Sweat broke out on the harshly tanned brow, beading up on her skin like oil that had hit a pan full of water. She squeezed her deep brown eyes shut and breathed deeply, curling her hands into fists.
"It's not happening, is it?" Seyashen asked, backing away from his work table to make notes.
"No, but it might," Miye responded with a shrug, crossing her arms over her chest. "You might try pushing the needles in a bit farther to really know for sure."
"Alright," the Tiefling nodded, putting his note pad down and moving toward the table again. As he focused on getting the warmed needle a bit farther into the arch of the Human female's foot, she began to squirm. "How's-"
"Wait, stop," the spirit urged, passing through the wall to the hallway outside.
Seyashen sat up suddenly to turn his focus over his shoulder, and the Human female upon whom he was testing managed to open her eyes.
"My feet..." she panted, turning her head to the side to squint at her foot, "...the blood-"
"No, not you," Seyashen replied absent-mindedly, not remembering that he hadn't told the testing subject precisely whom he was talking to at all. He hadn't previously thought that it would become a problem.
"Well...who...?" the woman managed, now turning her gaze to the distracted Tiefling. He stood straight and faced the door for a few moments.
"I don't know, he was still pacing around and around the College this morning," Seyashen said to someone that the woman couldn't see, using one of the needles to scratch a nervous itch on his back. "He could have-"
"You're...talking to... yourself," the testing subject hissed, squirming in agony. "You're crazy."
Seyashen shot a deadly look back at her. "With all due respect, madam, you came recommended for the Pain Threshold Testing, and gladly volunteered when asked. The rest of the testing subjects are all condemned criminals who would rather have been burned publicly at the stake than cross my doorway. So, by what standard are you measuring my sanity?"
"Oh, leave her," Miye scoffed, annoyed. "The Halfling's probably halfway gone down Magebelt by now!"
"Well, he knows what he's-"
"Help!" the woman screamed suddenly. "Help me... he's insane!"
Seyashen looked up at the ceiling, thinking over just how much effort he'd put into the testing notes that he had jotted down so far. "You're really quite fortunate that I don't want to begin all over again." He turned and mercilessly yanked all four needles out of the woman's flesh, provoking hideous shrieks of pain. "Had you not been part of my negative control group, you'd be a pool of blood and vomit by now."
"Help!" the subject belted, empowered by the pain of having hot, four inch long nails ripped wickedly out of the soles of her feet.
And a bright eyed initiate poked her head into the basement chamber. "Something the matter, Questioner Seyashen?" she asked.
"Would you get my subject to the twelfth holding cell, please?" Seyashen asked with a kind smile. "Make sure you don't use the back hallway."
"Contamination!" the initiate grinned, rustling around her pouch for the key to the shackles on the working table.
"That's right- you're remembering all the basics. Have you seen the Master Inquisitor?"
"Not since he started prowling the grounds, no," the initiate replied simply, finding the key and moving toward the astonished woman. "It's unlike him to let the cat run around here without him anywhere nearby her. Usually they're like thunder and rain."
"I don't like this," Miye began quietly. "Abethann is angry at something, and her daughter's practically to screaming fits because of it. They'll have the stones out of the street any moment."
"Thank you- I'll be back," the Tiefling said briefly to the initiate, already leaving the room as he spoke. He moved with a will up the winding staircase that sprung up from the basement into the dormitories, then turned down the dormitory hallway toward the front room. He would have made it right out the front door if Lady Kaionne had not been sitting on a stool immediately in front of it, reading to a small cluster of initiates.
" 'The appendix is observed to be tougher to cut through in those creatures that are yet eating foods of the wilds, lending itself to the belief that it is responsible for some part of the breaking down of raw or unsafe foods,' " she read smoothly before looking up at the Master Inquisitor's hurried apprentice. "And what can the female do for the pup today, hmmm? A spirit walks with you, yes, the Beyond is here among us."
"Well, there's no fooling her," Miye nodded, walking around an initiate and right up to the Grand Torturer. "How did her mate get away from her and into the street?"
Seyashen realized that he'd taken the testing needles with him only when he began scratching that phantom itch on his back with the one he was still holding. "Master Semnemac has gone off down Magebelt, and-"
"Oh yes, and Dheidre leaped from a window not long after him," Kaionne replied, turning her yellow-green eyes back down to the book in her hands. "He and Aric and their familiars are not to be separated when serious matters are working. They together are better than the army; I fear nothing. Come, pup; sit and listen to the newest vivisection journals."
And for the first time, Seyashen saw what he absolutely knew was Lady Kaionne's animal companion. The sleek, grey furred wolf prowled quietly in the shadows that stretched between the candle light beams, her beautiful brown eyes locked on Seyashen. The hornless Tiefling knew better than to try to continue to move forward.
"It will pass the time until the guards tell us that whatever move they are making against the Dark Quarter is over," Kaionne smiled, lifting her eyes just slightly off the page, then returning to it with a quiet sigh. " 'When the Duegar's appendix was sliced-' "
Outside, Semnemac moved as silently as a thief through the streets.
"How can I be more than myself, yet less than myself?" he whispered to the open air. "Come thou sweet, twisted, lovely wonton, won't you come live with me a while?"
Dheidre tore down the street in front of him, her orangy ears flatted on her head.
Semnemac got down on his hands and knees and crawled forward like a stalking cat. "What harm can come of a male who likes animals, hmmn?"
And among the myriads of phantoms that reached out of the surrounding buildings and up from the ground beneath him to touch him, the one female to whom he was speaking, appeared brighter.
"Can the screamers hear? Can the listeners scream?" Semnemac encouraged. "Wouldn't that be nice?"
She looked over her shoulder in the direction that Dheidre had gone, then pursed her lips in decision. Firmly nodding, she walked through the other departed souls- visible only to herself and to the Halfling- and reached a slender hand out toward him.
"An answer- a solution- sweet, beautiful agony," Semnemac whispered, delicately putting his hand under her own. Of course, their fingers moved through each other, but a smile began to cross the Halfling's face. "Think of the racks. Of the candle wax. Of the beatings, the blood and the shards of glass. Give me all the tears, fine flesh, all the tears. Let them drown me- I practiced all week for you."
And the female spirit, who could not get up the courage to speak to the living being speaking to her, began to notice that her fingers were no longer simply moving through his flesh, but now were instead somehow resting in it. It was warm there, and comforting, and although she felt strange about it, she moved forward, feeling the warmth engulf her totally. She felt as though she was dipping into the waters of a warm spring- the very first tactile sensation she'd had since she'd died.
It was hard to think about, her death. It hadn't been pleasant, or brief. She had been nowhere near her children-
And suddenly, she realized that she was different. Very different. She was shorter than she remembered, and much heavier. She looked down at herself and realized with shock that she was robed in actual flesh again- and that it wasn't even her flesh.
She had become the Halfling. Panic and a horrible, radiating pain thrilled through her- or him?
Calm yourself, Dove. The pain is mine, and I bear it gladly. I've done this many times before- it's a price I'm willing to pay. Let us move quickly- the spirits have never lied to me, and I am determined to make your desire come true- they don't know how much they need it to.
She picked up an arm and flexed the hand- into a fist, out into a splay of fingers- then moved the arm up and down. It obeyed her as though it had always been hers, confusingly enough. The pain- a skin-grating feeling like hundreds of stones scraping across bare muscle- registered in her mind. Although she didn't feel it, she could sense her host feeling it- disturbed, she thought of leaving the flesh to its rightful owner.
All of this I have done before, the Halfling's mental voice echoed. It is a pain I bear willingly- and there are more, besides. Now, come!
And the body that she shared with him jerked forward, down the cobbled path, without her asking it to. The spirit realized as she moved forward that she was a temporary cohabitant with the true lord of this sack of flesh. Either she could control it, or he would- and she wondered with some terror what awful thing would happen if both of them tried at once.
Truly you are a mother, the Halfling laughed into her spirit. You worry almost as much as my own did, when the spirits first called me. She wanted to protect me from the fires in which I loved to walk- why pen up the willing sacrifice?
"Some calves're too young," the spirit found herself saying aloud- in her own voice. How her voice was capable of escaping an obviously male frame baffled her completely. "Or weak, or precious to be givin' over ta sacrifice."
Perhaps that's what it was, the true owner of the body admitted to her as they descended into the Eastern Quarter. I have never thought of myself in any of those terms.
About twenty feet into the Eastern Quarter, the ensconced souls saw two slavers struggling with a small girl. They were trying to take her quietly, but she had begun to scream aloud, wisely thrusting a heel into the nearest one's groin.
"Sparra!" the spirit cried at once, rushing down the street that had suddenly became a cobble-less foot path.
Hold close to me, mother, the Halfling urged. I know you have no use for magic, but I'm no archer- let the pain travel through you and back to me. I will bear it.
"Do what needs doin', man," the spirit winced, feeling the true owner of the body begin to relegate her to a strong inner soul sanctum of some sort- she could neither describe nor prevent it. She felt as though she'd been placed on the back of a wild and angry bull.
Sparrow, who had been momentarily shocked to stillness by the sound of her mother's voice, was grabbed by the slaver that she hadn't kicked. He drew his dagger in the effort to force her compliance, but instead, the dagger pulled itself out of his hands, flew behind him, and buried itself into the left side of his lower back. His compatriot, astonished, turned to see the Halfling, whose dyed mohawk had been pulled back behind his head into a ponytail that day. Sweat had broken across his brow, and a feverish glow haunted his mysteriously happy eyes.
"Surprised?" he asked, his voice little more than a hideous, diseased rasp.
The slaver raised a short sword, ready to make short work of the utterly unarmored creature, but was slugged in the back of the neck by a pre-teen boy. The strike was stunning, but not as powerful as the boy probably hoped. The slaver turned to backhand the creature- and as he did, he felt a searing hot energy devour his entire body. His wondering eyes- before they burst, anyway- beheld the white hot lightning zag around his body and down to that of his compatriot, who screamed as though he'd been dropped whole into a vat of boiling oil.
"Behind you, mage!" the boy cried, stabbing his finger into the air just over the Halfling's shoulder.
Dheidre appeared suddenly from around the corner of the building behind which the two children had been sleeping and launched herself into the air, all claws bared. The Halfling merely stepped to the side, ducking slightly, as the attacker who had been prepared to strike the mage down from behind was impaled with sixteen claws. The Halfling and the female spirit watched for a few moments as the vicious cat tore at the throat and the eyes like a creature possessed- and the spirit had little doubt that she actually was. Dropping to one knee briefly, the mage laid a hand on the slaver's belly, which encouraged the cat to desert the poor soul and tear off in the opposite direction.
"Do you ever wonder what it's like to be me?" he asked politely, as though he were speaking to a close friend.
A fourth slaver had appeared behind the two children in what now was an obvious flanking tactic, but Sparrow ducked down and bit the male's leg as her brother buried the dagger that had been pulled from the other slaver's back into the living one's gut. Both unfortunately hit nothing but armor, leaving the slaver largely unmoved and all too happy to bring his own blade to bear on the boy. Dheidre curled herself up and leaped onto the male's face, taking a single slash across her back before escaping.
"Can you smell the possession, brother?"
The fourth slaver whirled around, confused and concerned by the altered tone in his compatriot's voice. He had just opened his mouth to ask what he meant, when he noticed that the man was heading toward him with a grin and a stagger, his weapon ready in his hand.
"C'mon, mate," the fourth slaver began quietly, looking around him. Both children had fled around the corner of the building, but the mage was standing, strangely gleeful, exactly where he'd been kneeling before. "C'mon- what's gotten into you?"
"Yes, yes, yes!" the third slaver exulted, panting like a happy dog. "The answer, that's what I need. What I want, yes, gimme! Gimme all your pretty, pretty bile!"
"Pelor's dress!" the fourth slaver exclaimed, turning tail and running deeper into the blackness of the Eastern Quarter. His companion followed him with whoops and laughter, panicking his companion into screaming like a scared child as he tried to escape down the street.
"An answer, blessed bloodcart- they make such a lovely couple. I hope they enjoy their honeymoon," the Halfling smiled, pulling out the band that had been holding his mohawk back and scrubbing his fingers through it. "Frightened? Too shaken to come out to play?"
The spirit felt freedom to expand- as strange as that was. It was as though the mage had unlocked the door that he'd shut her behind within himself. The concept itself was completely incomprehensible to her, but when her daughter peeked around the corner of the building at the Halfling, she stopped trying to understand.
"Sparra- there's me darlin' girl, eh?"
"Mama!"
And without a doubt in the world, the filthy child darted out from behind the building toward the mage- who was clothed only in funeral sheets.
"Sparra, hald thee, girl!" the boy called, winning a pause from the girl. "Thee cannae believe ev'rythin' thee hears, eh?"
"It's Mum, I swear it!" Sparrow replied, turning toward the boy, who'd stepped out of the shadow of the building. She stamped her foot with frustration. "Can thee no' see it?"
"I sees, alright, is the rub," the boy replied, petulant. " 'Tis Master Semnemac. Now, bring thee back afore he bites thee or drags thee off to his house of nutters, eh?"
"There's no manners, Thunder, speakin' that way right afront of the man's face, eh?" the spirit replied at once, crossing the Halfling's arms over his chest in disapproval. "Thee oughta apologize to 'im, now, c'mon."
And Thunder stood, squinting over his sister to the male Halfling that had spoken with a distinctly female voice. One that he remembered too well to deny.
"If thee're givin' out to be our mum, then thee knows where Da's gone, does thee no?" he asked, coming carefully closer.
"Course I does," the spirit replied, remembering that she couldn't have explained what she was experiencing if she'd tried. "He's in Saerloon, where he were grown, Selûne rest him."
"How old were Sparra when he were gone?" Thunder asked, coming close enough to wrap his sister in his protective arms.
"She were just two, bless her," the spirit cooed, kneeling the Halfling's body down and putting his hands in his lap. "Hadn't even learnt to say 'Da' as yet- though she were close to't."
"How-?" Thunder asked, his voice tightly caught up in emotion.
"Dinnae ask me fool questions, boy, how ought I ta know all the answers?" the spirit said, shaking the Halfling's head sharply and closing his eyes. "What I knows is I wanted sore to talk to thee, and thee ought to be bloody grateful at what he's gone through ta help me do it, eh?"
Sparrow broke free of her brother's grasp with one good pull, and threw herself at the Halfling's frame, which shuddered in sudden pain. The spirit felt as though hot spikes were being dragged across the Halfling's bare flesh and then pressed into it- then, the sensation miraculously disappeared. It seemed to have been pulled away from her consciousness as though it had never existed at all, leaving her with a deep pity for the male lending her his body.
"I must begone, boy, come quick," she whispered, unable to force a harsher tone. Thunder joined his sister, pressing against the borrowed body with all his might. The spirit braced herself for the wave of discomfort, but nothing came- which concerned her even more. "Keep thee safe, the both of thee, and so soon as thee can, take thee out of this place. As far from here as thee can, hear?"
"Aye, Mum," both children chorused softly.
"Thank the good man, will thee no?" the spirit urged. "And then let me go."
Somewhere within himself, the Halfling seemed to know that the latter part of her command had been just as much for him as for the children. Come again, Dove- any time you like. What I do, I have always done; and now, it is done gladly.
"Thank you, Master Semnemac," Thunder said, sitting back and pulling his sister away from the Halfling. "I'm sorry about what I said about you."
Dheidre padded past the children, rubbing herself against both of them before leaping onto Semnemac's shoulder. And with a smile, the Halfling arose to walk back toward the Bone College.
"What a timid shadow," he commented lightly. "At least there's no need for wild dances, burning stones and prayer-soaked salt water."
The two children looked at each other, but neither one permitted the other to speak.
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