“NOW THAT WE’VE gotten that out of the way,” Veldon said, “formal introductions will be required.”

Kellen could hear Feoldor’s discontented mumbling.

Veldon turned to Sheeva. “With an association as dangerous as ours, we feel the best way to bring assurance to those we are working with is to

require that each member of this council be wielders themselves. For with great risk, comes greater loyalty.”

Veldon scooted forward and cleared his throat. “I guess I will go first. My name is Veldon, and as you know, I own the Easthaven Dockworks. What is not so apparent is that I’m an incindi.” Everyone except Sheeva relaxed in their seats, waiting for what they already knew was coming. The assassin, on the other hand, remained poised as if to strike, or run, as she kept a keen eye on the portmaster.

Veldon raised his right hand. Around his second finger was a uniquely designed pewter ring with a small crystalline center. It pulsed a deep red as he stretched it out toward the flickering lights of the large tallow candles lining the center of the table. The flames blinked momentarily before detaching themselves from their wicks and raising a couple of feet off the table. Kellen had always enjoyed watching Veldon’s gift. The portmaster spread his fingers and the flames grew brighter.

Sheeva gave no sign of apprehension as she watched the flickering lights float above their heads.

From out of nowhere, a gust of wind whipped across the room and extinguished the light. Kellen sighed. He could hear Feoldor giggling in the seat next to him. On the other side of the table, Orlyn groaned, and Reloria clicked her tongue. A couple of sparks from the head of the table drew Kellen’s attention as they ignited into a ball of flame where Veldon had apparently used his flint and steel. The portmaster looked a bit put out as he sent the ball of flame down the center of the table, relighting the candles as it went.

Sheeva’s piercing gaze scanned the council members before coming to rest on Feoldor with his unruly mop of hair and rugged side-whiskers.

Trying not to be too noticeable, Feoldor lowered his hand back to the table. Resting just outside the cuff of his sleeve was a brass colored bracelet with a single clear stone at its center.

Feoldor cleared his throat. “My name is Feoldor and I own one of the

glassworks in town,” he said with a bloated sense of pride. “And as you can tell, I’m a vanti.”

“Which, in Feoldor’s case,” Reloria said, “means someone full of hot air.” The middle-aged woman always found every excuse to agitate the outspoken man, which of course, Kellen had to admit, was hardly difficult to do. Reloria and Feoldor had been playing this game for years, ever since

she had lost her husband, and him, his wife. Most of the townsfolk had been laying stake as to when the two would finally overcome their petty bickering and tie the knot.

Feoldor gave a slight huff at her remark and went back to fiddling with his bracelet.

Leaning forward in her seat to get a better look at their guest, Reloria kept one hand on her hat as she offered Sheeva a warm, motherly smile. “My name is Reloria, dear, and I own the sweet shop in town. I’m a telasero, which I admit is not as glamorous as some of the others. In fact, most wielders have no idea what a telasero is. To put it bluntly, I have the ability to control taste.”

Kellen could tell by the look on Sheeva’s face that Reloria was going to have to demonstrate. She reached inside her rather large carry bag, which looked to have been fashioned from a number of dissimilar pieces of fabric, and pulled out a wrapped pickle. Cutting a slice, Reloria handed the wedge to Sheeva.

The small assassin lifted the pickle, cautiously took a small whiff, and promptly wrinkled her nose.

“Go ahead and try it,” Reloria urged.

Sheeva inserted the pickle into her mouth and bit down. Her face contorted slightly from the strong taste. It was the single largest emotion Kellen had witnessed from her so far.

Reloria rubbed her fingers across a small crystal amulet which hung loosely around her neck and closed her eyes. The stone sparked to life, emitting a faint golden pulse.

Sheeva’s countenance softened. “Tastes like an apple dipped in

cinnamon.” Her lack of excitement left Reloria looking a little downhearted at the triviality of her gift.

“I guess I will go next,” Orlyn said with a raspy voice. “My name is Orlyn and I am the town apothecary. My simple ability lies with vegetation. I’m a floratide.”

“More than simple, I would say,” Veldon said as he watched Orlyn slip his hand into one of the many pockets of his baggy robe and pull out a small clay pot. It had always astounded Kellen the number of bizarre and utterly random objects Orlyn kept hidden away within his saggy attire.

The pot was filled halfway with a dark rich soil. Orlyn laid the small clay container on the table and held out his hand to reveal a small seed resting between his thumb and first finger. Gently, he tucked it into the soft dirt and pressed down with his thumb.

Reaching behind his seat, Orlyn retrieved his staff. It was uniquely carved with rows of vines wrapping around its diameter in a circular pattern from top to bottom, or depending on how you looked at it, from bottom to top. Interwoven within the vines were small runes. Kellen had asked the apothecary about them years ago, but the old man had only shrugged and said the staff had been handed down in his family for generations. He had no idea where they had come from or what they represented.

Ingeniously crafted into the staff’s tip was a large crystal that cast a light green flicker across the side of Orlyn’s face as he tilted the head of the staff downward and tightened his lips in concentration. Everyone shifted forward in their seats to watch as the dark soil around the seed shuddered. A small sprout poked its head above the dirt. Its stem enlarged and grew as petals burst from the top into a beautiful array of gold and lavender.

“I never get tired of that,” Reloria said, her eyes beaming with delight.

Orlyn slid the planter in front of Sheeva. “For you, my dear. A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady.”

Sheeva bowed her head slightly. “Thank you.” She left the gift sitting untouched in front of her. She looked as though she wasn’t exactly sure what she was supposed to do with it.

Kellen glanced around the room. That only left two more.

“Go ahead, Gilly,” Veldon urged. “Show the nice lady what you can do.” He glanced at Sheeva in an apologetic manner. “Gilly is rather shy. He lives

by himself upriver and doesn’t usually come to town except on special occasions like today.”

Gilly was one of the shortest men Kellen had ever had the privilege of knowing. He couldn’t have been much more than waist high. What the little man lacked in social skills he made up for in kindness.

Veldon poured some water into Gilly’s cup and waited. The dwarf’s mouth held an infectious smile. It reminded Kellen of Adarra every time she discovered some new little tidbit of information from one of those

countless books she was always reading.

“He generally helps us with the loading and offloading of refugees.” Veldon twisted in his seat to look at the dwarf. “Any time you’re ready.”

With small pudgy fingers, Gilly retrieved an uncut crystal from the inner pocket of his cloak. It radiated a pale blue when he aimed it at the cup.

Everyone watched as the water began to whirl and stretch, forming what looked to be a miniature funnel as it rose over the lip. Gilly’s eyes were bright with laughter, like a child playing with a new toy. Abruptly, the swirling motion slowed and stopped as the water turned from blue, to translucent, to white, hardening into a perfect sculpture of ice.

Sheeva studied Gilly the same way she had been sizing up everyone else in the room.

Still beaming from ear to ear, Gilly confined his crystal back to the safety of his pocket without saying a word.

“Gilly’s a voda,” Veldon added, since the little man was clearly not going to speak up. “One of the strongest I’ve seen, I might add.” The portmaster turned to Kellen, and raised an outstretched arm. “I guess that leaves our gamekeeper.”

Kellen reached into his pocket and pulled out a small copper coin, holding it in the air for everyone to see. “Who wants to do the honors?”

No one volunteered.

From the other side of the table, Sheeva’s hand went up. Kellen tossed her the coin. She plucked it from the air as easily as plucking a book from a shelf. She looked it over and then cocked her head as she glanced back in

his direction.

Kellen smiled reassuringly. “Just toss it in the air whenever you’re ready.”

Her eyes narrowed as if measuring the risk involved but, without hesitation, she flicked the small coin upwards. It almost reached the rafters

above. It spun for a moment until gravity took over and brought the coin plummeting back toward the table below. Before it landed, Kellen reached inside his cloak and drew a small dagger from inside his jerkin. He flung it across the table, catching the coin in the middle of its rotation. The coin

flew across the chamber and was pinned to one of the wooden beams that framed the four corners of the room.

Sheeva left her seat and retrieved the dagger from the wood. She slid the impaled coin free and inspected it further. “Impressive,” she said, flipping

the dagger from handle to blade with the movement of one who was obviously familiar with its feel. After taking her seat, she leaned across the table and held the knife out to him, handle first.

“Thank you.” Kellen slid the blade back inside the folds of his jerkin. “Master Kellen isn’t like the rest of us,” Veldon said. “He doesn’t require

a transferal crystal to use magic. His magic is innate, a rare trait nowadays. And as you’ve just witnessed, his gift allows him perfect aim. He can pin a fly to the wall with anything you place in his hands. He draws quite the crowd during Easthaven’s archery competitions.” The portmaster winked at Kellen before turning his attention back to their guest. “That just leaves you, my dear, if you would be so kind?”

Sheeva returned a slight nod, and without warning, the space around her seemed to fold in on itself, causing her to vanish from sight. Chairs scraped, and feet shuffled in all directions as the council members hurriedly tried to distance themselves. Feoldor jumped to his feet, casting nervous glances around as he prepared to dash for the door, while Gilly ducked beneath the table.

Kellen had already reached inside his overcoat, gripping the handles of two knives, when the space where Sheeva had been sitting distorted once again, and she reappeared, revealing that she had never actually left her seat.

As the room settled down from the burst of chatter that inevitably follows someone vanishing right before their eyes, Veldon spoke up. “Well, there you have it,” he said, wiping a few drops of perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. “After a display like that, I’m starting to see why you were in your previous line of work.”

Several eyebrows rose at his casual remark. “I think someone with your skills could be a valuable addition to our group.”

“If we can trust her,” Feoldor interjected quickly.

Veldon didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned forward as far as his bulk allowed and rested his elbows on the table. “Alright, let’s get to the point. How are we going to help Saleena without drawing too much attention to the wielders here in Easthaven?”

There was a moment of silence as heads turned, sighs were exchanged, and chins were thoughtfully stroked, each member mulling over the problem at hand.

Kellen packed his pipe from a pouch in his side pocket, lit it with one of the nearby candles, and took a small puff. “I might have an idea,” he said.