Chains of destiny 2:20 Shadow fire.

It was all so very familiar.

There was no smell of torches or fire pots.  The cool of perpetual darkness had lavished itself upon his dark skin for at least an hour now, bringing him unspeakable calm and a spike of fury at the same time.  Clips of Undercommon sliced through other chatter, singing in his ears the keen-edged threat of home.

He half-expected to be hit by the briny stench of freshly tortured Kuo-toa.

"Ssussun."

"Yeah.  Nasty- but old."

He felt the firm clamp of a slender hand around his chin.  His head was yanked backward, then turned from side to side.  It was a normal reaction to Micharkiira Ardulacise's work, which looked as though the dark Elf had barely avoided death at the nasty end of a Dwarven mace.

"This is the one, then?"  The over-careful pronunciation stung; it sounded as though the young female had just come from the Underdark.

"Not many like him running about the place, is there?"

There was a pause, followed by a deep sigh.  "I had not expected it to be a male.  The boss will not care for this."

"As I heard it, we was to nab the creature what made off with the goods and put paid to Kisha.  Here 'tis.  What's it matter what's between the legs?"

Bahlzair recoiled at the second female's ignorance.  This merry bunch of idiots was weaker than should have been tolerated by nature.

"I will take him myself, thank you, Peth.  You should have a look at those bruises."

"They're not bruises, is what.  They're bloody mageburns.  Mind you keep him bound up like that, or you're liable to find a bit of hocus pocus putting holes in your hide, eh?"

"Natha faern?  Terini'nestg.  Doer xuil uns'aa."

Bahlzair made no motion in reply, and did not contest the firm hand on his upper arm.  From the sound of the footfalls, he could tell that they moved from solid stone to something less solid- perhaps a platform leading to a built landing.  Based on what he had experienced so far, Bahlzair began to believe that whoever was running this mess had made a mini-Underdark of some shallow den far from the capacity of being the real thing.  The platform stretched up for some time, then connected to a long landing- it was a full two minute walk to get to solid stone again.  When they did, it seemed that their arrival was an intrusive disturbance instead of an expected presentation.

"Peth, what did I-" a frustrated female voice crabbed, then stopped in a grunt.  "Flamgra dos, Imylshalee.  Nindol zhah l' lotha vith'rell?"  There was a pause, presumably while the female named Imylshalee bowed or at least nodded, and the female who had spoken walked over and immediately did the same thing her vassal had done upon seeing Bahlzair for the first time.  The inspection was closer this time, however, and Bahlzair could could nearly to ninety before he was allowed to hold his head himself again.  Then, the question.

"Vel'bol xunus dos xun ulu rytho'le nindel?"

He did not answer at all.

"What, too long away?" the female scoffed.  "Or born topside?  I asked you what you did to deserve those scars.  Now tell me, before you earn a few more."

Still he said nothing.  Stood silent and calm as stone.  Waiting.

A solid slap turned his head and pushed his shoulders just slightly to his right.  Bahlzair noted that this female probably had a tolerable amount of upper body strength- there had been no grunt or pant of effort, and the male dark Elf knew that he was not easily moved.  He righted himself after a few seconds' pause.

"Naut natha ul'trin," the leader scoffed.

"Uk xal naut tlu izil ulu nym'uer," her vassal suggested.

"Plynn nindel klez tir, elg'caress."

Bahlzair wondered within himself at how this female treated others of her own kind.  Surely one of her poorly-used women would be more than happy to rip that rough tongue right out of her mistress's mouth.  Perhaps he would happen upon the harpy who wanted to do so the most.  As it stood, Imylshalee obediently took the blindfold off Bahlzair and gently pushed at his right temple until he opened his eyes.

And Imylshalee, with her glowing amber eyes, smooth coal black skin and curly raven hair that had been sliced and pulled back to the nape of her neck, was one of the most beautiful Drow females Bahlzair had seen in many years.  He suppressed his immediate desire to kill her, reminding himself that perhaps she may be a tool to be used against a more worthy quarry.

"In case you were born topside as well as deaf or stupid, let's try one more time," the leader sighed.  Imylshalee moved back to Bahlzair's left to reveal the slightly taller, clearly older Drow female that had been calling the shots.  "Those scars.  How did you earn them?"

And at last, Bahlzair decided upon his method of mind-fuckery.  He lifted his bound hands and signed a reply.  "The house I served was destroyed."

"Deaf and mute- a death sentence even for an elderboy.  Still, it's a good trick, to read Common lips and sign back Undercommon.  Wonder what else is locked in that head of yours, hmm?"  The leader nodded, took a few steps backward and sat atop her desk at the far right side of the small room. Bahlzair tried to keep himself from obviously scanning the place, but instantly noted the various papers that nearly covered the floor around the desk.  "What's your name?"

Rather than use the actual sign for his name, Bahlzair elected to spell it out, just to see the reaction.  He was met with a surprised chuckle.

"Well, that explains everything.  Your matron was drunk, or mad- how else could she have simply not noticed that you were male?  Or that she was spelling like an Eladrin, for that matter?  'Bawl-sire.'  Whoever destroyed your house did well.  Didn't manage to kill you or keep you in their clutches, however, and since you've robbed me of one of my good women, I'll have to capitalize on that failure."

Bahlzair nodded.

"A reasonable creature!  How many did you kill to get out of there, all the while bowing your head to every word you actually understand?  Well, no more of that.  You're a master of poisons, it seems, so when Imyshalee presents you to our alchemist, show her how little she has left to teach you.  I want a vial of your most wicked stuff."  The slight-framed Drow waited until Bahlzair nodded again, then waved her hand at her vassal.  "Naut'kyn ukta."

Imylshalee turned Bahlzair to his right and put the blindfold back over his eyes.  She did not wave or snap her fingers in front of him to check her work, as the other women had done, which her captive appreciated.

"Zhal'la l' yathrin kyorl ukta?"

"K'lar kyorlen, ka dos inbal l' jalilen.  Uk zhah naubol."

In Ust Natha, many miles away, one of the slaves dared to shake the arm of one of his female masters, pointing behind them to the hall that he had faithfully guarded most of his life.  The female pulled back her hand to slap the impertinent creature, but stopped when she looked over his shoulder to the wall trophy that he was indicating.  Forgetting the slave entirely, she ran to get the attention of the high priestess.

For the first time since the surface raid incident, the reputedly cursed dagger of House Hun'gyhm had burst into a ghostly blue flame.

2:19 Soft eyes.

"Nyet, Lishka, this one also is nearly hollow."  With a concentrated grunt, the Dragonborn heaved the beam that he was inspecting about eight feet away from himself to the discard pile that was slowly mounting.

"Bert's beard, I'm just no use at all, am I?" Amilie commented jokingly, returning her gaze and concentration to her careful stonework.  "It's amazing you two keep me hanging about."

"This is not true," Aleksei huffed, freezing with the beam that he was about to inspect held over his head.  "I do not know the spirits that you know, and your eyes are much softer than Udalka's eyes.  This is why you are good with making the sacred space in the garden.  If you are leaving such work to blood spiller like me or to stonemason like Udalka, we are making big mess, and the spirits will be angry, yes?  Then there will be no blessing in the garden, and there will be no food from it.  Who will save us?"

"Well, then you go to the market, is what you do," Amilie laughed, putting both hands on the ground and looking over at Aleksei without lifting her head all the way up.  "You'd have to stop throwing the pitiful coppers that Nithraz deigns to give you into your ale, and you'd eat gruel for a season, that's all."

"Maybe if it is yourself and Udala, you will survive," Aleksei suggested sheepishly, bringing the beam down to look at it.  "This one is good."

"Oh, finally- now, cut it in half, then split the halves in half, then split each half into two more halves, then bring all eight pieces over here," Amilie enthused.  "Then we can wet them with the mixture.  The smell of it will keep the pests away."

"You are very much like Mamoshka in these sayings," Aleksei reflected as he prepared to chop the beam in half.  "When I am much younger, having maybe four years, she is trying to teach me how to encourage the elk to give birth."

"Oh no, she was teaching you animal husbandry?" Amilie laughed, imagining a smaller version of the Dragonborn fidgeting while a beautiful blue-eyed female tried to point out the finer details of coupling livestock.

"My father is saying to her, 'Stonecrushers do not put their hands to these things,' but she is saying, 'You are in Ice-eyes lands,  Petya, and there is neither stone to shape nor prey to hunt.  Our sons must learn these ways or starve.' "

Amilie turned around and sat to mix the foul smelling mixture and watch Aleksei split the wood.  "And who was right?"

Aleksei laughed after he recovered both halves of the beam and prepared to split each half into another half. "They are both.  The Stonecrusher boys are no good at this husbandry, and not one is remaining alive in the Ice-eyes lands.  Kristov is joining war to quiet empire's demand when Mamoshka will not let Utets go.  In little time, we are hearing that he is lost.  Georgiy is running from war, but in few weeks, the soldiers are finding him and dragging him with them, which is bringing much shame.  When soldiers are coming back second time for Utets, they also are taking me, leaving Mamoshka alone.  Arkhosia is making her widow and barren all at once, but she is waving goodbye, not crying, when we are leaving her."

Amilie put her hands in her lap and pursed her lips, her eyes misting slightly.  "That's- really brave of her.  She was a very good woman- who has at least one good son left to her name."

And Aleksei, who easily split the second half of the beam into two even pieces, merely chuckled.  In the male who was usually full of joy, Amilie perceived a wistful bitterness that she genuinely wished she could erase- or at least soothe.

"It's a shame, as well," she continued quickly, walking over to pick up one of the quartered pieces.  "A shame to throw her children away on a war already lost.  I mean, I don't mean to disrespect the Empire-"

"This saying is not disrespect," Aleksei replied, putting down the axe and gathering the rest of the quartered pieces.

"-but I would think that after Vor Kragal disappeared, or even when the Golden Boy- is that what he's called?- well, after he died... you would have thought that both sides would have called it quits," Amilie commented.  "But no- still pulling sons out of their mother's houses for so long afterward- that's just a damned shame."

"It is, yes," Aleksei agreed, watching the woman rub the split wood pieces with a rag soaked in the foul mixture.  "This is why the Empire is destroyed.  When one is pursuing great things, always they must remember to be careful of the little ones.  It is problems that seem small at first that will consume like great beasts in just a little while.  Even the Turathi Empire is not doing to their children what we are doing to our own."

"Oh, never fear those wicked old nobles forgetting their details- Asmodeus is nothing if not the champion of every lawyer's small print," Amilie counseled as she set the first soaked bit of wood into its designated place.  "If the other gods had wanted to prevent him from gaining the power he has this very day, all they would have had to do is read his contracts fully, then argue for a better negotiation.  And a great deal of those gods' followers consciously make the exact same mistake, then burn you if you won't.  My mother always told me that smart, reading women will always be perceived as Amodeus's daughters."

"Yes, you are saying this to me before-" Aleksei reflected quietly.  "We are speaking of dragon cult, and you are saying how they are burning your grandmother because she is taking their writing to the leader of Daerlun to prove that they are still buying the leaders there."

"Turns out she was talking straight to a bought fop, yes," Amilie sighed, taking up another piece of wood.  "It was amazing- the Cormites clear out the Netherese, only to find that the dragon worshipers were still underneath, still pulling strings and buying favors, courting dracoliches and the like.  These pattycake princesses throw up their hands and go back across the border, saying, 'You deal with them, you're a free state.'  A free state, indeed!  What happens?  Those damned bone rattlers treated us just as badly as the Netherese ever did, and hand anyone who's any good at magic or alchemy right over to Semmite raiders every time they want a bit of gold, or a political favor."

"And this is why you are leaving, yes?  Why your mother is sending you away?" Aleksei prompted.  "You are not telling me what is happening to her."

Amilie shrugged sadly.  "That's because I don't know.  I wish I did.  Even if there was nothing left to do but put a marker on a mass grave, it's better than not knowing at all."

"This cult, their sin will find them, I promise you this," Aleksei counseled, laying the wood down for a moment.  "Power that others are gaining by oppressing others is its own curse; it does not last, and it is never sufficient.  Those who are content to control themselves and to love and respect others, these are the ones that peace follows, all the days of their lives."

"Talon!"

"Oh no, you've told her about that a thousand times."  Amilie, her hands reeking with her work, was stranded with the desire to hug the Dragonborn, who sighed deeply.  "I reminded her not to call you that just last night, but seems like she forgot- again."

With a patient, wordless shrug, Aleksei moved off, and after a  few moments, Amilie followed him into the gaping maw of the broken down shack that they were working on improving.  Udala, who had focused on strengthening the foundation of the place and creating a small cellar, was easily found sitting, panting heavily with a large stone rolled to the side of the area that she had not yet reinforced with fresh support beams and stone.  It seemed as though in her effort to move the stone, she had crushed part of her foot, which was now swelling dramatically.  Amilie dug filthy fingers into her various pouches for some strips of cloth, then for some pins.

"There's- there's a- phew- a  whole big lot of space," Udala breathed, leaning on one hand while pointing with her other.  "Stone was a right beast."

"Looks like someone was hiding something here," Amilie commented as she got to work on Udala's foot.  "Hold still, can't you?"

"Don't touch me; you reek of- mint and- ugh, piss," Udala spat.  "You bathe in Talon's chamberpot today?"

"Very funny- please sit still!"

"Well, in the forests of-"

"You're not in a forest, Udala, you are in a city, and there is absolutely no reason- please!  Hold still!"

Aleksei, for his part, peeked into the large hole in the wall and immediately noticed small markings that he could not read just inside on the left.  He looked up, and realized that it wasn't just a hole, but a tunnel of some sort.  "Lishka, I am much needing you to read this love note for me."

Amilie, who was still fighting Udala to get a bandage on the foot that was rapidly turning purple, huffed in frustration.  "Would you PLEASE hold STILL, Udala!  I am NOT leaving this to heal on its own, like your forefathers would have done.  You will wind up limping for the rest of your life if you don't let me set the bones, because gods knows you are just going to walk, and stand, and do work, and all manner of other foolishness on a nearly broken foot until you are irreparably lame!  Would you please- look, please- BY ALL THE GODS EXTANT, YOU BLASTED STUBBORN HALFPINT, YOU HOLD STILL THIS INSTANT OR I WILL SCREAM YOU DEAF!"

Both Udala and Aleksei, completely stunned, could only stare at Amilie, who took a deep breath and began re-bandaging the foot for the fourth time- in silence, and completely uncontested.

"And- while I have your attention, please don't call Aleksei 'Talon.'  It- reminds me of the cult, and- I... am... very, very sorry for screaming.  I'm so sorry."

"No, no," Udala admitted quietly, still well shocked.  "I damn well ought to have held still."

After the hideously awkward silence in which Amilie finished setting Udala's foot and put the rest of her supplies back into their various pouches around her waist, she got up gingerly, rubbed the stiffness out of her hands, and went to have a look at the "love note" that had Aleksei stumped.  He couldn't read a letter, and while Udala could tell her own name and the laws on the tavern doors, she didn't read if she didn't have to.  Amilie, on the other hand, could recite entire scriptures of various spiritual paths from memory alone, having read them so many times in her youth that they were tattooed into her soul.  She squinted at the scrawl on the inside of the tunnel curiously, then grunted to herself.

"There are two sets of notations here," she reported with a frown.  "This one uses Draconic lettering- it's Netherese- but the other- I just don't know.  I've never seen letters like this before."

"Is it bad or good?" Aleksei asked gently, peeking in to have a look at the lettering again.

"This Netherese- it's low Netherese, not Loross- it makes no sense," Amilie shrugged.  "It just says, 'Southwest panel: five.'  Maybe this is a secret storage space for the family that used to live here?"

"Let's seal it up and have nothing to do with it," Udala said strongly.  "The more we know, the greater risk we run of being deported to Sembia, hung as traitors, or put to work for the Merchant Council's Mercenaries."

Aleksei walked a few steps into the tunnel and watched it descend to a turn past which he could not see.  It had been shaped some time ago, based on the stale smell of the air and the tough, packed dirt which now may as well have been a stone floor.  "No, this is old tunnel, and is not seeing anyone's feet for much time."

"Okay, so perhaps someone was trading or shipping illegally- perhaps it's even a slave route!" Amilie enthused.  "Some blessed Netherese women and children could have taken their first breath of free air right here."

"Or their last," Udala said sourly.  "I tell you, let's seal it up and cover it with a heavy bookcase or something.  I can feel the eyes of that weird pierced and tattooed woman on me already- she'll know we're messing about, and she'll have us drug in to the Council to be sentenced to swing."

"Alek just said it hasn't been used in some time," Amilie argued, crossing her arms.  "For Ntoru to be upset enough to have the lot of us hung over it, she'd have to be intending to use it, or to know someone else who was.  And if that were the case, we'd have a good reason to tell the Council that they'd better not do what she says."

Aleksei walked up the stairs, pulled his sword out of the blanket that Amilie had covered it in, found the leather strap and sheath on the other side of the stuffed skirt that had been serving as his pillow, and threw it over himself.  He didn't bother to put on the chainmail that had been given him by the town guard, figuring that he would be released from service shortly anyway.  With a sigh, he slid the kilij into his sheath and walked back down the stairs.  The two women had come to a lull in their argument, and Amilie was inspecting Udala's foot on her knees, since the Halfling had somehow decided to try to stand.

"I'll make a crutch, then," Udala was saying quietly, looking down at her foot and the top of Amilie's head.  "I'll stay off it, I promise you, but we do have to get this cellar done before the frost, and-"

Aleksei walked past them and started into the tunnel as calmly as if he were merely going down to the market to buy eggs or milk.

"Where are you going, Ta- um-" Udala managed.

"Lyosha," Aleksei smiled gratefully.  "I am going to other side of tunnel, to see what love note is waiting there."

Udala could only stare at him, but Amilie turned around and sat on her behind with her arms resting on her knees.  "If there are any slaves, you will try to free them.  I know you, now."

"You are having much more faith in me than Nithraz," the Dragonborn laughed.  "I tell you this, for your safety.  If I am not coming back in one day, you cannot risk to leave this place open like this.  In one day, if I am not coming back, please to do as Udalka asks and seal this place.  Maybe pray to the sun for me, yes?"

"Wait-" Amilie breathed, hopping to her feet.  "You were right."

"Eh?" Aleksei asked, confused.

"Those prayers to the sun- to Pelor, really.  The sun doesn't shine here, and I don't believe in Pelor.  Stay with us here for just a little while, please?"

Aleksei knelt, assuming that she would say some old spell over him.  Instead, she too knelt to get to his level, then pressed her body against him as tightly as she could.  Behind her, Udala closed her eyes, and said nothing.  Silence reigned for a few minutes, during which time an unexpected breeze began blowing down the stairs, carrying with it the distant scent of rain.  Amilie's skin cooled a great deal, causing it to burst into goosebumps.  Aleksei, whose eyes were open, noticed this and embraced her with the intention of warming her.  He was instantly filled with an unexplained calm so profound that it astounded him.  A few more moments of silence passed before Amilie took a deep breath and let Aleksei go.

"I am feeling much more quietly, maybe will make little wiser choices than before.  You will be good partner here, much help to Udalka.  Believe this," the Dragonborn noted, kissing the Human on the forehead.  He got up slowly and moved toward the Halfling.

"Be careful," Udala said stoutly without opening her eyes.

"I cannot promise that careful will save my life," Aleksei joked, giving her a kiss as well.  "I will do what seems the best chance of someone returning alive."  With a short chuckle, he headed into the tunnel at last, leaving the two women alone in the cellar.

Udala, who realized that her foot was much too sore to stand on any more, sat down on a pile of the stones that she had been working with before.  Beyond her, a mouse scurried around, confused, since she had plugged his home up with a poison-soaked rag some hours before and covered it with a stone.

"Git," she hissed, kicking dirt at it with her good foot.  The mouse, terrified, scampered down the tunnel.  "May you meet danger before Talon does."

"Lyosha," Amilie corrected quietly, her hands resting in her lap.

"Lyosha, that's right.  Look, I- didn't mean to bring up the past.  Any of our pasts.  But, I seem to be good at it.  Should've been a bloody loremaster."

"Don't say that," Amilie counseled, getting up.  "You learned to call him Talon before; now you'll just learn to call him Lyosha instead.  I'll bring you some clean wood so you can get started on that crutch.  I'll tie my good ribbons around it, make it pretty."

Udala snorted with a wince, but decided to humor Amilie.  "Sure."

" 'Daughter of the High Forest, lend thy aid, lest thy dear child be yonder laid-' "

"What kind of song is that?" Udala immediately demanded.  "Who sings prancing ballads at a time like this?  The male could die down there, or be hung when he comes out!"

"It's a spell, really," Amilie replied, turning sideways on the stairs.  "My mother taught it to me as a spell, but I couldn't learn it until my grandmother walked through the house singing it.  She called it 'The Hymn of the Never-closing eye.' "

"You'd fool the registrars, you know," Udala smirked.  "Anybody'd take you for some hag-in-training, when you do such things.  Singing your spells and cooking urine soup- it's hideous.  You'd expect it of some burned and rusty wild woman, not a pale-skinned courtesan."

"Hallo!  Hallo in there!  By the gods, what a stench-"

"Pelor's dress, it's the bloody Elf," Amilie whispered fiercely, nearly throwing herself back down the steps.  "What do we say?"

"Hallo yourself, you kindling stick," Udala called back.  "We're down here."

Trelwynen thumped around upstairs for a little while longer, then descended into the cellar.  "And where in blazes is Voyonov, then?"

"How should I know?" Udala crabbed.  "I've been down here since morning, and he was off on the chase, then."

"Oh, so?" the Sylvan sneered, holding up a piece of the discarded chainmail.  "Without anything to protect him?"

"Where he's going?  Do you wear your codpiece to bed?"

"Why should he?  He has not a soul to defend himself against," Amilie snickered, unable to resist.

"Oh, laugh, laugh, yuk it up, then," Trelwynen growled fiercely, throwing the chainmail to the ground.  "I'll have the pair of ye stoned for the aberration- it's fair and square, and the damned leatherface is gone trolling about somewheres else, leaving ye two to rightful fates."

"Oh please," Udala groaned.  "The woman's good with patching, and you see I have need of it.  I moved a heavy stone by myself, thank you, and I crushed my foot.  Damned if I know how to set a crushed foot, so I just sat down and screamed.  If you forgot, the lady there works the streets just on the other side of the alley way, and I suppose I screamed loud enough for her to have got her dreadful little unguents and mixtures and tinctures and whatnot to come down and see what in bloody Baator was the matter.  Now, do you want me to set that to parchment for your goddamned files, too?"

"A common tart?  Knows how to set crushed bones?" Trelwynen asked Amilie, who was rightfully insulted.

"I do," she replied caustically, motioning to the multiple pouches about her waist and the pockets in her muddy apron.  "Though I'll now think twice about splinting the broken arm the Halfling may decide to give you when she can walk unaided again."

"And you've not seen the Dragonborn all day?"

"If you think that our one wonderful night of revelry has kept him warming one of our beds, you're wrong," Udala spat.  "I'm surprised that you're reacting this way.  You've never, in all your hundreds of years, met a male that just goes where his belly and his loins lead him?"

And without another word, the Sylvan turned and left, his thundering footsteps resounding on the loose planks above.

"He could have looked right down that hole," Amilie breathed.  "Thank the goddess for that fast mouth of yours- I could kiss it."

"Oh, threaten me all day, will you?" Udala said offhandedly, thinking about what she could do without standing for too long.  When she turned, she found that Amilie had put herself right in front of her.

"I'd touch your face, but my hands-"

"To Baator with the excuses," Udala demanded.  "If you're going to touch me, or hold me, or kiss me, then do it.  Now."

2:18 From the ashes.

According to the followers of Afflux, Dheidre had been the Master Inquisitor's cat since the days where he was just "Questioner Semnemac."  The marmalade orange mistress of over thirty years somehow still had the attitude and the energy of a young kitten, and while many Travelers, Seekers and Questioners- for these titles were preferred over "acolyte" or "convert"-whispered that the cat may be the resurrected remains of a beloved pet long dead, Seyashen did not weigh in on those conversations.  After all, Dheidre was far from the stitched familiars that he had read about some time ago.  When asked, the Master Inquisitor acknowledged the rumors with only a wicked smirk, and Seyashen found himself pricked by curiosity.

"Should not one necromancer recognize another's work?"

"Is that first necromancer familiar with advanced transmutation and the theorems of Master Xillian concerning the unkillable undead as they may apply to the various reanimation techniques of the Ruby Order?"

And Seyashen had made a mental note to search for the writings of Master Xillian- whoever he or she was.

Early one morning, the suspiciously old cat had caught a iron-branded rat that had been pillaging the food storage area for a few days.  Having easily overpowered the smaller and much less experienced creature, Dheidre let it go for a few fleeting moments, then captured it again, crushing its tail.  Seyashen, who had considered the cat an object worthy to be studied, raised an eyebrow when the cat allowed the rat its freedom a second time, only to break one of its legs while pouncing on it a third time.

"What knowledge are you trying to gain from him?  Is this the effect of your master's devotion to Afflux, little sister, or do all cats act this way?"  Seyashen asked Dheidre, who turned her radiant yellow-green orbs to him as though she wished to answer his question.

"It's not a characteristic limited to Our feline friends," purred a honey alto voice, "according to the researchers that are out in the great seas and oceans.  Supposedly, slick-skinned swimming creatures called dolphins do the same thing in their youth- only with fish instead of unfortunate rodents."

"Grand Torturer," Seyashen breathed, rolling his eyes.  "Do you never make noise?"

"Not if the female can help it," came the self-assured reply as the hooded Shifter stepped out of the shadows.  Her hooded empire-waist dress, though well kept, was clearly old, the verdant green fading slightly in the train, at her elbows, and at the edges of the bell cuffs.  It was decorated with small shells and shiny stones, as apparently befitted a dreamsight druid.  "This one assumes you came to the Stonerows to do more than watch the little flesh golem play at nourishment, yes?"

Dheidre hissed at the Shifter, picked up her struggling rat and walked off, tail proudly in the air.

"Well, she's taken insult," Seyashen commented, watching the dramatic exit with a bemused smirk curling its way across his face.

"Nonsense.  She is merely showing off.  She adores a good chat over tuna, and not only does the Master Inquisitor lack the ability to truly commune with her, he is also a rather vicious vegetarian."  The Grand Torturer pulled her hood back to reveal the seven graying plaits she'd braided a few nights before.  The rest of her mane of hair almost hid them, but the bits of colored fabric helped them to stand out.  Her own eyes, so similar to Dheirdre's that it was disturbing, betrayed the laughter that the matron-aged Shifter was not allowing to escape her lips.  "The female reminds you to use her name, as she is not currently facilitating the blood learning."

Seyashen, startled by her beauty as always, made an effort not to allow himself to be awkward.  "Of course, Lady Kaionne, but- I thought I'd seen the Master Inquisitor eat spiced pork skin just the other day."

"No, that was leather," Kaionne answered calmly.  "His old apothecary's purse- and he did not eat it.  Merely tore it to shreds.  But the pup is not looking for this, no.  He is looking instead to quiet the spirit in his mind, who is returned to gnaw at his sanity as other spirits do with the Master Inquisitor."

Seyashen found he had nothing to say.  He hoped there would be some sort of warning before he descended into the state of mind that allowed wearing funeral wrappings like a living mummy to seem like a good idea.

"Come, this portion of the Stonerows will have what you are needing," Kaionne encouraged, reaching forward and placing her well manicured hands on Seyashen's shoulders.  "You are looking for execution records, yes?"

"Well- yes, but-" Seyashen sputtered, finding himself urged past the huge, free standing stone bookshelves toward the wall on the other side of the place.

"You will find what you need here, the female promises you," Kaionne said matter-of-factly.  "While some were lost, or only partially replaced after the fire that ate the first College, still We have vast sources at Our command.  Whether the court mage is looking for old treatise on enervation or new developments in torture methodology, it is here, with the oldest dog in the kennel, that she knows she will end her search."

Seyashen, who had been marched to a far wall whose carved shelves were filled with tomes, looked up to the ceiling in awe.  "I've heard of that fire-?"

"Yes- this is before even the first war of the Tieflings and the Dragonborn- and the first peace treaty, which apparently the subsequent generations forgot about completely.  The College has stood right in this spot since before Karsus re-discovered humility, and it was responsible, when it was just a little wood building, for holding all the birth, death and tax records for what was then just an insignificant fishing town, yes?  Many years later, the Netherese got it into their heads to burn this place to the ground, with all the official records within.  But many of the people here made the ultimate sacrifice to get the records out of the burning building and either into the castle- where now only the Merchants' Council rules- or safely over the border into Cormyr.  When the war was won, the Cormite government commanded everything that had been smuggled over to be destroyed, fearing that the mages here were working with the Netherese.  A few common Cormites, who knew better, tried to return the documents safely..."

Seyashen turned away from the tomes and records, which seemed to be unduly daunting, only to see a spectral rogue standing just behind the Shifter.  He, for his part, had closed his eyes and crossed his arms over her chest.

"...but the Phoenix intercepted most of them," the rogue finished, noticing Seyashen's attention.  "It was the founding of the coterie, actually.  The leaders hadn't even come up with a name before that very moment- hadn't even planned to form their own group.  But when they whisked themselves away, holding irreplaceable records in their hands- they remembered the burning.  They saw themselves as the answer.  In their minds, the Lord Corellon-Larethian made a terrible mistake, and you Humans should never have learned magic in the first place.  You were not able to withstand his great gift."

Seyashen smiled grimly.  "I am not Human, sir."

"Oh no?  Do the hooves make you so very different?" the spectre shot back, hands on his hips.  "Because I am Eladrin, I cannot also say that I am an Elf?"

"You speak with the spirits now, yes?" Kaionne asked, her ears moving slowly from facing forward to flattening behind her.  "I feel the touch of the Beyond here."

"Even werefolk have magic now," the spectre mused, relaxing his stance.  "I know what you are searching for, Demonkin- I can get you to the Netherese execution records you need, but I need something from you."

Kaionne turned so that she was no longer blocking Seyashen's view of the spirit.  The silvery gleam of his aura was tinged with a darkened edge that reminded the Tiefling somehow of rot or decay.

"Continue, then," Seyashen commanded.  "I can't do anything without knowing what you want."

At this response, the spirit relaxed noticeably.  "The grace of my form has passed through two generations to a young woman known for her skill with alchemy- and a bit of magic.  The Phoenix of my day would never resort to kidnapping to swell its numbers, nor would it prey upon the family of those who support it, but this generation will stop at nothing to attain the complete dominance of the mage over the mundane.  My tongue may fall out when I say this, but- I need you to get my great-granddaughter out of their grasp.  I, her ancestor, have failed her greatly by turning a blind eye to her capture, and the first thing they did was to separate her from me somehow, so that all the prayers that I know she still offers never reach my ears.  I have searched throughout this Urmlaspyr- a place so foreign to me now that I almost cannot believe that I was raised here- for what may have become of her, without success."

"The spirit will direct us toward the records that the Phoenix have kept hidden for all these years, but requests that we reconnect him to his missing relative first," Seyashen said, feeling strangely like an interpreter.  "He ought to have been able to speak with her as an ancestor, but the Phoenix have made that impossible for him, so he fears that she is in harm's way."

"What is the spirit's pack name?" Kaionne asked, walking to another part of the Stonerows.

"Pack name?" the spirit intoned haughtily.  "Get to work on that Common, werewoman."

"I can certainly believe you were raised here," Seyashen frowned.  "The blatant intolerance for other creatures and cultures hasn't changed a whit since the days you walked alive.  If you want me to help you, you'll have to be more considerate of the people that I consider my masters.  Outside of that, I'm sure there are plenty of other necromancers for you to slowly drive insane while your descendant suffers."

"How dare you," the spirit growled, the darkness at the edges of his aura deepening.  "I can teach you a thing or two about disrespecting a mage greater than yourself."

"And I can teach you a thing or two about alienating those who would probably help you if you weren't such a self-centered ass," Seyashen sighed calmly.  "Now, will you give us your family name so that we can start looking for your great granddaughter, or am I going to have extra command spell practice this day?"

"My name is Pharen.  The Netherese slave girl that I coupled with-"

"That you violently took advantage of," Seyashen corrected pointedly.  "Perhaps I should tell you that I heard from her spirit first."

Across the room, Kaionne had to turn away to avoid revealing her triumphant grin.  Certainly Semnemac's private training sessions were going above and beyond what the spectral Tiefling bowman had demanded some weeks ago, and this male, his son, would become a confident communicator with the dead.

"She had no family name of her own, and I didn't want her to bear those creatures to begin with, so I would not name any of them.  I know what she called them, and what they called their children, but that is all.  I don't even know if there are birth records, seeing as the Netherese were a little less than welcome here for some time," the spirit finished grimly.

"If the given names are all you have, give us those, and we will do the rest," Seyashen stated.

"Miye had five children, only three of which survived the birthing bed.  The oldest boy, through which my great granddaughter is descended, she called Thundercloud, because he came out grey-skinned.  He had no hope of bedding anything other than another Netherese child, which he did.  She was a second generation Netherese as well, but had very pale white skin, and was called Despair- and even I thought that was a terrible name for anyone.  For whatever accursed reason, those two graced the healthy, rosy flesh and the sharp ears of their daughter with an old Eladrin name- Dhamaina.  Dhamaina paired herself with a Drow male without marrying him, but somehow produced a child whose dark skin tone and pale yellow-green eyes could get her confused for a pure blood Drow- Arlwynna.  Miye's adulation of ancestors who had 'carved the world with their deeds' grew suddenly strong in the child, despite her father and mother's insisting on the Dark Seldarine.  I used to think that the fool was talking nonsense, but- when Arlwynna was just a small child, she chose me as her patron ancestor, and- I- I was awakened, and came to myself for the first time in years when she prayed to me.  She poured fine Elven wines out to me, and sewed fine garments that would have fit me perfectly- all by hand.  She was as devoted to me as she was to Mystra, whom she called Mystra-pas-Mystryl, as Miye had done.  At first, I carried on poorly, but she was so careful to please me, based only on her grandfather's description of me, when I refused to communicate with her myself.  I eventually grew to tolerate guiding her choices, but now-"

Seyashen carefully noted the spirits ascent from bitterness to true care for his great granddaughter, and decided not to make any further threats about leaving her to her fate.  "I'll find her for you, you can be sure of it.  You're doing right by her, as I'm sure she trusts you to do.  After all these years, she must realize that you will do all possible to answer her prayers."

"Give me the names, cub, and I'll find the trail," Kaionne reminded gently.  "It is only you that can hear the spirit.  I can only feel his presence."

"I'm not sure what the family name may be, but the given name is Arlwynna, daughter of Dhamaina and a Drow male- who may both have been registered in the temple to one of the gods of the Dark Seldarine."

"That is no help.  The Council of Merchants only enforces the registration on those who worship the gods they choose to fear.  If we do not have a family name, we will have to look for the midwifery records," Kaionne stated strongly, flitting immediately to another part of the Stonerows.  "How old is the lady?"

"She has about twenty nine years now," the spirit replied.  "and doesn't enjoy the concept of getting older without being paired off to someone one bit."

"Twenty nine, and unmarried," Seyashen relayed.  "Perhaps her match is hiding around a corner.  Urmlaspyr is a large city, and beyond that, there is Cormyr and Daerlun, and beyond that, the Dalelands.  She will find someone the moment she stops looking for him."

"No, her," the spirit corrected.  "And she's already found her- that's the problem.  According to these thick-skulled Humans, Arlwynna is aberrant, and ought to be stoned in the street."

"Public stoning?" Seyashen repeated stupidly, now really worried about just why Silveredge was alone the last time he'd seen her.

"Yes- a public stoning first and a hanging after, I think, as a lesson to the masses that can't read the laws on the temple doors, or wherever.  I remember the first time Wynnie brought my altar warm fig biscuits and a glass of Moondrop- I thought she was going to tell me that she'd managed to get herself pregnant.  But no- it was instead a tear-soaked confession that she was in love with a Cormite armorer, who couldn't possibly love her back because she was female and because- according to her- she looked so damnably Netherese.  I could say nothing about the situation for days, knowing that if I but told her to try talking to the woman, she'd be putting her life here in grave danger."

"This was a difficult birth, had to be," Kaionne noted.  "One of the training court mages acted as midwife, then forbade the mother from having any more children.  The mother is listed as Dhamaina-pas-Despair, and the child Tardagh Arlwynna-pas-Dhamaina.  It seems like standard Shadar-Kai naming practice, but Dhamaina is missing her father's given name, whereas Arlwynna is not."

"Dhamaina accepted and claimed her Shadar-Kai heritage, while her father would not- or perhaps could not," Seyashen noted.  "All Shadar-Kai seem to be held in great contempt, even today."

"With those two Elven names stuck in there like that, it is likely that the Phoenix believed that she was a Shadow Child," a familiar voice called from the other side of the Stonerows.  "The rest of the family is either dead or moved to other places- Arlwynna alone remains in her grandfather's house near the center of town, which was slum-land in its day.  Looks as though she sent a petition to the Merchant's Council to become a professional apothecary about five years ago- we need to update our Council acceptance records, Grand Torturer."

Even the spirit was surprised to find the Master Inquisitor, his hair braided neatly into one strap down the back of his head, sitting on the floor with a pile of books on either side of him.  From his comfortable position and the care with which the books were stacked around him, it seemed as though the Halfling had been a silent part of the conversation since it began.

"And who are you?" the spirit sputtered, disturbed.  "How can the living sneak up on the dead?"

"Two questions- isn't that wonderful, is it not simply fabulous?"  the Halfling grinned, a strange twinkle lighting up his eyes at once.  "What shall we do with the information that we've found?  What is our next plan of action?"

"How could she be a Shadow Child without a clean, native Shadar-Kai line?" Kaionne noted with an indulgent smirk.  "Does no one in all the Phoenix ranks know how to tell one from any other Shadar-Kai?"

The spirit looked at Seyashen, utter confusion in his gaze, and the Tiefling simply shook his head, holding up a hand to indicate his need to wait.

"Master Inquisitor, I give you two statements- this spirit has been disconnected from the living woman who he guides.  My plan of action is to search the house with the intent of finding out whether the Phoenix have bodily taken her somewhere that is spellplagued, or whether they have simply used their own spells to cut her off from her ancestor."

"And I will give you two statements that will make your current spirit companion very sad indeed," the Master Inquisitor replied, getting up slowly.  "The Phoenix used to simply be a collection of Elven mages that did not wish to be controlled or diluted by any other race, but they have over time degenerated into a gang just as filthy and ruthless as the magic-less coteries in the area.  If you intend to search the house, we will need to enlist the help of a neutral rogue organization that can either challenge the Phoenix on equal ground or- even better- avoid attracting their attention in the first place."

2:17 The threads of fate.

After she had exhausted the written works that dealt with the history of the temple and what the adherents believed, Silveredge spent a great deal of time looking at the carvings of the story of the Raven Queen on the walls near Vhalan's cloister.  It seemed that the rest of the brothers and sisters had been told to be accepting of her presence and supportive of her spiritual quest, but to leave her in peace.  If someone spoke to her before they were spoken to, it was either Svaentok or Aric, who took pains to make sure that she ate and bathed appropriately.  What had started as mere questioning became voracious study, and the two found themselves reminding Silveredge that she had to take care of herself so that she could continue learning at the vicious pace she set for herself.

This day, the Shadar-Kai traced her fingers on the final panel, in which the Raven Queen accepted seven Eladrin females into her presence in Letherna.  The panel was without decoration or detail, which made it seem anti-climactic in comparison to the previous scenes.  Upon crossing the threshold of the palace, it seemed that the Eladrin turned into different creatures- but Silveredge was not quite sure what creatures the lengthening of the shadows, the more slender forms and the shorter ears were supposed to indicate. 

"What do you marvel at, lamb?"

The alluring tenor could belong to no other but Vhalan.  While he had made it clear that he believed living creatures to be inferior to him, he always sounded strangely calm- even pleasant- when he addressed them.  Silveredge turned to her right and saw the vampire leaning in the opening to his room with his arms crossed.  She noted briefly that he had not decided to put on a shirt this day, which was very strange for him.  His skin was extremely pale, but crisscrossed with scars worthy of a warrior much older than he himself appeared.  He was a lean sort of muscular, a fact that his normal clothing hid well.  Silveredge found herself surprised at how athletic he seemed- as he had been described to her as an artist of sorts, she had not pictured him doing anything overly strenuous.

"The writings never mention this part," she replied simply, putting her hands in her lap and looking down at them.  "They always stop at either the claiming of fate or the march across the Shadowfell."

Vhalan shrugged lightly, looking down at Silveredge with something that vaguely approximated actual affection.  "Different teachings will claim different things about the Queen.  Some say that she is a goddess wrongfully stripped of domains that should be hers- either by right because she defeated Nerull, or by merit because she has for centuries carefully maintained a healthy neutral outlook while other gods and goddesses unwisely veer off to the extremes of lock-step lawfulness or filthy chaos, or an unattainable, unrealistic good or a craven evil.  Others believe that she is not truly neutral, but instead avaricious and evil- that she will stop at nothing to reclaim Nerull's full glory.  Still others even worship Nerull, trying to give the dead god enough power to return and crush his treacherous consort under his heel.  Those are usually the ones who despise female magic workers- they say if it were not for her witchery, Nerull would never have fallen in love with her, and would still be alive."

"That's- strange," Silveredge replied, biting her lips.  "What woman would want a god to send a plague upon her, and all her people, so that they may live with him in captivity for years and years?"

"They probably explain that madness away as most women-haters do- by saying that females are all born irrational and do things without thinking out the consequences sensibly," Vhalan laughed.  "So many ignorant sermons started that way, as I recall... and frankly, there will always be clutches of people who think that they alone are the centre of power, righteousness and wisdom, and who deny all others the right to survive, let alone to flourish.  You should have learned that lesson the moment your feet touched these shores, Shadow Child."

"People insist on calling me that," Silveredge sighed.  "But I don't think it's quite true.  The Shadow Children- at least from what I have read- are rare, given to divination, and only able to be traced through the female.  If I were to be a true Shadow Child, then my mother or grandmother would have to be, and if they were, then they would have had to know that my father-"

The distant sound of chains stopped the words in her mouth, and she looked up slightly to see if Vhalan had decided to take up arms against her.

"Who is to say one of them did not know?  They may have withheld their hand from you- for good reason.  Some fates, little lamb, are much worse than others."

Silveredge got up and looked all around her, but could not find him.  Concerned, she peeked her head into his room, which was just barely lit by half the candles that were available.  Taking a few steps forward, she carefully searched the well-dressed room around her for signs of his presence.  She found instead half-covered paintings, slightly dusty carvings and paints and tools scattered all over the bare stone floor.

"Your virtuous heart, now at liberty, consumes you.  Why should you be so concerned for a creature that can do you nothing but harm?"  Vhalan's voice grew close behind her, but when she turned, she did not see him.  As her eyes flitted from the comfortable-looking divan to the tousled, empty bed on a slightly raised area just beyond it, she caught sight of a few carvings and paintings and began edging toward them as Vhalan continued to speak to her.  "How beautiful you are- how simple your desires.  Unmarred, like your lovely face.  Do you marvel that I can still create works of art?  Do you hope that I will be- well enough- to finish detailing that last pane?  The scent of your fear for my health and sanity is different than any other aroma I've smelled before.  It is unique to you- and absolutely bewitching."

When Silveredge made it past one of the work tables, the empty chair, and the half-completed carving of what seemed to be a woman of some sort, she saw a heavy-looking weapon that she had no name for.  It seemed like a ball full of spikes stuck at the end of a thick, dull short sword, and a curious seal was carved into the hilt.

"My lord had told me once that he was a cleric- when he was alive.  Is this the print of your god?"

"Saint Cuthbert," Vhalan replied bitterly.  "He is not my god."

And like a curious child, the Shadar-Kai reached out her slender periwinkle blue fingers to touch the item.  "Then, what does this mean?"

The spiked chain whipped by Silveredge's ear so quickly that she caught her breath in terror- she had not heard it at all.  Wrapping around the base of the weapon, the chain lifted it off the side table and flung it against the opposite wall.

"What does it mean?" Vhalan growled, suddenly completely enraged.  "It means fear.  And denial.  And intolerance.  And abandonment."  With each pronouncement, the spiked chain attempted to take hold of some part of Silveredge- her arm, her neck, her ankle, her waist- as she stumbled away from the table and through the room in an utter panic.  Above her, somewhere near the entrance of the catacombs, Niku began barking his concern down the hallways.

Before the Shadar-Kai knew it, she was dodging the all-too-visible vampire, ducking between and behind his things, trying to keep something solid between herself and the merciless spiked chain that left cuts so finely made that they only burned full minutes after they were received.

"Surely my lord will accept my humblest apologies?" she managed breathlessly after turning sideways to hide between a short bookcase and the wall.  "I didn't know I was offending- and my lord is most honorable- will he fight me, though I am unarmed?"

"You are a weapon," Vhalan panted, "Magic clings to you- use it, if you dare."  With some teasing throws of the chain and then a concentrated effort to catch her barely exposed ankle, he caused Silveredge to skitter backward, accidentally pushing the half-full bookcase to the floor.  She, however, kept her balance and flitted to the other side of the room.  "Those beautiful feet- dancer's feet- I'll crush them.  Every delicate, succulent little bone."

The snapping of wood beams, together with surprised screams, indicated that Niku had found enough strength to crack the crate that Quilafae had insisted he stay in.  He thundered up from the deeper caverns, his sharp barks echoing in the normally quiet catacombs.  Silveredge was distracted by this racket just long enough to have Vhalan's chain embrace one of her ankles, and in that instant, she was no longer in his room. For that one second, she was instead at the end of the blackened beach, at the bottom of a jagged peak that thrust its proud head into the threatening clouds.  Just beyond her, she knew, was the dark, roaring ocean, but above the sound of the tide was the sound of chains.

"Vhalan!"

Svaentok's holler brought Silveredge back to herself, and her eyes widened in surprise as she caught sight of Betzal, his wings fully spread, flapping at Vhalan as he had done before.  She quickly got to her feet, but as soon as she did, Betzal dove for the door, leaving Vhalan free to recollect his chain and try to divine where she would move next.  Down the hall, Niku growled fiercely as Svaentok tried to catch him- Silveredge could imagine his ears flat against his head as he charged forward.  Other hollers and screams quickly turned the somber place into a cacophony of sound- people telling each other in terrified tones that something must be terribly wrong in Brother Vhalan's cloister.  While everyone seemed to realize that this was an emergency, there was a subset of yelling that indicated that  Niku, in his furious search for Silveredge, was doing a costly bit of damage himself.

Vhalan accurately predicted Silveredge's double dodge around the divan, and managed to wrap a good length of his chain around her upraised arms.  Instantly, she saw a solid obsidian throne room, lit by flames that somehow burned black and threw off very little light or heat at all.  Past the six columns and atop the center dais stood a dark haired woman, clothed in a gorgeous dark velvet and feather detailed gown whose train flooded the floor around her. She had been deeply contemplating a frosty crystal orb she held in her left hand, but when she noticed Silveredge, she extended that hand upward, allowing an impressively huge, black-feathered bird to fly to her and take the orb up into one foot's gnarled, clawed toes, which were the size of a giant's fingers.  Leafless branches, jutting from trees that somehow sprung up through the highly polished obsidian floor, sported thousands of more natural sized birds that silently beheld their mistress's new visitor.

But Silveredge did not wonder at the finely carved columns, the black flame, the many birds or even the gigantic cauldron that stood unattended behind the dais.  What Silveredge noticed immediately were all the chains.  They seemed to sprout from the woman's very body, circle her waist and arms, and run throughout the place.  They circled around the cauldron, ran like water down the path to the dais, climbed up the walls and wound like living vines up the columns.

"Welcome," the woman said, using her light, yet commanding alto tone much like Aric used his own worn voice.  Silveredge had a feeling that the female before her could probably shout the entire solid stone place down, if she so wished.  "You have not long here, so watch carefully-"

And reaching around herself to produce a gleaming silver, wickedly barbed chain, the woman smiled a knowing smile at her wondering visitor.  Around her, the many perched birds stretched their wings as though inviting the supplicant closer.  Though the sight was daunting, Silveredge found herself moving forward toward the woman.  When she reached the dais, she began to kneel, but the woman touched a freezing cold hand to her arm to stop her, then slid it down to the light blue hand to turn it upward.

"Come," the woman finished with a motherly tone, laying the silvery chain in Silveredge's hand.  "Isn't it lovely?  It's a few years in the making- and it's not finished."

"Will my lady finish it?" Silveredge wondered, hearing her own child-like belief in her voice.

"No," the woman replied, her eyes shining with a gentle wisdom.  "You will, for it is yours.  Mine is to cross the proper threads at the proper times, to weave them tightly, to unravel them mercilessly, and to guide you to the gates when your final day arrives."  And as Silveredge's mother had done so many years before, the woman wound her first finger in the long silver hair, bent Silveredge's head toward herself and kissed her forehead.  When Silveredge looked up in surprise at the gesture, the woman focused her completely black eyes on her.  "But you'll have to wait a little while longer for that.  Now, open your eyes."

And suddenly, Silveredge tore a gasp out of the air, opening her eyes to find herself lying on her back with her wrists bound together by Vhalan's chain.  She rolled over instantly to find Vhalan in a heated verbal debate with Aric, who he finally shoved back into a chair in disgust.  Aric's desire to defend her struck her spirit instantly, as though he had turned to her and spoken about it.  Taking advantage of the slack chain, Silveredge returned to her back, rolled slightly up on her spine to spring to her feet, then turned to hop on top of one of Vhalan's tables.  Moving quickly, she leaped from the edge of that table to two others, turned, then landed on the floor beyond him, wrenching the chain out of his grip entirely.  She instantly whipped it across the floor toward her, then looked up to Aric, who smiled weakly.

"You see?" he breathed, looking over at Vhalan, who had crossed his arms.  "It is as I told you.  This is the sign; this is your long-awaited student."

"And so it is that the Queen at last honors her word," Vhalan marveled.  "Very well; let us assume that she is my student- this will take time.  Lamb, I tell you this- as much as Aric tried to spare you, you are indeed part of a contract penned in blood many years ago.  Ask him for the history; I do not care to retell it.  What I will tell you is this- you will either learn to use the weapon in your hands, or you will be my thrall."