"But your knowledge of the tales of the Raven Queen rivals my own," Svaentok laughed lightly, his blue eyes crinkling slightly at the edges. "I don't see why you should be embarrassed at Shanna's invitation. If anything, you should deeply consider her words."
Silveredge bit her lips and pushed a loose strand of her braided hair behind her ear. "I thank you for that compliment," she began quietly, falling easily behind him when the path between the burial walls fell too narrowly to accommodate them both. "She mentioned that she had said much the same to you, when you first came."
Svaentok nodded quietly. "She did. And I would have accepted her invitation, but Aric advised against it, warning me that my prowess in battle was a great source of pride for me- a pride strong enough to make me just as evil as those I had marked for destruction."
"That's not light counseling," Silveredge marveled. "And Aric, though he is to be honored, is a caster, not a warrior. You must have been furious."
Svaentok snorted quietly, pausing for a moment to think back to that time. "Utterly irate. I took up my glaive to show him who was the true master- then I agreed to the monastic path without his having to say another word. For in the midst of that seething rage, I realized that he was absolutely right."
Silveredge put her hands to the stone, looking up at the smooth walls and ceilings that were beautiful in their functional simplicity. She turned her gaze down the hall that seemed to stretch away from herself and Svaentok into a dimly lit infinity with uniformly cut arches that led to seven resting places. One would not have believed that a war had happened in Urmlaspyr until they witnessed the silent testimony of all the clean burial places, or all the altars that held only ashes, or a treasured ring, or a fingerbone, because that was all that was left of the deceased.
"I overheard Shanna talking to Aric about personally overseeing Vhalan's teaching, if that's what you're worried about," Svaentok said quietly, turning over his shoulder to fix his gaze upon Silveredge's wide silver eyes. "I know that last scrape with him was- a little less than endearing, but when he came to his senses, he submitted not only to his blindfold, but to his shackles. He hasn't done that since I arrived. And having Niku chained to him instead of sitting in a pen was a stroke of genius on Sakhma's part."
"I am confused about the way people treat Vhalan while giving him the title 'Brother,' " Silveredge admitted. "I had offended him by touching his holy item- while I hadn't expected to be attacked with a weapon, I was by no means beyond reproach. Shouldn't I too be punished?"
"He ought to let Aric take that old mace back to the traitors it came from." Svaentok turned away and began walking down the corridor again, his face somber. "Vhalan's not being punished; Aric is trying to help him to fight the encroachment of the malady on his mind and soul. He's losing ground; unstable even while at his best. This slow decent into feral mindlessness must be torturous for Aric to watch."
"I don't understand what you mean," Silveredge persisted, following Svaentok closely. "He's just one man, not a beast."
"Not yet, at least," Svaentok sighed. "Let Aric explain it to you, if he can bear to talk about it. He and Vhalan were great friends, once."
"From what you've said, I will believe that they are greater friends now than they ever were," Silveredge stated simply. "May we both be blessed with such people as will remain with us when we are in the grip of troubles we cannot dispel alone."
Silveredge thought of her companions as she and Svaentok continued to walk down the silent hallway lined with arches. She had not seen Bahlzair or Seyashen for some time, nor had she heard of any developments. She had, however, heard that the Urmlaspyr guard was complaining of the highest rate of murder that they had come against since the city was still part of Sembia. One of the captains had met with Aric, suspecting that the cult had suddenly begun guiding people toward death a little bit more quickly than they would have preferred to go. Aric promised complete compliance, so the guard questioned each member ferociously- when he got to Silveredge, he was still brusque enough to push her gaze to the floor.
But no one mentioned Vhalan, who was apparently never questioned at all.
Word of the robbed Hawke guard struck Silveredge rather deeply, and though she tried not to react, she had found herself before Aric, who had easily gotten her to confess her worry for Mi'ishaen. Aric had suggested that perhaps the Raven Queen had woven her into Mi'ishaen's life as a counselor and a tempering force. While he seemed to share Svaentok's concern about how strongly Silveredge cared for the Tiefling, he listened intently and expressed his hope that their shared fates would be positive in nature.
After some time, the two Shadar-Kai reached the level of the catacombs where a few warrior initiates were working on shaping new burial places. While they worked with pickaxes and chisels, a few mage and monastic initiates sat in meditation, spiritually preparing the new spaces for the dead that would lay there. Quilafae, her raven perched tenuously on her shoulder, spotted Svaentok and moved up to him quickly.
"Is it wise to bring a dedicant to oversee the first years?" she asked with a wise smirk. "She might have pulled a good trick on Vhalan, but he's unraveling these days."
"I'm sure Shanna will send you a second-year warrior soon, but you'll have to be patient. Everyone has had their hands full dealing with the Merry Mercies. Erahgwyn was nearly arrested just this morning because one of them thought he was the Rooftop Reaver, and Sakhma's had most of the mage initiates in a conference about his situation for hours now."
"The Rooftop Reaver is a Drow, and if they're really looking for him, they're in the wrong temple," Quilafae sighed. "How many dark Elves do they think get away with not being in the service of Lloth?"
"That's the trouble. Here he is, in the earliest hour of the morning, putting out a dish of his own blood at the behest of his beloved, who refuses to come out of the temple to meet him..."
Silveredge didn't want to disrupt the conversation, but felt a strange, warm sensation that pricked its way up her arms and reminded her of Mi'ishaen's balefire. Moving quietly and in shadow past Svaentok, Quilafae and most of the initiates, she stood in front of a solid stone wall that was currently the end of the catacombs, and looked around. While three separate braziers threw off enough light to keep the acolytes working without fearing blindness, it made no sense that the heat that Silveredge felt seemed to be coming straight through the stone wall. The Shadar-Kai felt as though she knew that there was some sort of magic item either on the other side of the wall or buried within it.
"What's the matter, Sister?" one of the initiates asked, wiping his brow as he looked up from his chisel work. "Not claustrophobic, I hope."
"Do the mage initiates also put enchantments in the stone?" Silveredge asked, kneeling immediately so that she was at the same level as the young man speaking to her.
"That's dangerous," the initiate replied, taken aback. "If there were anybody going to put enchantments here, it ought to be the Shepherd. We're all only just learning- can you imagine the number of wraiths or wights if some lack-wit botched the place up?"
"Let me have a look at it," Svaentok interrupted, having moved past Quilafae to stand just behind Silveredge. "Go ahead and follow Quilafae back to the training room- mage and warrior alike. Monastic initiates, go find Aric and tell him there may be a danger with the expansion."
"Elder," came the chorused reply as the warrior initiates put their tools down and helped the monastic initiates to their feet. A few of the mage and monastic initiates were a little unsteady due to the interruption, prompting those around them to carry them on their backs up the narrow hall.
"Anybody'd think that you're the elder of everybody in this place," Quilafae commented offhandedly as she herself moved off. "All my warriors are off like spooked fillies, carting all your little spellcasters without a moment's thought."
"I would expect the monastic initiates to respond the same way if either Shanna or Sakhma were to warn them out of someplace," Svaentok replied evenly, not even turning around to look at the Drow. "I hope they won't stop to worry about path-rank when their safety's at stake."
"But it might be nothing-" Silveredge began, looking up at Svaentok with apology printed in her face.
"I sensed that there was something strange here as well," Svaentok said firmly, reaching out a hand to help her to her feet. "Aric has trained me to be attuned to the presence of magic, but you go beyond that by nature- you actually feel it, like anyone would feel wind in their hair or water on their face. If you can let me know where it seems strongest, I can try to divine its nature."
Silveredge turned back around, looking up at the ceiling and around her at the walls. Her eyes fell on the abandoned tools, and she somehow felt a sort of kinship with them. "I'm not sure. I don't know how to tell; I only know that there is magic here somewhere."
"Empty your mind," Svaentok counseled, kneeling behind Silveredge without touching her. "Focus on the natural silence here, and any aberration will then cry out to you."
Silveredge closed her eyes and sat with the tops of her feet flat to the floor, laying her hands in her lap. After a few moments of feeling only her heart fluttering in her chest, the unnatural warmth returned. With her eyes still closed, Silveredge put her hands to the floor and began crawling toward what seemed to be the source. Oddly enough, it was toward the right of the hall, and Silveredge had to brush a few chisels to the side to continue her advance.
"It's not silent here," she noted quietly, afraid to disturb the sensation. "There's a bird, calling. It's not loud. But it's like a warning, somehow."
Svaentok frowned- not a single thing about the fresh carving looked suspicious. There were no runes, no obvious traces of alchemy work or any sort of signal that some initiate was trying to bewitch the area. So he moved forward calmly, laying his hands on the walls and the floor slowly as he went. Silveredge stopped moving and opened her eyes to watch him, and as she did, she could hear Aric's slow and steady advance down the hall. She was just going to turn her gaze toward him when there was a loud ripping sound, as though someone had torn fabric. An intense burst of heat suddenly leaped out of the floor before her accompanied by the screeching image of a flaming bird that immediately shot up through the ceiling, leaving no physical trace of ever having existed. When it died away, she realized that Svaentok was gone.
"It's alright, it's going to be alright," Aric instantly counseled, knowing the utter panic that would shoot through Silveredge's mind like an arrow. "Svaentok's thread has proven to be rather difficult to cut on many occasions. And, I recognize that cantrip, though it has been many years since last I saw it. Come, daughter. We will have visitors, soon."
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