Cerai'lin closed her eyes and sighed quietly again, a small frown on her lips as she tried to relax, but her rambling and jumbled thoughts had no mercy. As she slowly began to drift off, Cerai started to think about everything that had happened to her, and her mind drifted into turmoil once more. Cerai's life had been nothing but one pain and injustice after another ever since she and Simok had argued at the base of that magical portal, that Ancient Gate. Many of the Elders of Cerai’lin’s time claimed that the Gates were nothing more than large, pointless stone archways, and the old tales of inter-world and cross-dimensional travel she remembered hearing should be disregarded as only myths. But how then did the supposedly useless and dormant Gate near Dalrach, the university where Cerai and Simok attended, prove this belief to be so wrong?

Cerai growled quietly as the slouched and furred image of Simok came to her mind's eye, that accursed creature, it was entirely his fault. She knew that somehow, some way, Simok had something to do with activating the Gate, but she couldn’t even fathom how a Shreklar like Simok could possibly know anything about calling on the Key to open the giant portals, when that magic was lost, and even forbidden, to many of the New Generation. However, there were no other possibilities. When the two students had met before the Gate, there had been no others present that Cerai could sense. It was truly just the two of them.

The odd little creature that was Simok had seemed different from the beginning, all of the students could sense it, and yet no one could pinpoint exactly what was wrong. Now, as Cerai thought back, it seemed to her that the strangeness she had sensed lay in the fact that Simok was not like the usual Shreklars she had met in her training. He had the small, thick-skinned and dark-furred frame that most of his race had, as well as the bulbous red eyes characteristic of the Shreklars, in fact, in visual perspective, Simok was exactly like any other of his race, but still, he seemed different. His intelligence surpassed that of even the smartest of the Shreklars, and he seemed to prefer walking upon two legs while the majority of his race lumbered about on four. Simok was known to spend many long hours away from Dalrach for private study, which was allowed; however, for it to be done in broad daylight in the sunny forests that thicketed the school grounds was odd for one of Shreklar decent. Those dark creatures were known for their avoidance of light for they were mainly underground dwellers, and as a whole, relatively ungifted in the magic department. For that reason, any Shreklar that showed even the faintest signs of ability were sent off to school, and that is how Simok wound up at the University.

From the beginning, Cerai’lin and Simok did not get along. They were placed in many of the same courses, despite the fact that Cerai had been training for many more years, it had been a decision of the Elders to place him there. He quickly became the resident bully in the short time he’d been there, and few were strong enough, in power or physique, to oppose him, all save Cerai. Even many of the teachers at the University were fearful of Simok, and none would speak up or try to stop him, and so he had almost free reign of the school.

Cerai’lin stirred faintly in her spot beneath the tree as more images from her past floated up to the surface of her memory, images of Master Omrin, the only one she felt she could go to when the time came for something to be done about Simok.

Cerai’lin had come to Dalrach over five years ago, and had been considered by many to be the school’s star pupil. Her true age was unknown to all, even to herself, though she was believed to be a youth, and whatever her lineage was had also been lost several years ago. Cerai never knew her parents, she had been found among one of the large forests that scattered her world living alone, and it was only by her physical appearance that she had been judged to be of the seemingly elven race, Elsiador. Because of the strong sense of magic she exuded, she was sent to the University to study, and it was there that she met the Master Teacher called Omrin.

Master Omrin was of the race of Tsi'Lyne, a race that, to much of the world, often seemed more spiritual than physical. He was tall with a thin, though far from frail, physique; he was quite the vision of an old and well learned scholar, with his gently lined face and silvery hair, streaked by the occasional sight of black. Master Omrin had gentle, caring blue eyes, a firm voice and patience in all things. His age was unknown, but that he had an incredible store of knowledge and wisdom was never doubted by any. Quite often, Elders would come to him for advice, and to attend the school at which he was the Master Teacher was considered a great honor. Master Omrin doted on Cerai like she was his daughter, and often it seemed as if she was in all but blood. From the beginning he had sensed in her great potential and a strong vein of magic, the likes of which he had not seen in several hundred years. Master Omrin contented himself in training Cerai to use her great gifts in ways that were no longer taught to the New Generation, spells and ways of power that could be traced back to the distant time when the Old Magic was still widely accepted and used.

Cerai'lin had loved her lessons with Master Omrin thoroughly and gladly threw herself into her studies with a passion, along with her normal classes. She proved to be an apt and very intelligent pupil, quickly gaining her place as the best student at the University, and yet she was not snobbish or condescending to her fellow classmates. Cerai’lin was well-liked by most every one at the school, and when there was a problem, many came to her for help, be it with a stubborn lesson, over-bearing parents or a misunderstanding between friends, and Cerai was more than happy to help out. Everything she learned seemed to expand her capabilities and store of knowledge farther, as if awakening a dormant part of her soul; a feeling she told no one about, not even Master Omrin, though she often suspected he knew of her ever growing gifts. And for Cerai, being able to aid her fellow students helped in giving her a sense of belonging to something, a sense of being needed, so when several of her friends came to her, asking that she approach Master Omrin about Simok, Cerai’lin was more than happy to oblige.

Cerai’lin could remember the day very clearly, the weeks in her harsh new world having not yet disturbed the images of her past. As she was recalling the long, carpeted hallway leading to Master Omrin’s study, Cerai was suddenly jolted out of her memories by a gruff grip on her arm giving her a firm shake.

“Wake up, ya wench! It’s time ta get movin’!” It was one of the four horsemen that rode with Keharn; they were back from where ever they had gone earlier. It seemed to Cerai, in the dimming light of evening, that they had been successful in procuring whatever it was they had set out with intent to get, for there were several new bags added to the packhorses’ trappings. Cerai’lin started to struggle as she was lifted roughly by the grizzly man, but she was still too tired and feeling weak from her previous ordeal to do much more than squirm a bit before she was thrown over the pommel of saddled horse. She was joined by the man a moment later as he climbed into the saddle and took the reigns of the horse, guiding the dun coloured mare into a steady trot ahead of the others as they dismantled their camp.

“Remember,” Keharn spoke up as the rider moved past him, “She’s not to be harmed any more before we reach the auction. Do not get too far ahead of us Molin, or your punishment will be great.” The man grunted a reply and nodded as he continued on his way. Cerai’lin bit her lip to keep from groaning aloud from the pain of the pommel digging into her stomach with every step of the horse. She could only hope they’d reach their next destination soon, no matter what awaited her.