[MilesBeyond]

Killian cursed as he was abruptly wakened by a splash of water to his face.

"Come on, the Master wants to see you." The man with whom he shared a room stood over him, empty water bucket in hand.

"You know, Nalen," Killian grunted, "the gods created a tenth hell just for you."

"Good," Nalen laughed. "I look forward to sharing a drink with you there. Now come on, you know you can't keep them waiting. I'll keep you company on the way."

Killian gave a quick grin in spite of himself, and rose from his now soaked sheets. The two cut a sharp contrast as they walked the narrow halls. Nalen, tall with white-blond hair and clear blue eyes, was every inch the Damaran aside from his once-fair skin that had now been tinged with the sun. Killian, on the other hand, was of average height at best, and his brown hair and eyes and slightly dark skin presented the sort of ethnic ambiguity that was the product of Telflamm's cosmopolitanism. His surname was Damaran, of course, but his skin suggested that this had been mixed somewhere along the way with Mulhorandi or Tuigan - or perhaps both - and a slight cast to his eyes indicated that there may, at one point, have been a Kara-Turan involved.

"So what kept you sleeping so late today, anyway?" Nalen asked

"Late?"

Nalen laughed. "My friend, it's several hours past midday."

Killian shrugged. "I honestly can't remember, although this may have something to do with it." He then groped around in his pockets, eventually producing a large, gaudy necklace.

Nalen laughed again. It was a warm, easy sound that projected a sort of magnetism that seemed to pull people in around him. Of course, in sharing a room with him Killian had discovered that this laugh was quite well-practiced. "Well I hope you pilfered that before you drowned yourself in ale, and not after. Otherwise we could have half the city banging down our doors."

They finally reached a room with a bored-looking functionary sitting hunched over a desk. "Killian Surkov to see Master Nisha," he prompted, after several minutes of being ignored. The functionary glanced up and indicated that he should go in with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Good luck in there, Killian," Nalen said before slipping back into the corridor.

Master Nisha was, in fact, a mistress, but as the title was honourary rather than descriptive she had not seen fit to change it. She stood facing her window as Killian walked in, and he inwardly sighed. She only stared out the window when she was about to give a tongue-lashing.

"Was that Nalen with you, Surkov? Nalen Dotsk?" Killian rolled his eyes. She already knew the answer, and moreover, she already knew that he knew that. Finally he responded "Yes, Master."

"Have you ever thought it strange that you and Dotsk room together even though senior students such as yourselves are usually given their own rooms?" Killian did everything he could to hold in his exasperated groan. He had thought that strange initially, but after having been lectured on the topic several times by Nisha and others his curiosity had mysteriously vanished.

"You see, Surkov, we founded this institution for a reason. The Shadowmasters are often described as a guild of thieves, but we are so much more than that. We are the ruling power here in Telflamm, and that makes us the ruling power in Thesk, as well - not to mention the controllers of one of the single most lucrative and important trade arteries in all the Realms. What this means, Surkov, is that we need more than thieves. We need factors, administrators, diplomats, leaders - and that's why we founded this institution. Thieves are our soldiers, but an army needs more than soldiers. An army needs officers, and this academy exists to train those officers."

Killian had tuned her out almost as soon as she had started talking. He'd heard this lecture more times than he could count, and the shock of being awakened with water was beginning to wear off, leaving him with a pounding headache and a distinct sense that the question of vomit was not one of "if," but "when."

"You were brought here, Surkov, because your superiours saw great promise in you. You are not only a gifted burglar and pickpocket, but you have within you a spark for leadership that, if fanned into a flame, could be of great service to the guild. However, Surkov, you are, without a doubt, the single most apathetic individual to ever grace these halls with your questionable presence. You are like a child, interested only in your own petty amusements. We saw great promise in you, Surkov, and we still do, but a promise that is not fulfilled is worse than a lie."

Killian roused himself briefly as, for a moment, Nisha seemed to be on the verge of delivering an ultimatum. However, she instead launched into one of the lectures he hated the most.

"Surkov, we put you with Dotsk because we were hoping he would be a good influence on you. He is one of the most talented thieves we have ever seen, yes, but he is so much more than that. He is diligent in his studies, a master of etiquette, and his knowledge and skill in politics, languages, economics, writing, music, and cuisine makes him suited to serve in nearly any locale in nearly any capacity. He is kind, even affectionate, to his friends, but disposes of his enemies with ruthless efficiency. He is exceedingly loyal to the guild, but is not afraid to question his orders when he thinks he sees a better solution. In short, he is everything we had in mind when we founded this institution, and he is everything you are not. We have been patient with you, Surkov, because we see greatness in you, but we will not be patient forever. Learn from his example, or you shall soon find yourself freelancing."

Killian shuddered. In Telflamm, and particularly among the Shadowmasters, "freelancing" was simply another way of saying "having your throat slit."

Nisha turned from the window and looked at him for the first time. She was taller than him, with long, black hair that hung to her waist and a whip-like frame. Her face, though not particularly old, had grown care-worn from her myriad duties to the guild, and now she took every ounce of that stress and poured it into her gaze, transferring it to Killian as she said "I trust that I have made myself clear."

"Yes, Master," he replied, sighing.

Killian tried to make himself feel guilty as he walked back to his room, but he found that as much as he knew this was important, he simply didn't care. He sighed again. This hangover certainly wasn't helping matters, either.

He arrived back at the room he shared with Nalen to see a bottle sitting on his writing table.

"Nish had that look in her eyes when she told me to go get you, so I figured you might need something to make you feel better. Besides, as much as I enjoyed splashing water over you, there's a part of me that feels bad about it."

Killian took a pull from the bottle before setting it down and thanking Nalen. Inwardly, he shrugged helplessly. As much as he hated being compared to him, he really couldn't bring himself to dislike the man.

As his headache began to clear, he started to consider things. Nisha had been direct enough - either he changes, or he dies. But changing was a lot of hard work, and an abiding hatred of that sort of thing was the reason he'd taken up thievery in the first place. He sighed and took a larger swing from the bottle.

Ah, well. What could he do?