The equivalent, Medart thought, of someone with PK Talent exciting the molecules of the wick to ignition temperature. He'd never shown any trace of that aspect--his only Talents, besides the basic mind-screen and telepathy, were healing and darlas--but this was supposed to be magic, not psionics; he had no reason not to try. He focused his attention on the candle, following an impulse to point at it as he willed it to light. He felt a sensation of warmth flow into him and channel along his arm--then flame erupted from his fingers, enveloping both the candle and the hand that held it. Instantly, Medart broke his concentration. The candle was burning, but it was sagging, and the Traiti's hand was reddened. Chavvorth blew out the candle, his expression bemused, and put it down. "That was more . . . dramatic than I had expected, Ranger." "A hell of a lot more than I expected," Medart said. "Let me see your hand." The Traiti obeyed. Medart took it, concentrating again--but this time it was a familiar, trained ability he called on. Redness faded, vanished; he released the hand. "There. You should be okay now." Chavvorth flexed his fingers, extending and retracting his claws. "It is fine--but that was not a spell." "Nope. That was psionic Talent, a rare but perfectly normal ability." "So is mage-power, here," Ariel put in. "I'd like to stay and talk, but the spell-reaction's getting me to the point I can't function much longer. Why don't you two go someplace comfortable and keep getting acquainted while I recuperate? Chavvorth can brief you on the Sandemans as well as I could, James." "Jim's fine--sounds good to me. Captain?" "I am agreeable." Chavvorth turned to one of his officers. "Lieutenant Dawson, you have the con." Ten minutes later Medart and Chavvorth were sitting in the senior officers' lounge, drinking coffee and chovas. Medart had adjusted to the idea of magic far more easily than to the idea of Sandemans as enemies; magic was, for all practical purposes, something new, which made it easy to accept. Sandemans as enemies, though, was a total reversal of something that had been a given for over a century and a quarter. And Sandemans who'd had that extra time to grow and advance technologically--and magically, he was sure--would be an awesome enemy. "From what Ranger Ariel said," Medart started, "I gather you ran into the Sandemans about three years ago. The Shapers must've gone a lot further out in this universe than they did in Alpha Prime." "Who or what are the Shapers?" Medart sighed. "You don't have much intelligence about the Sandemans?" "Almost none," Chavvorth said. "Few have been captured, none successfully interrogated--few successfully held, in fact. Most are able to conjure their way out of custody, even denied the materials an Imperial magician would find necessary."