Four

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Mason sauntered casually through the busy city streets, deftly dodging the sea of hurrying people.
He came up to a small alleyway on his left, and darted down it quickly, breaking into a run as soon as he was clear of the throngs, his feet almost silent on the hard, paved ground. Turning right down another, even skinnier alley, he continued running until he was almost at the end, and then slowed to a walk, stepping out casually into the busy street again.
He bumped hard into a large, opulently dressed man, instantly ducking his head and bowing, aplogising profusely. The man glanced down at him in disdain, ignoring his apologies, and with a sniff, turned away and carried on walking.
Mason breathed a sigh of relief, disappearing into the milling crowds of people easily.
It didn't take him long to get into a less busy part of the ciry. A less wealthy part of the city.
Here, the streets were uneven, the biuldings run down, the people walking slowly, tiredly. He slipped down a side street, stopping at a door about halfway down. The building was old and worn, ancient paint flaking off the door beneath his knuckles as he knocked.
He waited impatiently, shifting from foot to foot, until finally the door opened a sliver, and a face peered out.
When the occupant saw who it was, the door was opened wide.
“Mason!”
Mason smiled, stepping inside. “Numa. How are you?”
The round faced yong man shut the door, turning to his visitor. “Ahhh, I'm ok. Same as ever. You know how it goes.” he shrugged.
Mason nodded, slinging his arm around his friend's shoulders. “Yeah, I know hos it is. Hey, is your dad home? I have some...business to discuss with him.”
Numa frowned. “Gee, Mase, I wish you wouldn't get involved in that kind of stuff.”
“I know, Numa. But I have to make a living somehow, don't I?”
The younger boy sighed, nodding. “I guess so. Dad's in his room downstairs. You know the one.”
“Thanks.” With a quick wink at Numa, he headed through the door to the back of the room, and own the narrow cellar stairs.
At the bottom, there was a heavy wooden door. Mason knocked firmaly.and waited for an answer. When he heard a muffled “Come.” called out, he opened the door, stepping through into the room beyond. The small windowless rom was lit by a lamp, bathing everything in a deep, soft glow. There was little in the room except a large wooden desk and two chairs, one occupied by a solid, middle aged man. He looked up at Maosn entered.
“Ah, Mason. How are you?” he asked, nodded towards the unoccupied chair.
Mason shut the door behind him and took a seat. “I'm good, thankyou, Mr *SOMETHING*. I have those...items you asked me to find for you.”
Alaister *SOMETHING* smiled broadly. “That was exceptionally fast.”
His eyes narrowed. '”I do trust everything went smoothly?”
Mason grinned cheekily. “Smooth as a baby's arse, sir.”
Alaister chuckled softly. “Excellent.”
Mason reached down to his ankle, pulling a small leather bag out of his sock, and handed it to Alaister.
The older man undid the strings tying the bag shut, tipping its contents onto the desk.
There was a quiet, rich “cling” as two rings tumbled onto the polished wooden surface. Alaister picked them up, looking closely at them before pulling out a small magnifying glass and studying them both closely.
Eventually, he looked up at Mason, who was sitting quietly in the chair, arms crossed.
“Well done. So there were no problems?”
Mason shook his head. “No. The first – the sapphire, that is – was easy as anything I've ever done. The ruby...was a little harder. But only because the bastard was so fat it was veritably wedged onto his sausage of a finger.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “I actually had to resort to the 'bumping into him' trick to get it off. So amateur.”
“Well, it doesn't matter how you got them, only that you did and that no one will know.”
Mason nodded, once.
“Oh. I got their purses, as well, and a few pieces of other jewellery. That way, chances are they'll assume it was just a pickpocket, not actually targetted at the rings. Do you want the rest of it?”
Alaister looked at him, eyes shrewd. “Good thinking. No, I don't want anything else. You can keep whatever else you managed to acquire.”
He reached into his desk drawer, and pulled out a mall bag, tossing it at Mason. It clinked when he caught it.
“There you go. Payment, as promised.” He paused, studying the young man before him. “You're becoming quite good at this, Mason. I might have some more work for you in the near future.”
The young rogue grinned. 'Thankyou, sir. I'll lookforward to it.”
With a chuckle, Alaister smiled. “I'm sure you will. You can go now. Take care.”
Mason nodded, standing up and leaving, barely abe to conceal the grin on his face. He hadn't been expecting to be able to keep the extra jewellery and purses he'd picked up, smething which had probably nearly tripled his take.
Not bad for a days work,  he told himself, saying farewell to Numa on his way out.
He made his way across the now darkening city, whistling quietly under his breath. He was continually surprised at how exhausted his work made him – it wasn't exactly physical, a lot of the time, but every day he couldn't wait to get home and fall into his bed.
Home. He grinned to himself as he saw the familiar sign hanging above the tavern door at the end of the street.
The Red Lion, the sign proclaimed, shaped, surprisingly enough, in the shape of a lion, and painted red.
He pushed the familiar door open, entering the Inn and Bar. Inside, it was moderately busy, noisy with the talk of the patrons. He winked at Alethia, one of the serving girls, as he passed, and she grinned at him.
Normally, he'd sit and have a drink, but tonight he was too tired, and he yawned loudly as he climbed the stairs, padding quietly down the hallway to his bedroom door.
The room was small, lit by a little lamp, but he didn't need much space, only enough room for a bed and somewhere to stash his clothes. Once the door was firmly shut and locked behind him, he unscrewed and jimmied off the middle hinge, revealing a small, hollowed out space behind the metal bracket. Slipping the two stolen purses, one bracelet and 2 rings inside, he also emptied half the conents of the bag Laister had given him into one of the ourses, and replaced the hinge.
The remainder of the money he slid under the mattress of his small bed, and with a sigh, let himself flop down onto the bed, exhaustion running through his bones. A nearly full moon shone down from the clear sky and through his small window, illuminating a small patch on the wooden floorboards.
Mason undressed, dumping his clothes in a pile in the corner, and slid between the sheets. The familiar sounds of the tavern below rose up, muffled through the floor. Clicnking of glasses, talking, arguing, yelling...the roll of dice and roars of laughter.
Smiling, he fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

He'd slept late. The sun was well up, streaming through his window in a golden haze, dust motes that hovered in the air catching the light like tiny sparks.
The good thing about his job, he reflected as he stretching laguidly, was that there were no set hours. He grinned at the thought of a 9 till 5 thief, sitting up and swinging his legs out of bed. The wooden floor was cool against the soles of his feet as he dressed, pulling the pouch of money from under his mattress and tucking it into his pants pocket. He ran his fingers through his short hair, unlocked his door, and headed downstairs.
Marian, the bossy, motherly woman who ran the Inn, was in the kitchen cooking breakfast.
“Morning, Marian.” Mason called as he walked in. “You're looking lovely today.”
Marian looked at him knowingly and raised an eyebrow. “Your flattery and charming ways won't get you an extra piece of bacon for breakfast, you know.”
Mason grinned. “Worth a try though.”
He sat down at the large kitchen table. As the only 'permanent' resident, he ate with the rest of the staff.
“Do you know where Max is?” he asked, as she set a glass of milk in front of him, and shrugged.
“No idea. He's gone to the market to tock up on supplies.”
Mason gulped back the milk thirstily. “Well, I have next month's rent. I'll give it to you after breakfast?”
Marian nodded, concentrating on the sizzling eggs and meat in front of her.
The kitchen door swung open, and Alethia walked through, carrying an empty glass tray.
“Good day, mason.” she smiled, and he smiled back, captivated, as always, by her deep brown eyes and long, ringleted hair.
She took a seat beside him after settng the tray dwn, just as Marian placed two plates on the table for them. Ravenous, Mason tucked into his bacon and eggs with gusto, much to the amusement of Alethia, who ate far more daintily.
Cleaning his plate with a piece of bread, he dished out the appropriate amount of coins into Marian's red, rough hands, winked goodbye to Alethia, and headed out into the city.
On the walk home last night, sick of aching feet and having just been paid, he'd decided that it was time to buy some new boots. Looking in his money pouch, he grimaced. Hopefully there'd be enough there to get something decent. There was, of course, more money at home, but he really didn't want to pay more thanhe had with him anyway.
As he walked, he considered the jewellery he'd acquired the day before. The rings were easily recognisable, and it would be quite some time before he'd be able to safely sell them off for what they were worth. Of course, he could palm them off to a fence now, but it would for considerably less, and it wasn't causing him any trouble tohang on to them. The bracelet, on the other hand, was a simple silver band, thick and heavy, but not easily identifiable. That, he would be able to sell much sooner.
The cobbler that he wanted was a fair way across the city, but was well known for making excellent but affordable footwear. It was a nice day, and Maosn didn't mind the walk, though, he thought, it would be an even more pleasant trip once he had the new boots.
The streets were oddly empty, amd for a while he was puzzled. And then it dawned on him – today was the Spring Equinox parade. Just about the entire city would be crowding the streets outside the *PALACE*
Frankly, Mason couldn't care less, and continued his easy walk, relaxing a little in the unusual quiet of the city. Most of the way to his destination, he decided to take a shortcut through some back alleyways.
His steps were quiet on the roughly paved ground as he rounded a corner – and froze. Ahead of him, he saw three figures sprinting, one running ahead and two in pursuit. As he watched, the pursuers caught up. They were clothed in black, and wore dark masks pulled over their faces, hiding their identities. The feeling man was pushed up against the wall. There was a quick flash of bright steel in the sunlight, and an anguished, gurgling cry. The man slumped to the ground, his attackers running off and disappearing around another bend in the alley.
For a moment Mason stood, shocked. It had all taken only a few seconds, and he was just lucky they hadn't seen him. Slowly, he approached the man, who lay half sitting, against the dirty sreet wall. As he got closer, he could hear the man's laboured, gurgling breath, and Mason saw three dark blots of blood, staining thruogh his pale shirt from the stab wonds underneath.
“By the Seven,” he muttered, bending down next to the stranger. He was an oldish man, with long, silvery hair and a straggly beard hanging from his chin. His face was almost as pale as his hair as he struggled to breathe. As Mason watched, his eyes flickered open, piercing blue. His mouth opened a little, but no words came out.
And Mason suddenly realised that he couldn't just leave a man there to die. He had no idea who his attackers were or why they'd stabbed him, but there was no way he was going to sit and watch as the ma's life blood ran out into the street.
Looking at the still spreading stains, he realised there was only one person he knew that would even stand a chance of saving the man's life. Swearing under his breath and cursing himself for being such a good person, he slipped an arm around the half-concious man's waist, hauling him to his feet. Evenbleeding to death, the old guy was still able to walk a little, helping Mason just enough so that they could move slowly down the alley, Mason trying to ignore the wet, warm feeling of blood seeping between his fingers.

“Ascleia! Open the door! Ascleia!”
Mason's knuckles stung as he banged them on the solid wodden door.
 He swore as the now fully unconcious man almost slipped from his grip. “By the Seven, ASCLEIA!” he bellowed.
The door opened.
A young woman stood in the doorway, hands on hips.
“Mason.”
She looked at him, and at the man awkwardly leaning against him, and raised a dark eyebrow.
“Is this some kind of ploy to get me to let you in?”
He shook his head, frustration written on his face. “No. No, he's been stabbed. Please, Ascleia.”
Her face turned serious, and she looked at the old man harder, frowning.
“Fine. Bring him in.”
Mason sighed with relief, half dragging the stranger through the doorway and into the house. It's familiar smell of herbs and medicines swamped him, transporting him back in time for a moment...
He shook his head to clear his senses, as Ascleia slipped an arm around the man from the other side.
“Through to the back.” she said, and slowly they made their way into a small back room, with a bench covered in bottles, jars and vials down one side, and a large table standing in the middle.
“On the table.” she ordered briskly, and together they hauled the limp form up and onto the wooden surface.
“Who is he?” Ascleia asked, her long, dark braid swinging over her shoulder as she bent over her patient.
“I don't know.” Mason said, catching his breath.
The healer glanced at him quickly. “Pass me those *SCISSORS*.”
Mason did as he was ordered, watching as she cut away the blood sodden shirt, peeling it away from the man's pale skin.
'So what happened?” she asked, not looking up from her study of the wounds.
“I saw him get stabbed by what looked like two assassins.” Mason sighed, suddenly wondering why on earth he was going to so much effort to save an old stranger.
“Right,” she said, straightening up. 'I'll do what I can, but...no promises. One of these is pretty deep. Luckily, the other two aren't, and somehow, it looks like they haven't hit any major organs.”
Quickly, she made her way over to the workbench, muttering under her rbeath as she grabbed various jars and bottles. She filled a small mug with water, slowly measuring out various quantities of the herbs and powders she had gathered, pouring a small amount of some pale amber liquid over them and stirring it with a tiny wooden spoon. Closing her eyes, she placed one hand against the side of the mug, and soon mason saw faint tendrils of steam snaking upwards. Ascleia opened her eyes, sighed, and slowly topped the mug up with what appeared to be water, poured from a large jug that waited on the bench, sieving off the liquid into a smaller glass.
“Mason, I need your help.”
Mason stood, moving over to stand by the man's head, where she indicated.
“Hold his head up a little, and hold his mouth open.”
Mason did as he was told, and the healer slowly trickled the mixture into his slack mouth.
“This will keep him under while I work.” she murmuered.
 Periodically, she stopped, rubing the man's throat until he swallowed, and then she would pour another small amount onto his tongue. Gradually, his breathing slowed, his face seeming to relax a little. By the time the little glass was empty, mason's arms ached from holding th dead weight of the man's head up.
“You can set him down, now.”
Mason gently rested the man's pale grey head back on the table, moving back to take a seat on the nearby stool.
Ascleia sighed, closed her eyes, and placed her hands over the man's torso.
Her face settled into a blank expression, lips moving slowly as she whispered under her breath. The only words Mason could hear sounded like they were in some other language – the only one he recognised was Eiren, one of the Seven, God of healing and medicine.
Slowly, a strange, yellow tinged light began to build, emanting, it seemed, from her hands, like a light was glowing brightly behind the skin of her palms. Mason felt a faint tingle in the back of his head.
As he watched, the light coaleasced into a thick, swirling *SOMETHING*, looking like some kind of silken liquid, hovering in the air just above the man's body. Her strange chanting intensified, as tiny, slender tnedrils of the light began to snake away from the main ball, drifting slowly down to make contact with the pale, blood smeared skin, in faint, delicate wisps.
Ascleia's brow furrowed, a look of intense concentration slipping over her face, the fine strands of Power knitting and weaving themselves into strange, intricate patterns that Mason found he couldn't quite focus on. They sunk beneath the man's skin, and he gasped. Ascleia fell silent, and for a moment there was no sound but the laboured breathing of her patient.Then, a strange, quiet sound began to emanate from his body – creepy wet, squelching sounds, mixed with an odd tearing noise.
The man began to toss and turn, moaning as sweat beaded his age wrinkled forehead.
Mason shuddered. He'd seen and heard all this before, but the sound of quickly knitting flesh never ceased to make him squirm.
Groaning, the old man began to arch upwards as Ascleia channeled more Power into healing his wounds. A faint tracery of pale glowing lines began to spread through across his body, shimmering just beneath his skin.
Slowly, the flow of blood that had been oozing from the puncture marks in his torso began to slow, finally stopping all together, and with one final flare of brightness, the yellow light of Ascleia's Power faded.
She opened her eyes with a quiet gasp, grabbing the edge of the table for support.
Mason stood quickly, resting a hand on her shoulder.
She shook him off, glancing at him with a quick glare, but not before he felt the faint tremors running through her body.
“You should sit down.” he told her, but she ignored him, oening a small drawer under the table and drawing out a long, curved needle and a strange, shimmering thread.
Her face was pale, slight dark rings hanging below her eyes, but she still concentrated hard on threading the needle. Deftly, she began to stitch up the still gaping wounds, gently pulling them closed with tight, neat sutures. Once she had stiched up the wounds, he watched her hurry to the bench, soak a white, clean cloth in some kind of pale yellow liquid, and gently swab all over the man's chest and stomach, wiping away the blood and leaving behind a faint yellow stain on his skin.
With a tired sigh, she threw the cloth in a nearby bin, and placed a thin strip of gauze over each wound, sticking it down with an odd, pale white tape.
She looked down at her patient.
“That's all I can do. With any luck, he'll be okay, but...he lost a lot of blood, and he isn't exactly young. All we can do is wait and see.”
Mason nodded, standing up.
“Help me carry him through to the spare bedroom.”
Mason scooped up the body in his arms, surprised at how light the old man was, and followed the healer through to a small bedroom off to the side of her workroom.
He set him down on the small bed as gently as he could, and Ascleia pulled the blanket up to his waist, leaving his upper body uncovered.
“We should let him get som rest.” she murmured quietly, and Mason followed her out into the main room, watching her long, dark braid swaying gently as she walked.
With a heavy sigh, she collapsed into a large chair that stood next to an empty fireplace. Mason sat down in a mathcing seat opposite her, studying her face as she leant her head back and closed her eyes.
They sat in silence for a while, before Maosn leaned forward, resting his elbos on his knees.
“Thankyou, Ascleia.” he said quietly, she she opened her eyes.
“I did it for him, not for you.” she snapped, and he sighed.
“Look, Ascleia -”
“Don't.” she cut him off. “Just don't, Mason.”
He bit his lip. “Well. How have you been, anyway?”
She closed her eyes again.
“Fine. I'm fine. Nothing's changed in the last year.”
“You look tired,” he noted.
She snorted. “I am tired, Mason.”
Quietly, he got up and moved to the kitchen, finding what he was looking for resting on the bench. He picked the large bottle up, pouring a decent amount of amber liquid into a mug and recapping the bottle.
“Here.” he said, holding it out for her to take. She opened her eyes, sat up straight, gazing forst at the cup and then at him. Slowly, she took it.
“Thankyou.” she murmured quietly, and Mason sat down again as she sipped at the drink.
He glanced out the window, surprised to see that it was late afternoon already.
He felt a soft pressure against his ankle, and, surprised, looked down.
Ascleia's small grey cat was rubbing around his ankles, purring.
He laughed slightly, leaning down to pick her up.
“Hey, Eir. How you been, girl?” he asked the cat, scratching behind her ears as she sat down in his lap, kneading her claws into his leg, the volume of her purring increasing.
He looked up to see Ascleia smiling faintly. “She still remembers you. She won't go near strangers.”
Mason nodded.
“It's good to see you again, Ascleia.”
She looked at him, a little surprised.
“Yeah. It's kinda good to see you too.”
He stood up, placing Eir on the ground with a small sigh.
“I should be going. Will you be alright?”
She nodded. “I'll be fine. Our friend will stay asleep until at least noon tomorrow.”
“Well, I'll come back tomorrow, then.”
He dug in his pocket, pulling out the faintly clinking pouch, and pressed it into her hand.
“Here.”
She looked down at the small pouch in surprise.
“Mason, I don't want-”
“Just take it.” he told her. “It's payment for helping me.”
He looked down at her, studying her familiar face, her pale brown eyes.
“I'll see you tomorrow.” he said, and she nodded, not looking up as he walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.
 Thoughts in a jumble, it wasn't until he'd made his way back to the Red Lion and flopped down in a seat by the kitchen table that he realised he hadn't even managed to buy a new pair of boots.

Mason didn't sleep well that night, plagued with strange dreams of assassins and cats, of waking to find three gaping wounds in his chest and asking Ascleia for help, but she only laughed in his face.
When he woke in the mid morning, he felt more tired than he had when he'd climbed into bed.
The walk to Ascleia's house was done almost in a trance, and he arrived with very little rcollection of how he'd got there. With a sigh, he knocked on the door, a faint and odd nervous churning in his stomach.
She opened the door after a moment, ushering a lady out as he walked in.
“Well,” she said, pouring herself a cup of hot tea as he sat down, “he seems to be doing better than I'd thought he would. He should wake up in the next hour or so. And he's going to be starving. Here. Carry this.” She handed him a tray containing a bowl of soup, three thick slices of bread with butter, and a wedge of cheese. Mason took the tray, baancing it carefull, an followed her through to the bedroom.
Mason was surprised at how good the old man looked. His face had some colour and he was breathing easily, albeit snoring slightly.
They sat in the two chairs that Ascleia had placed by the bed, and waited. Mason made a few attempts at quiet small talk, but Ascleia wasn't talkative, and he soong ave up, so they waited in silence.
The man's eylids twitched. Mason leaned forward, watching intently, as slowly, his eyelids fluttered open like a butterfly's wings.
He blinked, once, twice, rolling his eyes around in their gritty sockets, and tried to sit up, but Ascleia put a hand on hi shoulder.
“Dont try to sit up yet.” she told him in a quiet, calm voice. “You were injured. You're still healing, so...take it easy.”
He looked at her, gaze hazy with the remnants of the drugs she'd given him. He closed his eyes again, settling his head back on the pillow, and appeared to sleep again for a short time. When he opened his eyes again, they were clear and awake.
He swallowed a few times, clearing his throat. Ascleia handed him a glass of water, which he sipped awkwardly. Then he spoke.
“What happened?”
Mason was surprised at the strength in his voice, despite the rusty crackle of a dry throat. He looked at Asclepia, who nodded slightly, and then explained briefly.
“Yesterday I was walking through the Merchant District when I saw you...get stabbed by two men.” he shrugged. “I couldn't leave you to die, so I brought you here. This is Ascleia. She's a healer.” he nodded towards her.
The old man glanced at her briefly, and turned his eyes back to Mason. “And who are you?”
“I'm...I'm Mason.”
The stragner nodded slowly. “Well, thankyou Mason, and Ascleia, for savng me.” he sighed. “What did the men who attacked me look like? I...can't remember anything.”
Mason thought back, picturing the attack again in his mind. “They were both big. Wearing all black, and gloves and black masks. That's...all I saw.”
Maosn heard a strange sound, and looked up, to realise the old man was laughing.
“Ahhh, that's just terrible.” he chuckled, as Mason and Ascleia exchanged a confused glance.
He saw their expressions, and smiled. “The assassins. They were clearly amateurs.”
He sighed. “And they clearly didn't do a very good job.”
Frowning, he gingerly touched the gauze patches on his torso. “Speaking of which, I seem to be feeling remarkably good, considering all this happened...yesterday?”
Mason nodded.
“Well, then,” he said, looking at Ascleia with shrewd, pale blue eyes, “I can tell you are a Yellow Wielder of quite considerable strength, but you clearly have a wealth of knowledge to match.”
The young healer blushed slightly, her mouth open.
“And you, Mason,” he said, flicking eyes to look at the young man. “You are from the Academy? Were you following me?”
Mason looked confused. “The what?” he asked, and the old man sighed.
“The Grey school. I assume that *OLD RIVAL* sent you to see where I was going.”
Mason's confusion deepened, and he looked at Ascleia, who shrugged.
“I'm sorry, I...have no idea what you're talking about.”
The old man frowned. “You are not a student at the Shadow Academy, then?”
 Mason shook his head, and suddenly paled. “What? The Shadow Academy? Are you serious? Of course I'm not!”
The stranger narrowed his eyes. "Hmmm. I wonder.”
“You...wonder what?” Mason asked, and the old man's bushy white eyebrows raised.
“Are you aware,” he asked slowly, “That you are a Wielder of no small Power?”
Mason's jaw dropped for a moment, and then he laughed.
“I think the drugs must still be clouding your head.” he said, shaking his head.
The old man smiled a little. “Oh, I think not, my young saviour. You really had no idea? Fascinating.”
Looking up, Mason saw Ascleia staring at him.”It can't be true.” she said to the old man. “I would have sensed it long ago if Mason was a Wielder.”
The old man's grin broadened. “Not necessarily.”
Ascleia frowned. “What? What do you mean? I can always tell if someone is a Wielder.”
He shook his head a little. “Ah, not always.” His blue eyes were piercing. “Not if they Wield the Grey.”
She gaped. “Mason? A Grey Wielder?”
The old man nodded calmly. “Were you ever Tested, Mason?”
Mason shook his head, unable to speak.
“How do you know?” Ascleia asked, still doubting.
He grinned. “Because I'm a Grey Wielder too.” He held out his hand. “Algard *LAST NAME*. Pleased to meet you.”
 Ascleia squawked. “You're the Head of the Shadow Academy?”
He shrugged. “Well. I was. Considering that it appears my successsor just tried to have me killed, maybe not anymore.”
He looked at Ascleia, blue eyes twinkling beneath his bushy white eyebrows. “Now. Can I eat that food, or is it just for looks?”
Still somewhat in shock that their guest was quite possibly the greatest Grey Wielder of their time, she handed him the tray, as mason helped prop him into a more upright position against the pillows.
He dug in to the food straight away, eating like a starving man, and was finished within 10 minutes. “Mmm.” he smacked his lips. “That was wonderful. Thankyou.”
He yawned. “By the Seven, I'm exhausted.”
Ascleia nodded. “That's pefectly normal. We'll let you get some more rest. Just call if there's anyhitng you need.”
She picked up the empty tray, and followed Maosn out of the small room, closing the door behind them.
Back in the kitchen, they stared at one another.
“Could he be right?” Mason asked. “Could I really not only have the Power, but have a Grey Affinity?”
Ascleia narrowed her eyes, studying him. “It's possible. I...I guess I could test you, if you like.”
The young rogue nodded. “I think that would...be best.”
She frowned. “I can't perform the initial testing. Only a specifically trained Summoner can do that. But there is another way that we should be able to tell.”
She lead him over to the chairs, pulling them close together.
“Okay, you need to cup your hands.”
He did so, and she closed her hands around the outside of his.
“All right, Mason. Here's what we're going to do. I need you to close your eyes. Concentrate on your hands. You'll begin to feel an odd warmth flowing into them from me. Can you feel the heat?”
He could. A strange, tingling heat dancing over the backs of her hands where Ascleia's fingers touched his skin.
“Concentrate on it. Pull it in through your skin, into your body.”
He tried, but it wouldn't come.
“Relax. Let it flow through. Don't try to force it.”
This time, it worked. The pinpricks, rather like pins and needles, spread through his hands, ascending up his arms in pulsing waves. He felt them sowly spread throughout his body. It was almost ticklish, and by the time they'd covered his whole body, it felt like he was buzzing.
“Can you feel that? That's the Power. Let it fill you.”
Mason opened himself up, and the buzzing became a hum, his blood dancing in his veins.
“Okay. Feel the heat flowing into your hands. Feel it grow stronger. Concentrate.”
And then, suddenly, he was engulfed by a strange, thingling heat that encompassed his entire body. Ascleia's voice seemed to be coming from far away.
“Take in as much as you can. When you feel like you can't take any more, stop, concentrate, and push it out of your hands in a sudden stream.”
Power filling him, he grinned. In flowed more, and more, and more. He thrummed with it, almost vibrating. Finally, unable to take any more, he spread his hands, trying to force it out. Nothing happened.
“It's not working.” he muttered.
“You have to stop drawing in more power, for a start.” Ascleia said, voice faintly amused.
 Mason stopped pulling and pushed.
 The floodgates opened in his palms, as his eyes flew wide.
Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.
As he watched, a ball of grey light bloomed like a flower in his hands. He watched, entranced, as tiny intricate tendrils of coiling Power twined and sparked in his hands, in a beautiful dance.Grey, shining strands shot upwards, twisting together to form a twisting, dancing pillar of shadowy light. His mouth dropped open as it spiralled upwards, upwards, small tendrils twisting out and away.
 The Power flowed through him. It just kept coming. Slowly, the pillar faded, drifting and twisting upwards into the air like smoke, leaving a glowing line in Mason's vision, and a strange, tingling aching in his hands.
He stared at Ascleia as she drew her hands back, his mouth moving but making no sound.
She looked at him, brown eyes both curious and a little stunned.
His eyes met Ascleia's.
“Grey,” he said softly. Ascleia nodded.
“Grey.”
A sudden chill washed over her, like she had been doused in cold water, and he shivered hard.
“That was...amazing.”
The healer looked at him, her brown eyes piercing. “That also gave me a chance to judge your strength. You're...really quite powerful, Mason.” she shook her head. “I can't believe I never knew.”
Mason yawned. “Why? How did you not know?”
Ascleia sighed. “Because Grey is the Affinity of Illusion, of Shadow. It hides itself.”
He frowned. “I don't even really know anything about the Power..”
“Well, you know the basics, right? Some people have the Power. We dont' know why. But some do. Each person has an Affinity. There are Seven Affinities in total, each governed by a different God or Goddess. Blue is the Power of Summoners, governed by Althalos. Green is the Nature Affinity, sacred to Nemestrina. Red is generally considered to be the Power of Combat, of War, watched by Andraste. Her twin, Eiren, governs the Healing arts, and the Yellow Affinity. My Affinity. And White, the Affinity of the Dreamwalkers, governed by *****.”
She sighed. “Then there's Grey and Black. Grey is the Power of secrets, of stealth. Of illusion and shadows, and it's God is ******. And Black, of course. The Affinity of Death, and governed by *****.”
Mason nodded. “Yeah, all that's fairly common knowledge.”
“Grey is a rare Affinity, Mason. As rare as White, and the only one rarer is Black. And only women can Wield the Black.”
“Is it true that all Grey Wielders are Assassins?”
Ascleia shrugged. “I doubt it. But the powers of the Grey do tend towards that line of work.” she tilted her head, studying him. “Actually, this could explain why you make such a good thief. You've probably been using your Power unwittingly for a few years now.”
Mason's mouth dropped open, remembering a few times when he really sould have been caught, but by some twist of fate or luck, he seemed to have gone unnoticed.
“Sometimes...if someone is using Power near me, I get this...weird tingling feeling in the back of my head. Kind of like..an itch.”
Ascleia nodded. “That's common. I get it, too. I think most Wielders do.”
“So...what do we do about him?” Mason asked, nodding his head in the direciton of the spare bedroom where Algard slept.
She sighed. “I have no idea. It's going to take a while for him to be anywhere near fully healed. I repaired a lot of the damage, but most of it was using his boy's resources, and it will take some time for him to get this strength back, if nothing else. And there was only so much I could do, with the Power. Some of it is just going to take time.”
Mason sighed. “In the meantime, I guess we just get to babysit. Babysit the most powerful Grey Mage around.”
He looked at Ascleia, who's lips were quirking in a small smile.
'What?” he asked, and she grinned.
“I have to say, Mason, nothing is ever boring around you.”
The rogue grinned back. “What can I say? I'm a regular wealth of excitement.”