The Master Inquisitor, who had decided to sit in the Great Pool in fresh bandages early that morning, looked up from the ripples just long enough to stare holes into his apprentice. Seyashen, dressed in a simple, light robe that he'd picked up from the market the day before, at first believed that the Halfling was going to comment on how strangely normal he looked without his usual broodingly dark clothing. But instead, the Master Inquisitor stood up and walked to the stone edge of the pool, reached over and grabbed Seyashen's cheeks in his hands.
"Close the book in your mind," he warned, his eyes focused. "Not every lamb is to be spared the roast, or the children will not eat."
Seyashen was surprised that this statement had not been prefaced with a question, or at least a warning that it was a statement and not a question. But as he looked over his master's shoulder at the various spirits that walked the streets of the Palace District, he could only think of one response.
"This day, I may feed them."
Semnemac stood back and looked Seyashen over carefully, then gave him a vicious openhanded slap. "Close the book; do not forget." And with this statement, the Master Inquisitor turned his back on his student and sat crosslegged in the freezing cold water in the carved stone Great Pool once more- but facing north toward the Merchant Council's fort-palace instead of the Bone College.
Seyashen, who took a moment to breathe deeply, understood his master's actions much more clearly than his words. As he moved west from the Mage's Quarter toward the Temple District, he consciously took time to notice the change of scenery. It was obvious that the pathways there- wide enough for two horses to ride side by side if necessary- were the best kept in the entire city. The cobblestones were even, and painted to create simple, yet pleasing patterns. If one were careful- as the Tiefling decided to be that morning- it could be noticed that the pathway to the Temple District bore the symbols of each of the various gods and goddesses that had worship space in Urmlaspyr. As feared as the Bone College was, the skull and sickle symbol of Afflux was not allowed to fade or chip, and gleamed just as radiantly in the fresh sunlight as that of any greater god.
Low walls separated set the Central Quarter, where the Urmlaspyr street merchants set up shop in a bazaar-like spectacle, apart from every other surrounding quarter and district. Vendors cried out, animals bleated and children whined- the noise pollution wasn't to be blocked by stone barriers that only reached a Human male's waist. The walkways were made narrow by the small stalls, but Seyashen imagined that they cleared easily when the stalls were taken down at sunset. A young girl with a basket of field flowers stopped him with a small hand placed on his knee.
"Fresh flowers, so please m'lord?" the little child asked. Seyashen looked down and noticed the dark nubs at her temples almost before her wide, innocent chestnut brown eyes.
"Where is your mother?" he asked, not even understanding where the question came from himself.
"Abed, m'lord," the girl replied immediately and without fear. "It's days since she's been out, so I've got her basket today; Papa told me to."
"How much for the whole basketful?"
The child paused, and at first, Seyashen wondered if he'd offended her. The storm cloud of thought that passed over her youthfully round, sweet features cleared a few moments later, and she turned over her shoulder to peek around at the vendors behind her.
"I'll ask Papa- come with me, m'lord?"
"Yasha," Seyashen offered. "And I will."
The girl turned all the way around, put a protective hand over her flowers, and took off like a gazelle in an open field. Seyashen, much larger and slower than she, had quite the time making his way through the various buyers and sellers to get to the stall at which she finally stopped. She stood on the edges of her hooves, which were visible under her skirt when she stretched herself upward, and whispered in the ear of a wiry, young looking Human male that had bent himself down over a fish stand to listen to her. When she put herself back down firmly again, the man pulled himself up to his full height- about Seyashen's own size- and turned his gaze to find this strange customer who'd decided to buy an entire basket full of common weeds. Seyashen stepped forward carefully, not wanting to seem dangerous in any way, and nodded slightly.
"Eh- don't know if they've any alchemic use, m'lord," the male warned quietly, his low voice barely heard over the din of the market. "Just to look at, you understand."
"I do," Seyashen replied simply. "Name your price, m'lord, and you have it. Madam has a sharp eye for beauty, and the work of her hands is simply lovely."
"Thank the kind ser, Dilly-Dale, eh?" the smirking father asked, casting a glance down at his beaming child.
"I thank ye, kind ser," the little girl replied, putting her hand over her flowers again and dipping into a graceful curtsy.
"Such charm is beyond the common daughter of Dis," Seyashen commented wryly. "Perhaps your family made a pact with one of the brachina by mistake."
The male smiled, the skin of his sunburned face pulling like leather over his gaunt features. "You've a humor like my Daiirdra, gods save her. Dale, wrap 'em good, please. A silver will do- and say, does m'lord need fish?"
"Daiirdra's my mama," the little girl explained as she sat down and pulled twine from the bottom of the basket. "I'm Dale. She was gonna name me Fia'adrei, but Papa said no."
"A wise man," Seyashen commented, his eyebrow raised. "The sickness was another child, then?"
"She tried, bless her, but it's gone," the male sighed. "About broke her heart. She needs strong alchemics. Me'n Dilly-Dale just doing all we can."
Seyashen quietly observed the two ethereal horned figures on either side of the male who both looked like cats that had each swallowed their own canary, then pulled a silver out of the purse he'd hidden up his right sleeve. "I'm not much for fish, m'lord. Here's for the flowers, and good health to your lady. May it be a strong boy next time."
"Bless you, m'lord," the male smiled, accepting the silver. "I'll tell Dai a countryman spoke health on her; it'll do her good." On either side, the spirits couldn't help but smile, and Seyashen broke into a small smile himself. Dale finished binding the flowers and handed them up to Seyashen, who noted that she had taken the time to arrange them so that they looked like a true bouquet.
"Quite an eye has m'lady," Seyashen praised, accepting the bunch and looking at it from all angles. "Dale? You won't forget Yasha, will you?"
"No, Ser Yasha," Dale grinned, radiant from the compliment. "And my mama's Daiirdra, and my papa's Cephas, and we all live right there with 'Buela Mara."
"Well met, Ser Yasha," Cephas smirked, reaching over the fish stall and scrubbing his daughter's light brown locks. "You've made a friend for life. Dilly-Dale's got an eye for character as well."
"Hey there- boy! A pound fresh tuna, quick!" the stall owner ordered sternly, looking at Seyashen as he spoke. "And don't touch the spawn whilst you're back here!"
Seyashen smiled a tight smile and moved away from the stall, repressing an instant urge to force the stall owner to see his death. Don't forget.
The hornless Tiefling made his way out of the Central Quarter and into the Temple District which, despite its name, sported more noble manors than places of worship. It wasn't hard to find the particular house that he was looking for, since the guard at the gate was distinctly armored in flexible, light weight leather armor instead of the heavier chain or plate mail that other guards wore. His well-fitting helmet prevented Seyashen from being able to tell what race of male he was, but the way in which he casually rearranged himself in public was overwhelmingly masculine.
"May I call upon Master Illance?" Seyashen asked politely, not sure how else to get past the spiked iron gate and solid stone half-walls.
"You may," the guard replied just as politely, "but you've an 'alf chance of not gettin' in. I'll ring the steward, see if the master's up to't."
Seyashen expected the man to literally turn and find a bell to ring, but no such courtesy happened. Instead, the guard simply turned over his shoulder and hollered.
"Oi, Mimsie! Drop thy lead, lass!"
"Hex o' fee!" came the sharp reply from an open window on the second floor. "I've me 'ands full a' fe mo', Dex!"
"It's to do with the health and safety of the household," Seyashen urged quietly. "My message is quite urgent."
The guard nodded and turned all the way around, backing up a few steps as though he wanted to spy where in the room the steward might be. "Oi, c'mon, lass, 'tis a bone rat'ler come, yeah? I don't want no snarl wi' 'im."
"Agh, pus porridge... right, 'ang on, fen!"
"Never mind what she says, ser," the guard explained with a smile. "The tongue's bitter, but the heart's sweet enough."
But Seyashen, who had done all he can not to appear like a necromancer, could only wonder what about him had given his abilities away to an utter stranger. Even more surprising was the fact that although the guard obviously knew he was a "bone rattler," there wasn't the slightest trace of fear in his voice. The Tiefling found himself just as pleased as stunned.
In a few minutes, a middle aged woman with her short, brown-and-silver hair pulled back into a tight bun appeared at the doorway. She looked Seyashen up and down, looked behind her furtively, then walked quickly across the shallow courtyard, stopping just behind the guard's right shoulder.
"Look, ser, I've no desire to be rude, but the lord's near as ill as his missus, and I've already had two healing mages, one priest and four delivery boys come around. I think he's had about all he can stand of company this day, and it's not yet come noon."
"Miryam, my door isn't standing open again, is it?" a smooth, calm tenor rang from farther inside the small manor home. "And if you thought you were being discreet just a few moments ago, I feel I must inform you that your delicate, endearing lark's cry could be heard from the bottom of the root cellar."
Miryam's well-furrowed face pinched up slightly for a few moments. "Humble apologies, my lord," came the quiet reply. "I was just sending this- gentleman- on his way."
A serene faced man with his raven hair pulled back in a crimson and gold ribbon appeared at the door, a finely carved staff in his right hand and a small book in his left. "Don't make a habit of sending folk away, Miryam; it's bad for business. When I've no desire to see someone, I'll let a guard know, and they will handle the person appropriately."
"As you wish, my lord," Miryam answered calmly, pivoting to drop a slight curtsy.
"Good. Now, ser, I apologize for the inconvenience; I'll have one of my girls fetch you some sweetrolls and tea. Do come in."
The guard moved slightly to his left and moved Miryam back with his left arm, allowing Seyashen to meekly pass in front of them and into the home behind the gentleman. Once inside the manor, the gentleman stopped the hornless Tiefling and pointed to a small earthenware bowl filled with a brownish liquid.
"We've had sickness in the home, and the last healing mage to come through- just a few hours ago- commanded that each person who enters sprinkle vinegar over their person. My wife acts as though her life depends on the word of the white mages, but I promise, there shall be no other reminders of pestilence or trouble in this household."
And Seyashen, who could see Abethann standing in front of the main staircase's left banister and Te'valshath sitting on top of a low bookshelf with a grim smile plastered on her little waif face, found that the hand he stuck into the vinegar shook like a leaf. "You're already here," he began, forgetting that he was speaking out loud.
"Eh?" the lord of the house asked, momentarily sounding much more commonly bred than he seemed.
Seyashen stopped, right hand pushed up to the wrist in the vinegar bowl, as the gentleman turned over his shoulder to look at him. From behind him, Miryam peeked around to have a look at his face.
"Perhaps he's sick himself," she judged, reaching around to take the nearly-forgotten bunch of flowers out of Seyashen's other hand. "All the blood's come from his cheeks, like he's had a fright."
"We need that second healer back, then." The man turned around and moved forward decisively with the help of his cane. "Guide him to the hearth, Miryam, then go after him. I'll ring for the tea, and ask for dry biscuits."
"Very good, my lord," Miryam replied as she laid the flowers on the small table with the vinegar bowl, taking firm hold of Seyashen's elbows and putting her right shoulder into his back to urge him in the way she wanted him to go. Te'valshath remained sitting on the bookshelf, but Abethann moved from the staircase to the hearth, sitting down in an empty rocking chair with a basket next to it. She folded her hands in her lap and glared at another spirit, who Seyashen had to turn his own head to see. As the living lord of the house sat down in the heavy, carved wood chair opposite the rocking chair, Seyashen watched the wide chested, sharp nosed male spirit cross his arms behind him.
From that moment, Seyashen knew exactly why his mentor had taken the time to warn him directly.
Behind Abethann ran three smaller spirits and one female spirit Seyashen had never seen before. She wrung her hands, pulled at her hair and trailed her fingers along the couch where Seyashen was seated. Abethann did not react to her, but the male spirit behind the living lord frowned at her immediately. The smaller spirits were oblivious- the one elder was far too busy keeping the younger two from toppling dishes or knocking over vases as they chased each other. Their constant running all over the manse manifested in the physical world as an extremely persistent draft, and Seyashen considered folding his hands into his sleeves.
"So, ser, while we wait for your tea, may I ask your name and your business?" the living lord began lightly, sitting back in his chair with some difficulty.
Seyashen tore his attentions away from the apparitions and looked deeply into the enchanting green eyes of the raven haired lord before him. "I am but a messenger- I'm called Ivan, so please m'lord."
"An unusual name for a Tiefling, if you don't mind my saying so," the Human male replied. "I wonder how you came by it. Yet, I'm sure that's its own story. For now, upon whose errand are you come to my home?"
"So please my lord, the lady is awake, and sends urgently for you and your visitor," Miryam breathed, apparently having run from wherever she'd been. Seyashen watched the responses of all the spirits- Abethann gave a small smile, the male behind the living lord squinted at her furiously, and the new spirit simply kept walking all around the room, fussing with various items. The younger spirits all rushed upstairs instantly, with the elder of the three of them now trying to convince them to stay on the first floor.
The living lord, now really feeling the constant breeze, kept looking behind himself toward the closed windows and door. "Are you quite certain she means to send for both of us?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. "She couldn't have known any visitors had even come this day- did you tell her, or gossip with any of the maids?"
"Many apologies, my lord," Miryam replied, a bit more of her breath returned. "but what with everything coming and going at once, I'd not had a chance to tell anyone that anyone had been anywhere but my lord himself- but Adessa just told me that my lady sent for both of you, as though she knew this man had arrived the moment she awoke."
"Well," the lord scoffed. "I'm loathe to bring an utter stranger to my wife's quarters, but- I suppose I'd better. You'll stand outside the door way, my kind ser, with a guard between yourself and we two."
Seyashen got up as though he'd been sitting on hot coals, and Abethann looked over toward the door.
"The flowers," Seyashen said with a small jump, startling Miryam. "They're for her."
"Many apologies, ser, but- with respect- they're weeds," Miryam counseled. "We'd better leave them here. You can take them when you leave- I'll fix up a nice arrangement for my lady, and call it yours."
"There's a good girl," Master Illance smiled. "A fine compromise, my good man. The thought's the thing; I assume you simply haven't the means to get better than you've brought. It was kind of you, anyhow- say, do you know Bethany from somewhere?"
"Yes," Seyashen replied, watching the raven haired man move cautiously toward the stairs. "It is... unacceptable to me that it took me this long to find her."
"Well, moving across the known world from one's hometown and changing one's name will do wonders for making one disappear, as it were," the man began, taking Miryam's arm for balance as he began to ascend. "Don't blame yourself, ser; when I rode through that miserable village, I wasn't slow in taking what I wanted. I never have been, and that's why I'm here. Saw opportunity where others didn't. It's always done me well."
Te'valshath scooted off the bookshelf as Seyashen passed it, skipping up the steps and gnashing her teeth at Master Illance, who felt a sudden, sharp pain in the leg that was obviously already bothering him. Seyashen said nothing, satisfied at his pain, and behind him, Abethann scoffed.
"Well, it's deserved," Seyashen noted.
"Thank you," the man grunted, pulling himself up the stairs with his right arm as he fought with the stiffness in his left leg. "Do excuse how long this is taking me."
Seyashen made a positive-sounding noise, trying to focus on a gentle solution. Yet, the black fountain in his soul exulted at every groan, every forced pause, and every agonizing stumble. He laid his hand on the banister, nearly deciding to deafen and blind himself to keep from responding that way. He thought about Dale, who'd thought him safe enough to describe her entire family and where they lived to him.
When the two reached the top, the lady's room was found past two servant's rooms- one for the males and one for the females. With hardened leather clad guards on either side, the small chamber seemed as though it was really serving as solitary confinement for a dangerous prisoner. The lord tied a vinegar dipped kerchief around his face, then entered all the way in, with a similarly vinegar kerchief-bedecked Miryam's help. Seyashen obediently stood outside the doorway, beholding the slender, pale woman in the bed with a renewed compassion. Bethany- whose radiant blond hair was made filthy brown by her own sweat and recent vinegar splashes- immediately began to speak her mind about having guards between herself and Seyashen.
"Take him in," she managed, her voice made tiny by prolonged congestion. "He can stop all this. Let him see."
"He can see you from there," Master Illance insisted, sending Miryam away with a waved hand. "It's not safe for either of you to have him any closer."
"He won't see what she's- I want him to be-" Bethany began, falling into a coughing fit. Her waiting woman, who was without a covering for her face, took a kerchief from her bosom and moved to the vinegar bowl that sat on a small table on the right side of the large bed.
"It is enough, m'lady," Seyashen replied, sitting in a simple wooden chair that a young male servant apologetically brought him. "I'm not here to harm you."
Bethany sputtered for a few more moments, then accepted the vinegar water mixture pressed to her lips by her fearless waiting woman. On the left side of the bed, Abethann appeared, sitting down on the bed and passing her hand over her brow to make a cooling breeze. At her knees, the spirits of all three of Bethany's children gathered, so Abethann picked the youngest one- a girl- up, allowing her to bend over and breathe on her ailing mother.
Master Illance settled himself in his chair, planted his staff between his legs and rested both hands upon it like a noble in a portrait. "Now that you have us, darling, how are you? How do you feel?"
"Dreadful, you mule," Bethany croaked with unmistakable annoyance. "Let him in, I say. He can see them- listen to him."
"Do understand, good ser," the man smiled grimly as he cast his green eyes toward Seyashen, "She's been ailing a bit for a few weeks-"
"For more than a year," Bethany corrected. "In perfect misery since the day my feet touched this soil."
"You act as though I'd dragged you to prison," the dark haired Human muttered, clamping his hands tightly on the top of his staff.
"Worse," the withered blonde replied, her fists clenching in her sheets. "To the Hells."
"You said I could see 'them'- who do you mean?" Seyashen asked, immediately concerned.
"A woman who crumples her hands together all the time," Bethany breathed, releasing her hands and closing her eyes wearily. "She comes when I awaken, and doesn't sit down or rest. When I sleep, there's another woman ablaze. When she touches my hand, she sets me on fire-"
"That's the fever," Master Illance cut in. "The last healing mage said that she was personifying her fever, so that she would have something other than me to blame."
"And sometimes, a little girl. She climbs onto the bed with me, but I know she hates me." Bethany coughed for a few moments, prompting her waiting woman to move forward, sit her up, and fluff her pillows.
"The healing mage believes the little girl might be our first or second daughter," the man explained quietly. "The first went to sleep one night and simply never awakened. The second brought home sickness from somewhere, and died before the healers could do any good on her."
"The one I mean is not one of our children," Bethany insisted, "although I see them too. I know the difference, and so do they. Perhaps they all ought to blame me, but that strange little girl is the only one that does."
"No, your children love you. Even this other little girl- she's not blaming you personally," Seyashen counseled, forgetting the lord immediately. "It's Cormyr. To her, you are the land, and the land is in you, because that's what it's like for her."
"Are you mad?" the lord asked at once. "What are you talking about?"
"He's right," The slender blonde breathed with difficulty. "It's the stone- the very stone of the place cries. But what can I do? Please, ser, tell me what to do!"
The lord looked from his wife to the hornless Tiefling with suspicion mounting in his face, leaning on his staff to look through the doorway.
"I don't know the restless woman; I've only seen her here, and she won't speak to me," Seyashen explained quickly. He slid to the edge of his chair, now wishing he could get closer. "But the other two- the one on fire is Abethann, the last daughter of Martin Illance. And the girl... that's her daughter. We named her Te'valshath, because Abethann- can't."
"That sounds right," Bethany sighed in relief. "I believe you. Please, ser, speak to them- beg them to leave us alone. I know you can."
"Listen to me, Beth," Master Illance urged, his voice near breaking. "These are nightmares and day terrors you've been having-"
On the small table to Bethany's right, the mother of pearl handle mirror flew toward the dark haired lord, smacking the wall beyond him and smashing into pieces. Without any pause, Bethany's waiting woman wrapped her hands in cloth and moved to the other side of her master to pick up the pieces. Seyashen looked over just in time to see Te'valshath tear to the other side of the room as though holy water had been splashed near her.
"The girl was here," Bethany whimpered. "The women never break things- but they don't restrain the little storm-bringer, either."
"Ser, that was a gift," the Human warned, staring at Seyashen. "Just because you cannot afford nice trinkets doesn't mean you ought to smash those of your betters."
"I didn't do that- I can't," Seyashen admitted, finally turning his attention back to the man. "There are spirits bound to the stone of the place where they were burned as orphaned criminals; they are the ones whose message I bear. To release Abethann and her daughter, to stop this haunting, you must fix the wrong done to them."
"You're mad," the lord snorted, getting up with effort. "Abethann is not of House Illance. What are you- a bastard son of hers, trying to wheedle money?"
"No, m'lord," Seyashen replied, sitting back in the chair and closing his eyes. "I seek no gain- merely justice for House Illance's betrayal and abandonment."
"Please," Bethany began quietly. "Listen to him- for my sake. That girl-"
"Te'valshath," Seyashen instantly charged.
"That's a dark Elf name, for Tymora's sake!" Master Illance retorted, just a few decibels short of a holler. "You think House Illance, a proud Human family, would stoop to inflicting the names of spiderspit upon our children?"
The little girl, still standing on the other side of the room, reached behind her, picked up the earthenware vinegar bowl and threw it down, sending vinegar and earthenware shards all over the room. This done, she marched out of the room with a determined look on her face.
"Don't-" Seyashen began, concerned.
Bethany jumped at the sudden smashing sound, then settled her bones. "Don't admonish her, ser; her mother doesn't. Poor child could nip us, pox us and burn us all to death, and this damned mule would hold to every lie his father and grandfather ever told!"
"You don't know what you're talking about, darling," Master Illance soothed, moving to the foot of Bethany's bed. "You're frail; rest yourself. I'll have you hung, you warlock. To come in here, bewitch my wife-"
"M'lord, I do not have power to dominate the living," Seyashen replied, shaking his head. "I'm only a messenger for the-"
"You're a black-blooded bone rattler," the Human thundered, moving toward Seyashen like a tiger stalking its prey. "Like that traitorous witch-"
"Beware, m'lord," Seyashen warned, hearing the hollowness of his own voice. Abethann put the child in her lap down, arose from Bethany's bed and walked out of the room after her daughter, her fists clenched. The eldest spirit of Bethany's three departed children hustled her two siblings out of the room, where their spectral forms disappeared from Seyashen's view. He was just going to wonder what had undone their focus when a sharp scream split the air.
"My lord, your son!" came a cry from down the hall. Master Illance gathered his strength and powered past Seyashen and part of the way down the hall toward some room around the other side of the manor.
"He's dead," Bethany sighed, folding her hands over her stomach. "I know it. They killed one child, now her mother has all of mine."
"It's possible that Abethann did this," Seyashen admitted, looking around to see where Te'valshath had gone. "But it's more likely that her daughter did."
"It's not just because she wants to play with her second cousins, like the first mage said," Bethany scoffed. "I was pregnant when we came here- made the ride a misery. And the minute I laid in this bed the first time, I knew I'd never see that child alive. The poor court mage didn't have to say a word, which seemed better for her, anyhow. Then I lost my first girl. Stopped breath. Her little brother. Pox. Nausea that first pushed up some kind of yellow bile, then blood out of my last girl-"
"Dead!" the lord's voice called furiously. "You murderer! I will have you burned!"
"She'll continue," Seyashen warned, feeling too weak to get up. "Her focus is here. She's trapped until she gets what she needs."
"I'll die first," Bethany wailed, quickly falling into a coughing fit.
"Better run now," Bethany's waiting woman encouraged quietly, moving to her mistress's side at once.
The sound of boots against the staircase did nothing but encourage the dark energies that Seyashen was doing his best to restrain. He pushed his arms into his sleeves as though he were cold. "Abethann was abducted by Thultanthar mages because of her talent with necromancy."
One of the guards from the lower level grabbed Seyashen and forced him to his feet at swordpoint. Beyond them, the shards of the mirror that Bethany's woman had wrapped in cloth tore free and buried themselves into the guard's eyes. Te'valshath hurled them across the room with deadly accuracy, grinning at Seyashen.
"-and she was harmed, in nearly every way possible," the Tiefling continued, trying not to allow himself to take pleasure in the man's death.
"She wasn't a victim- she was a whore who sold her body to the Shadovar for power," the lord hollered back, making his way back toward his wife's room. "She got what she deserved!"
"No mage would have bought her for her womanly charms," Seyashen shot back, incredulous, turning over his shoulder to see the lord at the top of the stairs. "She was a mere child!"
The flushed lord continued to limp his way toward Seyashen, finding his left leg far less responsive than it had been just a few minutes ago. "Those creatures in Sembia have always been mindless beasts, and all women can become loathsome sluts at any age! Guards!"
"Baator take you!" Bethany exclaimed as loudly as she could, paying for her frustration with racking, phlegm-coated coughs.
Seyashen watched helplessly as Te'valshath ran around the house, throwing dishes to the floor in glorious fury. Abethann, having descended to the center of the manse's first floor, moved her hands like a dancer, taking control of each one of the books on all the bookshelves in the entire house one at a time. She began flinging them after every living soul in the house, and unlike her untrained daughter, laced her projectiles with a fear spell so well woven that Seyashen could feel his own flesh crawl in response. After watching a few well-placed tomes, he returned to Bethany's room and walked all the way inside.
"Goddamned stubborn man!" Bethany despaired in a choked voice, tears streaming down her face. "Not one of our lives will be enough to convince him."
"Please," Seyashen whispered, trailing his finger on the bottom post of her bed. "Let your spirit forgive me."
"Fear not," Bethany smiled dimly for a few seconds, opening her eyes with obvious effort. "The nightmare won't have a happy ending, but it'll certainly end."
"Beth!" Master Illance exclaimed, making his way to her room at last. By the time he entered, Seyashen had sat back in the chair that he had occupied before, and had cast blindness on himself.
"Abethann fled to Cormyr, looking for sanctuary," he stated, as calmly as if he were reciting verses from a prayer book. "Instead, she was turned over to the guards, disowned, and wrongly put to death while pregnant. This is her revenge, and she will exact it upon every member of the Illance household who dares set foot in this land. Give her back her name, and she will leave you in peace. Perhaps she may even find peace of her own."
Te'valshath, exulting in her mother's mischief, began rattling the windows, thoroughly terrifying all the servants. Abethann, meanwhile, decided to go from throwing books to the freshly sharpened knives from the kitchen, draining the lives of those that the knives hit. Te'valshath shrieked with joy, feeling that at last, her mother was exacting the revenge they both so richly deserved.
"Mother and daughter bonding," Bethany mused, sweat breaking out on her pale brow. "Abethann and Te'valshath Illance... this... is happy, isn't it?"
"I should run you through, bastard," the lord growled, drawing a dagger from his belt. "But instead, you'll have the truth. The guttersnipe of whom you speak was a headstrong, power-hungry wench who ran off to Sembia because my grandfather wouldn't let her grow those fiendish abilities of hers. She disappeared in the night, then she came back used- her father did the right thing, for the family and for her. Who would marry a traitor at all, let alone a traitor with the spawn of the enemy in her belly? Yet, she must've done worse for herself sometime before, coupling with some son of the Hells to get you."
"That's enough," Seyashen replied simply, getting up from the chair. "There's nothing more I can do for you, except beg Abethann to spare Bethany's life."
"No," Bethany cried quietly. "It is enough."
Seyashen removed his blindness with a sigh, and looked from the shocked man over toward the door behind him, where Te'valshath was energetically beckoning him.
"Bethany," he said calmly, resting a hand on her blanketed feet, "Let your spirit forgive me."
"Get out," the frail woman urged, shifting her hand in a failed attempt to wave him off. "The girl wants you to get out- to save yourself."
"There won't be any salvation," Master Illance snarled, preparing to throw the dagger at Seyashen.
"You're right," Seyashen finally growled, turning back to Master Illance. His eyes intensified, so that their natural gold nearly matched the radiance of sunlight. "Vomit me your soul."
The man gagged, put one hand to his throat, then fell to his knees, dropping his dagger. Seyashen knowingly moved past him as the choking rapidly intensified. Just as he began walking down the stairs, watching dishes and knives whirl by him after the house staff, he heard the wickedly gratifying sound of uncontrolled upheaval. At the rate it was going, it would be a toss up whether he died by losing everything in his bowels or by choking because he was literally unable to breathe in. One of the servants recently made undead charged after Seyashen, who smiled over his shoulder, raised his right hand just slightly and twisted it- the servant whirled around like a top off a string and began chasing a living servant again.
"Very funny, Abethann. Don't have too much fun."
At the door, Seyashen considered the flowers next to the vinegar bowl. Picking them up with a smile, he watched as the door opened in front of him and closed behind him- courtesy of Abethann. As he stepped outside, a loud blast was heard from the root cellar, and a fire suddenly sprung up the entire back side of the manor. The guard who was at the front gate turned, drawing his sword, but Seyashen simply looked at him- a long, penetrating glare so damning that he barely had to whisper the spell he was thinking about. Flesh began falling off the guard's arms in jelly-like, reddened hunks as the man hollered in pain.
"Aww, a snarl for you," Seyashen smiled pleasantly, continuing to walk out of the manse's gate.
Miryam, who had returned with the second healer, stared at the flesh molting in frozen horror. "What have you done?"
"Go fetch water," Seyashen counseled, "If you feel like doing anything for this place. If not, go find yourself another job- you could even return to Dahst for a while." This said, he left the woman behind, walking toward the Bone College again.
"Here, this is what you mean to do," the healer smiled, putting one of his fingers on the other side of Miryam's stunned face to turn her to him. "You killed your master and set the house afire. Now you are being hunted. Run to Dahst and do not return."
Terror widened the female's eyes immediately, and as soon as the healer let her face go, she turned and ran as though she had in fact done everything she'd been told. Moments later, city guards arrived, out of breath, arms at the ready. The healer simply extended a hand after the running woman with a nearly comically incredulous look on his face.
"The manse?" one of the guards asked.
"I came as quickly as I could, but there's nothing to be done for it," the healer replied. "I expect it to collapse into itself before the fire can spread to the neighbors. Best you can do is catch the wench that did it."
The guard moved off with the rest, and the healer moved quickly to catch up with the golden eyed necromancer. He wasn't rushing, so when the healer caught up, it was easy to stop him with a calm hand on his shoulder.
"I was called back for you," the healer smiled when Seyashen turned around. "And I'm glad I caught you in the act, this time. You should thank me for keeping you out of prison. You'd be burned by sunset if I hadn't dominated that woman for you."
"I did nothing wrong," Seyashen replied, contemplating the flowers in his hand. In this state of necromantic euphoria, he expected them to die, as the grass in the Axis of Afflux had done when he walked through it. But they remained as beautiful as they'd been when he'd first seen them in Dale's basket.
"I didn't say you did anything wrong," the healer nodded, removing his hand from Seyashen's shoulder. "Don't mistake me. But power like yours is held in high suspicion, if not outright feared. You, like every capable mage in this ignorant town, are in danger every moment you all walk the streets without the Phoenix's protection."
"While the offer is kind, the fact is that I don't normally walk the streets," Seyashen noted thoughtfully. "If you'd like to visit me, you may find me on the second floor of the Bone College, just down the hall from the Human vivisection labs."
"All wise comments aside, Ser Ivan- ah, forgive me- Master Seyashen," the healer said slyly, walking in front of the hornless Tiefling, "Any innocent, white magic healer can be burned if a woman they happen to have tended a month ago dies in childbirth, even if it were known that the day before her death, she'd drunk poison from some alchemist in the attempt to be rid of her baby. How much less trust would be spared for you, the most feared of all mages, the dreaded bone rattler?"
Seyashen looked over his shoulder to catch sight of the collapse of the manse beyond him. A rush of warm, ashy air washed over him, and he found himself tempted to breathe it deeply, as though it would refresh him. "I must warn you; today is my thirteenth fast day, m'lord. My judgement clouds significantly after day seven."
The healer took a single step back as though to appraise the worth of the creature before him. "I offer you protection with the mages of the Phoenix," he stated flatly. "You could be more grateful than this."
"The Phoenix- the Phoenix," Seyashen mused, watching as a few spirits began gathering behind the healer. He was surprised to see Pharen among them. "Something to say, Pharen? A message, perhaps?"
The mage looked around himself furtively, trying to figure out precisely where the spirits that Seyashen was talking to might be.
"Keep moving," Pharen counseled. "Remember Arlwynna, how they nabbed her."
"Let them try it," Seyashen smiled as he turned and began walking toward the Bone College again, "and I will get more resurrection practice than I'd planned today- ooh, or perhaps a few more candidates for the vivisection labs. That'd be even better; we've run out of prisoners."
"You'd be wise not to try to make fools of us," the mage called out after the Tiefling.
"You are the masters, m'lord," Seyashen volleyed brightly. "Your servant can do no better."
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