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was sure he had performed spells and magic without the
use of actual “spells”. He bolted upright, why had he just
remembered that? It was all there, not quite distinct in his mind,
but a definite shape forming in the fog. Why had the Assembly
always insisted on O’rah, Gareth and him living together? Why in
that stupid Trinity pit? Why had the thought of leaving never
occurred to him before now? He had entertained vague notions but it
always slipped away. And he had been brooding for days on that
cliff face. He snorted and lay back down putting his arms beneath
his head. The more he thought about it the more he had the
impression they had been manipulated. Or maybe it was just him.
     
    By morning he was feeling fresh and resolute.
His thin, pale, hairless body stood naked under the outdoor shower.
He magically shaved and trimmed his hair. No need to look like a
scruff now that he was determined to find out exactly where O’rah
had come from, and have a little chat to his descendants of his
other long dead siblings while trying to stay out of the clutches
of the Assembly. He had just under two weeks before joining the
marines. He didn’t know who he could trust yet but he was going to
get answers one way or another.
    But before he could do anything he had to
protect himself. If indeed one of his so called Trinity pals were
manipulating, or even being manipulated, then he had to know what
it was to perform a counter spell. Or did he? Dark tales of the
Goths had reached down into the pit and he found his initial
interest wash away. There was a region of Dayre which housed the
planet’s undesirables. Deformed beasts and humans were said to be
drawn to the dark tunnels which led to the underworld. Demons were
said to visit this realm by means of those tunnels. It was said
Demons had a magic of their own but that they rarely interfered in
the affairs of people. Perhaps it was time to test that theory
unless it was the Demons who really ruled Dayre. They might be able
to help him. Paris then sniffed at that idea as the real rulers
were the Assembly. Plus, he had no desire to visit the underworld.
It was time to find the truth; the fact that a truth needed to be
found was proof enough to Paris that he'd been a pawn since he was
old enough to start making decisions. He just wouldn’t start with
Dayre or the Demons.
    As Paris dressed and removed the spell on the
old woodsman he considered his next move. O’rah had said the
Assembly was furious and Jarson was hunting him. He could count on
two things. The first was O’rah would have been told not to contact
him but in her mind she couldn’t resist to make him fearful so he
could count on what she said as being true. The second thing was,
they would take him back or kill him. His mind was expanding by the
hour which indicated that someone had been inhibiting it and that
they had to be close by to achieve that. It could have even been an
object but he'd left all his possessions behind so he was safe from
that at least. After digging through his pack he realized he had no
civilian clothes. And he didn’t want to go back to Career
Worlds.
    Paris re-cast a spell on the woodsman, patted
his chubby cheek as the man sighed, and ran back into town. As he
neared the town he started limping as the new boots were chaffing
in places Paris hadn’t felt before.
    “Yowee!” He limped into town and down the
back streets to ensure he didn’t bump into the brunette, Emily or
the supply marine. He found an old clothes store when a sight
caught his eye. He pulled the pant and top ensemble off the rack
cursing. That … that … scat sold his clothes here. They’d been
cleaned going by the lack of stench. He limped, trying to look
authoritative, and dumped the clothes on the counter. “These are
mine!”
    “Sure, mate. After you pay me.”
    “They were stolen.”
    The man lifted the pants and laughed. “I
thought you’d be glad.”
    “I want them back.”
    “Then go down the guard