haggard looking, as if he had not slept in weeks. He was wearing a sleeveless red vest lined with gold fabric, and his arms were bare, except for a set of metal bracers that covered about half the forearms, linked to matching, half-fingerless, leather gloves. Below the vest were long, loose-fitting pants that hung to his ankles.

"Get out," Soren said and motioned to the door with his chin.

Penndarius gave him an aggravatingly obstinate smile. "Isn't it customary in the central kingdoms to provide an introduction when you meet someone new?"

Soren shrugged and replied, "Soren Luna Mortalitas," but grimaced, as if saying his own name was like poison touching his lips. "Now leave me," he insisted.

Penndarius threw his hands in the air. "Fine. Have it your way," he said in mock pain, and then he opened the door to the hall and descended the stairs. As he left, a small piece of paper fell out of his satchel.

Soren watched him leave and wondered why this young man seemed to intrigue him beyond others. Then he saw a sight that chilled his blood. Two black-cloaked men with all-toofamiliar silver-moon pendants passed by the entryway.

Anxious to see whether the men were following Penndarius, Soren turned from the door and walked toward the window to watch for the young scholar. Penndarius walked out of the inn, eating a biscuit. The two assassins followed him, carefully staying out of sight.

Soren frowned as his suspicions were verified. Suddenly a little pinprick on the back of his neck, that innate sixth sense of a warrior, alerted Soren to another's presence in the room.

"Come out and show yourself," he said as he turned toward a dark silhouette near the wall.

"Your senses are as keen as ever, Soren," the assassin replied as he separated from the shadows in the doorway and came into view.

Soren put his back to the opposite wall, observed the assassin intently, and slowly stilled his breath to calm himself. With precise movements that spoke of a warrior's training, Soren readied himself by tensing his muscles while appearing to be completely relaxed. He pivoted on the spot and placed a foot directly in line with the assassin, carefully aiming toward him in case there was a need to act.

The man's hood was drawn down so that Soren could not see his features. The crescent symbol of the Mortalitas clan was plainly evident on his chest, and he quickly pounded his fist against it in greeting.

"My Lord Soren, I have a message from your brother," he said in a formal tone.

Soren narrowed his eyes. "I figured you would come sooner or later. What does my bastard brother want with a vagabond like me?" Soren asked casually.

The man opened his hands wide. "He sent me to extend a greeting to you, my lord, and a warning. Lord Daymion humbly bids you to stay out of the events of the day, lest you become a target, as well," the assassin said simply with a polite bow.

Soren raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Stay out? A target?" he said in amused disbelief. "Interesting. What does he want with the boy?" Soren asked, and there was an undertone of threat in his voice.

The assassin straightened in surprise that acknowledged Soren's insight. "The boy is in a regrettable situation. Unfortunately, he—"

The assassin did not have a chance to finish his sentence. Soren's taut leg muscles snapped him forward and propelled him toward the assassin faster than the man could react. He covered the full distance of the room with a single bound and slammed his palm against his opponent's throat to cut off his breath.

The assassin immediately began to gasp and choke, and his hands flew to his neck for selfpreservation, but Soren did not allow him a breath. Throwing two quick punches into the assassin's torso, Soren lifted the man off the ground with surprising strength that belied his graceful form. He pushed the assassin against a wall and continued to pound into the man's sternum, holding him up in the air. Painful gasps of air escaped the assassin as he was struck at several points.

Soren finally stopped pounding, and the assassin began to fall to the floor, but Soren caught him on the shoulder and turned toward the bed. Then he jumped high into the air and let the assassin drop down head first, pile-driving him into the bed. Supports cracked, and wood splinters flew in every direction. The bed frame went concave, and the man bored into its remains.

Soren continued his nonstop onslaught and launched punch after punch into the other man's ribcage, continuing to force the air from his lungs, never giving him a chance to get back up.

Soren finally stood upright and shook out his hands from the assault. "Where are your brethren going?" he asked with cold disdain.

The broken man choked in pain, and flecks of blood lined his lips. "I have another message," the assassin said, coughing roughly. "He sends greetings from beyond, Deartháir," the assassin said with a pained laugh and then passed out.

Soren's face went red with anger, and an unbidden tear escaped and slid down his cheek.

Quickly he brought his hand up and was able to get his rage under control.

The information had come too easily, and that bothered Soren in passing, as did his brother's painful and infuriating way of communicating to him.

"’Deartháir,’" he breathed to himself.

Soren gazed down on the broken, unconscious body. He remembered the piece of paper that had fallen from the scholar’s satchel, and he picked it up. Written on it was an address in the Magic Quarter: 6246 Fenrin Lane. He smirked.

The noise of the collapsing bed had drawn attention from outside.

"Oy! What is goin' on in there? Ya better not be breakin' me things, or yer gonna pay with more than yer purse!" a man yelled as he banged on the door from the outside.

"Douglas," Soren said to himself, and he made his way toward the curtains and pulled them open. Light streamed in and caused him to hold his hand up to block it momentarily.

Douglas kicked his way in through the door and stood with a rolling pin cocked and ready. "Oy! You, ye are payin' fer all o' this!" he yelled. His face was flushed red and looked strangely like a tomato.

Douglas saw Soren standing on the window sill and the unconscious assassin in his bed, and he waved the makeshift weapon at the window, crying, "Come back, you!"

Soren winked at the barkeep, jumped out the window, and landed on the ground at a run, disappearing into the crowded city streets.

Douglas fumed at this and stared down at the unconscious assassin. "What do you want?" he asked the man, who did not respond, then walked out muttering something about the City Guard.

----------

How is the connection between kirin and magus formed? The secret to binding the soul of a magus to a kirin is kept from students and outsiders by the senior magi of the Pentacle. It is only revealed to their pupils when the students are deemed ready through vigorous testing. The binding is dangerous, and if it fails the magus's life is snuffed out. However, once made, the bond is unbreakable except by the most potent of magic or the absolute finality of death.

- Edipagus "Ed" Dorimingus ap Magus, magic specialist in Deiyil

The city's streets were not yet crowded as Penndarius made his way nonchalantly toward Ed's tower, still feeling the deficit of sleep. He looked to the sky.

I miss my pillow, so fluffy, soft, and filled with that sweet cotton. He stifled a yawn. "Stupid bird!" he complained with mock irritation.

Two-story buildings lined the pristine white stone road. The first story of each of the buildings hosted awnings and trade stalls, and the second story held living quarters for merchants and their families. Some of the buildings were made from the same white stone as the road, while others were a mishmash of materials ranging from wood to multicolored stones.

During this time of day, the trade district of Deiyil was beginning to open. Many shop owners were outside their stalls, sweeping dust and the like from their porches, preparing their wares for purchase, and setting out goods for hawking. Some organized their merchandise and then went back and did the same thing again to get it all just right.

The area was bustling in the morning with laughter and cries of good cheer at the new day. Wares of all kinds dotted the side areas of the market: exotic spices, weapons, ornaments and jewelry, pastry, and meats. The sweet aroma of baking bread and the sharp odors of spices filled the air.

The market district was close to the Scar, which was why Penndarius was to meet Gale nearby at Ed's. Edipagus Dorimingus ap Magus was the mutual acquaintance who had put Penndarius in touch with Isaiah Helkrif and his assistant Gale on account of Penndarius's particular field of expertise.

Penndarius smiled as he munched the last of his biscuit and tramped down the smooth, white road. Had he looked behind him and observed closely, he might have spotted the two hooded figures following him at some distance, and his demeanor might have been different.

Light from the dual suns poured into one of the armor shops as Penndarius passed, and it reflected off a shield into his eyes, causing the scholar to raise his hands to block the glare. One of the shop owners waved Penndarius over to try to sell him some of his inventory, but Penndarius gestured him away and kept walking.

Finally Penndarius spotted the tower that was his destination. It was down one of the side alleyways, marked as Fenrin Lane with an elegant, purple-and-gold etched sign.

The alleyway was an abrupt change from the bustling street behind him. It was a strange experience: One moment there was a broad street and a growing crowd, and now there was a tight fit, with barely anyone walking along the ornamented lanes.

On both sides, miniature yards marked this as a residential sector. The building style also changed. There were twisting minarets, circular spiraling towers, large trees that had been hollowed out and turned into homes. This was the Magic Quarter, where the magi made their homes. Eccentricities aside, the people who lived there were typically decent folk.

Finally he arrived at his destination—at least he thought it might be his destination. One could never tell with magic users. This was the location, but Ed's house changed so often from multiple renovations, both magical and physical, that he had a hard time telling for certain. From top to bottom, the small tower was a thing of absolute chaos. The last time Penndarius had been here, Ed had expected him to enter through the roof, since that was where the door had been placed, but there was no discernable way up to it. The tower was not straight; instead it zigzagged upwards at odd angles that would have made any architect scratch his or her head as to how the building was still standing.

The artistic choices were also radical. The tower was made of gray stone but had a toxiclooking, yellow-painted roof. Written on the outer gate was an address, etched in gold: 6246.

Regardless of Penndarius' feelings about Ed's architectural tastes, he was a kind and good person, and that made him all right in the scholar's book. Penndarius walked in through the burnished copper gate and made his way down the stone path. He knocked on the round wooden door and waited.

- End of Episode -

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New Episodes of A Scholar's Journey: The Divine Tempest are released every Thursday at 7 AM PST.