“You were wise to come to me.” As he spoke, the tall mage kept the gaze of his deep-set, colorless eyes riveted upon the dark-clad man he addressed.

The man had flung back his cloak. Beneath the voluminous garment he wore rich attire-velvet and silk of the same midnight hue, but showing signs of wear and stains of travel. The face could seem young at first glance, but close inspection would make apparent lines and creases in the visage, and a pair of eyes that revealed the worry and fatigue that lay behind them.

“Your aid is most appreciated,” the man said in reply after a few seconds. His voice was still toneless.

There was a silence as the frail spell-worker sent his gaze from man to woman, and then to the tiny bundle she clutched closely to her breast. The mage made several odd gestures, magical passes, while his deeply sunken eyes seemed to become lightless pools gazing into some nether world. “You seem unscathed,” the man intoned at last. “No sending touches you, nothing ill lingers near the babe…”

“I am not just anyone, Wanno,” the other man remarked dryly. “Do you suggest I would come to you bearing signs for the enemy?”

“Of course not. Still… those who have aligned themselves ’gainst you and your lady are far from average, shall we say?”

“It is him-our son! They resent such a rare occurrence and have made alliances unnatural,” the woman interjected. Her voice, although still low in volume, bore a steely tone of anger and determination. Her once-beautiful face was as hard as her voice now, a sharp relief depicting resolve and something akin to hatred. The softening of expression when she looked down at her child, then at her husband, and finally stared at the mage, showed that her feelings of hate were only for those who threatened. “Can you realty give him safety, Wanno?” she asked the mage, hope and doubt plainly written upon her countenance as the two emotions struggled with each other inside her.