Jirair discovered that if he banged on the walls long enough, Trollis would come and glare at him. So the boy did that as much as he could. Once he even started banging right after the spirit had closed the door, which earned him a bruise on the neck to go along with the others. Feeling justified, Jirair tore down the wallpaper and started a fire in the room, nearly choking on the smoke before Trollis put the flames out with a wave of his hand.

With every opening of the door, Jirair made an attempt to escape, but Trollis was onto his tricks and was well guarded.

Grinding his teeth, Jirair sat in the magically guarded room and plotted. Around him, he extended the silver ring of protection. While he plotted, he saw to it that the spirit couldn’t touch him at all.

Hours later, hunger gnawing at his gut, he opened his eyes with a wicked grin and stood. The ring disappeared and he realized that the door was opened. Framed in the doorway was Trollis with a curious look on his face.

“That’s strong magic for a child of your age.”

“Your point?”

He smiled. “You’re playing with things you don’t understand. The only magic you can use is protective magic, be it shielding or attacking. There’s so much about your magic you still don’t know.”

Knowing he was correct didn’t make Jirair any happier. He growled and charged the door. Trollis caught him under his shoulders and threw him back into the room.

“Aside from not knowing your own magic, don’t think that you know mine.” As he glared, he allowed his magic to show in his eyes in the form of blue lightening. Firming his jaw, Jirair stood from the slump he’d been thrown into.

“It’s all show on your part.”

“What?”

“It is. You’ve locked me in, but that’s all you’ve done with your magic.” He tilted his head and slanted a smirk his way. “Is that all you can do?”

Rather than getting irate, Trollis returned his smirk. “Nice try, child.” Then he closed the door with a soft click, leaving Jirair alone once more.

Cursing, Jirair kicked a table and flopped onto the bed.

…

The beast had taken his cloak.

Somehow the ties had come undone and the jackal had tugged hard enough to pull it free. Now it was fleeing down the street as if its tail was on fire.

He glared and tapped his foot before deciding that the dog must be up to something. He followed it down the street, easily keeping pace even thought the creature ducked under stands and found odd shortcuts through town.

He slowly began to catch up with it until finally he felt safe enough to leap for the cloak. Instead of using magic, he reached out, snagging the heavy fabric and pulling. The jackal turned on him, happiness dancing in its eyes as it began a tug of war game with him.

Grinning, Merrick played along.

“Mahli!”

Instantly Merrick upright and faced the man now coming down from a door. His eyes narrowed and he spoke harshly. “How is it you have come to speak that name?”

Skidding to a halt, Quintal eyed the human. Truly, he looked just like the boy. Zeroing in on his magic, Quintal found that his magic was also silver. Just the shade of Jirair’s. Nodding to himself, he dipped his head in a formal bow.

“Mahli is my fosterling.”

“How is it he came to be thus?”

Quintal shrugged. “He asked? Never mind that. He’s gone missing, but I believe I know where he is now.” He slanted a knowing look over Merrick. “I think you will have the know how to get him out of there. Follow me.”

…

Jirair finally decided the trick that would free him of this prison. He resumed his seat on the floor and extended the silver ring around him.

Trollis had said that Jirair’s magic was protective magic, be it a shield or offensive. He would prove him wrong. He folded his hands before him, resting them on his chest and his eyes slid close. In the room, a wind picked up once again, but instead of turning harsh and unrelenting, it became sweltering as the temperature grew. Soon, near his knees, a flame sparked to life.

It grew until it ate at the carpet and then the wood of the floor underneath. With a groan of the wood, the floor gave out and Jirair fell through. Amid the debris, he laughed and had to hold a hand over his mouth when he heard Trollis cursing. The flames gave way to Trollis’ magic but Jirair quickly dug his way out of the timbers and dust and raced out the room.

Trollis cursed after him, then was before him, his hand stretched out to capture him. Jirair ducked under him and sent a fist into his side, making the spirit double over in a sudden blooming of pain. Still laughing, instead of leaving, Jirair moved further into the house, seeking out hiding places. He locked himself in a closet and settled on the floor. He shut his eyes against the darkness and thought to Mahli.

“You have to get us out of here. He’s got magic that blocks me from leaving and any magic from entering. You’ve no magic, thus you can leave.”

Shaking his head, Mahli wanted to refuse, but Jirair had already left him. He stood on shaky legs and cracked open the door. The hall was silent and still and so Mahli exited the closet and crept down the hall. This was stupid, Jirair should have been the one to do this, not him. He wasn’t sneaky, he wasn’t strong.

But he was cunning. Instead of going around to the front door, or the back, Mahli went up a flight of stairs that creaked as he stepped on them. At the top of the stairs was a large window, the glass as pure as that in his prison room. He knocked his knuckles against it and frowned.

It was seamless in it’s settings, but there seemed to be a way to open it and, with a glance over his shoulder as Trollis shouted, he began to push and tug at it.

Just when he got the window to swing open, Trollis found him and made a reach for him. Mahli slipped through the narrow opening and onto the roof and Trollis just missed catching him. Quickly, Mahli scrambled over the tiles and peered over the edge to the distance to the ground.

Then he saw Quintal. Eyes widening, he shouted, happy. He, and the man with him looked up and Mahli realized, with a sudden jerk from Jirair within him, that this was the man he’d seen in his mind, his father. Smiling widely, he waved, then took a running leap from the roof.

As his feet left the tile, Jirair took over his body and extended the ring. It split into four rings, surrounding him completely and cocooning him in a ball of protection as he landed, rolling. He laughed.

Sudden rough hands pushed aside the rings until anybody had ever done before and Jirair opened his mouth to snarl, but he was engulfed into a warm, strong hug and pushed away from Mahli’s body.

Startled to find himself suddenly on the ground, being hugged so tightly, it took him a moment to orient, but when he did, he threw his arms around Merrick’s neck.

“You’re my father, aren’t you?”

“I am, Mahli,” he said, his voice choked. Then, as one, they looked up to the window and Merrick growled when he saw Trollis. “I trusted you. I called you my friend.”

Trollis shrugged. “I had to destroy you. And I did.”

Merrick’s jaw firmed and he stood. He reached out and touched a hand to Mahli’s chest. He stopped just before touching him and formed a fist and Mahli swayed on his feet, feeling suddenly empty. His vision fogged and he found it hard to breath for a moment. When he caught his breath again, he found himself again sitting on the ground, looking up.

Merrick held up his hand, a silver ring shining on his finger and he glared at Trollis. Slowly his hand folded into a fist and he spoke slowly and carefully.

“Then I will see to it you suffer as I have. May you find the peace of Try in all his wisdom.”

Then he flung out his hand and the house suddenly collapsed. Trollis was lost among a could of dust. After the house fell, Merrick sharply brought his hand downward and the wood and stone began to burn.

Beside him, Quintal reached for the magic of the earth and made the wood begin to grow. The growth quickly overtook the flames and put them out. When Merrick glared at the intrusion, Quintal meant him with a glare of his own.

“This is my city. While I will not rob you of your revenge, I will not let you burn down the whole city. The spirit is gone from this world, although not fully. Your son is returned to you. Be at rest now.”

Mahli stood on shaking legs, clutching Steadfast as the jackal appeared at his side. He tugged on Merrick’s cloak until the older man turned to him. Mahlil’s eyes glowed as he looked at his father, the man he had always wonder who he was.

Now he had the chance to know, to learn.

“Jirair?”

Merrick blinked and the anger left him. He pressed his hand to Mahli’s chest and he could feel the heat of the ring on his father’s finger.

“That was my magic, within you.”

“He’s gone?”

“In the ring. Within me.”

Mahli bit his lip. Surprisingly, he missed Jirair. Then he smiled, slowly. But Jirair was his father. He looked into eyes so similar to his own.

“I’ve known you all along.”