The stone walls of the study were lined with meticulously organized, blindingly clean wooden shelves. Potions were all on the eastern wall, the one farthest from the door. Spell books sat calmly, organized first according to content, then to author, then to publishing date, on the northern wall. Scrolls lay in a rack large enough to accommodate a good winery's entire stock, just below the books. Treatises and studies were organized like the spell books, but were on the right side of the entrance archway, which opened to the western part of the fort that now served as a 'castle' to the Merchant Council. An enchanting workstation sat next to a potions workstation on the southern wall, and above them were written works describing various methodologies and practitioners. Neither of them showed signs of hard wear, nor was there a speck of dust to be seen. On the left hand side of the archway was a five shelf bookcase entirely dedicated to works that the mage whose master work room Nithraz found himself in had written herself- and it was nearly full.
"So he's not cursed? There's no demon?" Nithraz asked again from between his palms.
"Off the chest," the older woman insisted, leafing through one of the chronicles from the right side of the archway.
"There is nowhere else to sit!" Nithraz exclaimed. "What do you want me to do?"
"Stand!" the mage replied at once, utter exasperation dripping into her tone. "Respect the space or leave it."
"I won't stand for your disrespect," Nithraz growled, lifting his head out of his hands slowly. "You act as though the requests of the Council are a waste of your time!"
"They often are!" The book snapped shut and deep brown eyes fixed their bitter gaze on the half-Orc. "You barged into my study like an anxious puppy just two hours after yesterday's dawn, trotting me down to the second level of those filthy dungeons to research a male for three quarters of an hour. You only permitted me to run two tests, when the information the Council claimed to need would have required four more. You sent messenger after messenger to ask after my progress- good Saint Cuthbert forbid that I have any other duties to attend to, such as caring for those wounded in prison, or continuing years of ongoing research, or casting even a casual glance at the works and writings of my apprentices. You've wrecked my schedule, disturbed my peace, and now sit on reagents that you can't even pronounce, let alone replace- I am NOT one of your dirty, lazy little thugs, I am a recognized and established scholar, and you cannot force me to work more efficiently through continued harassment. Get. Off. My. Chest."
Nithraz took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, then exhaled slowly, getting up as he did.
"Good." The mage moved swiftly to the shelves of treatises, replaced the one she'd removed and took out another. She flipped through a quarter of the loosely bound pages in silence, then stopped. Now knowing better than to try to rush a discovery, Nithraz remained silent. Somewhere down the halls, the head cook's shrill tenor could be heard- he was apparently working with clods and wet wits, according to his belligerent hollers.
"No patience," the mage muttered, clearly talking to herself. Shaking her head clear and looking up, she pressed her finger to a page and turned slightly so that Nithraz could read over her shoulder. "That."
The half-Orc pursed his lips, not wanting to admit that the long paragraphs, all composed of sentences so artfully long that only other scholars could hope to get anything out of them, completely escaped his comprehension. Of course, since he wasn't standing next to a woman famous for her poor perception, his bluff was quickly called.
"I'll explain," she began, pivoting so that she was in front of him again. "The Dragonborn-"
"Voyonov," Nithraz supplied quietly.
"Ser Voyonov didn't show any negative response to sacred items. I had three bottles of foul, cheap wine lightly splashed with blessed water, and there was no intestinal distress, no skin lesions. I'd asked for the worse vintage because I wanted to mask the salty taste of the sacrament, but his reactions, guarded as they were, indicated that his palette was too sharp to be fooled. Nothing he did or said gave me the impression that he held an obsession, a demon, or suffered mania-"
"A 'master'," Nithraz snorted. "Not a title befitting a lazy drunk."
"I realize the term carries with it a strain of honour that you may not think possible in a male like Ser Voyonov, even when preceded by 'drunken,' which is clearly his preferred state. But this description most closely fits the specimen." The mage held up a smooth, but frail hand to counteract Nithraz's attempt at interruption. "For more comprehensive analysis, I need bodily fluids, a good muscle sample, and to expose him to a cursed or demon-touched item."
Nithraz shifted his weight from one foot to another, annoyed that there wasn't even a convenient bit of wall to lean on. "All that to tell if he's possessed?"
"No," the mage replied with a sigh. "To discover a possible phlegmatic imbalance or a mind-infecting disease in its incubation stages- although no mental disease I'm acquainted with takes longer than a week to produce noticeable signs."
"Had the Council heeded my advice, he'd already be in the nuthouse, or in the basement of the Bone College." Nithraz glanced over at the wall full of potions, then snorted. "Take whatever you think you need."
"Good," the mage replied, putting the book away and turning to a small chest under one of her workstations. As she moved, a messenger peeked into the archway, catching Nithraz's eyes first.
"Ah, High Captain- um, is the court mage in?"
"Yes," the mage replied in a surly tone, as though she'd been branded in the back with a poker.
"Oh- I don't mean to disturb you, Master Ranclyffe-"
"Talk. The sooner you finish, the sooner you leave."
Nithraz stared at the older woman, who had pocketed a small, sharp instrument in one side of her robes and two slender dishes in the other. Wincing slightly at some stiffness, she stood and turned around to level her matronly gaze upon the Halfling messenger who seemed much smaller in her presence.
"Well, here 'tis," the young female smirked, taking a single step inside the study to hand Nithraz a small square of parchment. "Come up from the dark quarter with two guardsmen, both cut up real bad."
Nithraz opened the note and looked up at the messenger at once. "Is this some sort of joke? This isn't a message; it's a collection of unfinished angles and curves."
"Languages you don't read are still languages," the grey haired woman insisted immediately, walking over and snatching the note away from Nithraz. "Before you blame her- begone, girl- no, wait! A gold piece, in the dish outside. Take it."
"A gold piece?" the Halfling intoned, slightly concerned. "That's-"
"The High Captain isn't usually found on the third level of the eastern spire," the mage breathed, turning to her shelves full of potions. "No doubt you've gone twice the distance you originally intended just by climbing up and down stairs; away with you."
"Thank you, Master Ranclyffe," the Halfling smiled, dipping down to pick up the gold piece that Nithraz was sure hadn't existed in the earthenware dish just outside the study archway when he'd entered.
There was an uncomfortable silence as the mage uncorked and sipped at a neatly labeled potion, then put it back in its place on her shelf. "...because it's not Loross..."
"And what is it?" Nithraz pressed, as annoyed at her delay as he was at the room's lack of seating.
"Real. 'And rage filled their bellies, so that they growled for destruction, but could not be filled.' Fragment of an epic... quite ominous... not one I remember." The mage folded the note and looked up at Nithraz expectantly. "Well? The Dragonborn! I certainly don't know which cell he's been shuffled to now."
"He wasn't moved again just to confuse you," Nithraz sighed as he moved out of the room. "The fiend couldn't take a joke, so he and Voyonov got into a short fight. Turns out guy couldn't take a punch either- Dragonborn almost snapped his neck."
"I see," Master Ranclyffe remarked. "He was sober at the time?"
Nithraz found himself grinding his teeth, and pursed his lips in the effort to stop himself. "I... couldn't honestly tell. He seemed sober, but flopped down like a doll when the guardsman came back down the hall to see what happened."
"Interesting."
When the two got down to the main floor of the castle, greeted by a handmade rug that spread out in a circle with a carefully dyed sunburst at its center, Nithraz was stopped by a guardsman who pointed toward the castle gates. There, nearly held up by two other guards, limped Trelwynen.
"Wyn!" Nithraz called, turning up the hallway to come closer. "What happened?"
"The start of an uprising, is what," the old Elf replied, his voice hoarse. "Abberants boldly walking the streets, the guardhouse burned to the ground. A rutting archer raining down arrows, sending the guards running like rats. Beggars, tarts and bartenders alike taking up stones from the streets like weapons in Voyonov's name-"
"Ser Voyonov's name?" the woman repeated, lifting her gaze slightly as she thought. "Very interesting."
"It's not a puzzle, woman, it's life and death out there!" Trelwynen charged, the force of his statement prompting him to cough for a few moments. "Some guards are gone missing- those brave enough to stay get beaten enough to hurt the runners."
"Don't fuss," the court mage muttered, almost to herself. "Healer can pretty you up again."
"You've got to do something," Trelwynen urged. "Put that traitor on the gallows; make a display of him to the other lawless aberrations and drunks."
"No," Master Ranclyffe groaned.. "Idiot. If he dies, you've made a martyr. Better permanent assignment to the Dark Quarter."
"Do I need another council telling me what to do?" Nithraz looked from guard to mage in annoyance. "Let me do my job!" he crabbed, turning back down the hall.
Neither party found anything to say to the high captain. Trelwynen sniffed at the mage, who simply ignored him. Nithraz sighed deeply as he walked past the main hall and down the first level's stairs to the top level of the dungeons. The drowsy guard sitting at the wooden table perked up when his commanding officer clanked down the steps, taking a deep breath and sitting up. Nithraz passed him with a polite nod to find Aleksei, who was in the cell on the far right, close to the stairs leading down to the second level. The Dragonborn's hands had been shackled, but his feet were not, and he was sleeping on his side with his back turned to the cell door. Nithraz knocked on the bars- not hard, at first, but more insistently the second time.
Behind them, the guard got up, rustled through the other cells, and found a small stone. "This might be heavy enough," he noted with a smirk. "Toss it at his back."
"Voyonov, wake up," the half-Orc ordered, taking the rock, reaching his arm through the bars and throwing it at Aleksei like a dagger. "Get up. The court mage is here for you again."
The Dragonborn grunted, rolling over onto his back before turning and standing up. "I am here- what is it I can do for you, Gospozha Ranclyffe?"
"Do you know of anyone who was talking rebellion in the Dark Quarter?" Nithraz interrupted before the mage could begin. She, irritated, raised an eyebrow at him, then turned around and seated herself at the guard's table- scaring off the guard when she did.
"This is not good, to disrespect those older than you. Also, she is woman," Aleksei warned.
"I think you have better things to worry about than the feelings of the court mage, who isn't always respectful herself," Nithraz replied acridly, crossing his arms. "Answer the question."
"The question is coming very late. It is now better to ask who is not talking of rebellion," Aleksei shrugged. "Some guards are taking bribes, ignoring problems for good price, so all guards are being suspected. For some days after I am first going there, everyone is asking what do I want, how much do I want. But I am not wanting money."
"No, we already know what you wanted, and you had it, too," Nithraz snorted derisively. "You'd think you'd been employed as a bodyguard to the whores. You never so much as named the Reaver, whom you convinced us all that you know. When I find him, I'll take great pleasure in hanging you both."
"His name is Bahlzair," Aleksei replied, sitting back against the wall of his cell. "The name alone will not help you find him."
"It would rule out a few innocent Drow, if you care," came the sour retort. "I could send guards out with it to get some information, some clues at least! I could check if he's gone to the Pirate Isles, or to Cormyr, or Sembia by now."
"This is no good," Aleksei laughed quietly. "Anytime you are looking for sneaky person, this method will not work, and Bahlzair is very sneaky. Your questioning will tell him you are looking for him, and he will only move. You will be waiting until he is making visible mistake- and that, for you, will be very long, costly wait."
"And that's worse than what you were doing, then?"
"Always he is expecting challenge. I am not usually failing this, but other things are becoming very important; I am finishing these first."
"Whatever drinks were in front of you, sure," Nithraz muttered, turning away to find a seat of his own.
Aleksei closed his right eye and let his upper body relax. "Even to finish bad ale is more than you can do. Never am I seeing before any guard so scared of evil that he will not try to do what is good."
"Gods- he's all yours," Nithraz grunted, leaving the second chair alone and thundering back up the stairs to his office. "Take all the time you can stand, and whatever bits of him won't kill him to lose."
The grey haired Human female looked up the stairs after the high captain for a few moments, mildly amused.
"You've put a bug in his ointment, Ser Voyonov," she scoffed. "Deserves it."
"I am maybe letting myself become too angry with him," Aleksei growled, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. "But I am thinking of the wounds in the faces of the young women, and the people that are missing still. To him, because I am not doing as he wishes, I am not doing anything. This- ah, Common- still it is difficult."
Master Ranclyffe smiled, rooting through the bag she'd brought down with her. "I'm sure the difficulty lies in finding a curse word strong enough to express your feelings, yet mild enough to be used in the company of what you consider a respectable woman." Deciding to leave her tools alone, she got up and moved her chair closer to the bars. "I have lived long enough that such words are not offensive, but useful, especially when describing an overblown sense of righteousness- or a dry, feet-first childbirth. Both immensely painful, believe me. You'd agree, if you had the appropriate equipment to do so."
Aleksei stood again, smiling wearily. "You are dealing with this place for many years, Gospozha."
"Long enough to regret it," the older woman sighed, leaning back in the chair. "When I was but a war wizard's headstrong daughter, gazing upon her father's maps and charts, I wondered what wild land this place was. Well, pfft- now, I know. A ruling council filled with money changers. Nobles that are only nobles because they can afford the title. Commoners treated like animals, Dark Quarter people considered living rubbish- why should the High Captain attempt to protect land with the obvious kiss of Shar forever imprinted on the sky?"
"That kiss is why it is most needing protection," Aleksei grunted. "Always it is the most infected wound that needs the best treatment, yes?"
"Don't waste words," the mage scoffed, her voice harsh. "I have a title, but since even my students believe me a doting hag, it mainly wins me quiet mornings- or it used to, until you came along."
"Nothing I am saying to you is wasting words, Gospozha," Aleksei replied, meeting her deep brown eyes with his own hazel gaze. "I know this."
The two remained in silence, looking at each other for a few moments.
"I don't think you do," Master Ranclyffe answered, arching a curious eyebrow. "I have read an entire thesis dedicated to people like you. My biggest question is how you came by the training. First of all, drunken masters are rare, and at least two are required to be in one tavern on the same night to initiate a chosen student. Second, you're a soldier, not a monk. Finally, many would-be trainees don't make it through that first night, let alone the next day."
Aleksei turned his head like a curious puppy, then allowed a wry smirk to pull its way across his features. "Almost I did not. Always I am sleeping very heavily, because of my size. On morning after first pub crawl, the masters are thinking I am dead, for I am not moving. They are listening closely, they are checking mirror, but nothing is telling them that I am yet living. Only when staff father is smacking me in the back with his weapon am I awaking instantly to trip and choke him, thinking that truly he is attacking me." He laughed softly at the memory. "I am very sorry at once, but he is not taking apologies. I am drawing wash water for all the masters with small cup for entire day, and ever after, they are awaking me with throwing bottles filled with sand at my back from across the room."
The Human female folded her lips between her teeth in the effort to keep herself from laughing for a few moments. "Was it difficult?" she managed after she had calmed herself.
Aleksei cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, which were stiff from sleeping on the floor. "No, because I am enjoying company and challenge. Yes, because my soul is at war."
"Is the war over, Ser Voyonov?" the court mage asked seriously, her voice small.
"No."
"Never surrender."
Aleksei looked at the Human, surprised. She leaned back in her chair again and folded her hands in her lap with the resignation of a schoolmaster about to impart an unpleasant truth to a fire-breathing parent.
"Wyrmkeepers aren't the only ones that can sense that pact mark. It's perhaps not visibly obvious, like the cloud over the Dark Quarter, but it's just as frightening to a magically ignorant soul who can do nothing but fear he who bears it."
The Dragonborn had nothing to say, and felt it would be impolite to simply shrug at anyone older than himself, so he simply absorbed the statement and stood at attention, as though the mage would give him an order sooner or later.
Master Ranclyffe nodded and pulled the note from her bosom. "Pardon the storage. Something I learned from my son's pirate wife- convenient, if somewhat indecent." She began to hand Aleksei the note, then pursed her lips in disapproval at herself. "Just listen. 'I jarost' napolnjala ih zheludki, oni zhazhdali razrushenija iz-za jetogo, no byli nedovol'ny.' That's just as it's written, with my abysmal pronunciation. Recognize it?"
"Yes," Aleksei grumbled to himself, closing his eye. "But to make into Common-"
"Don't," the grey haired woman said flatly, closing her own eyes. "Talk; I'll manage."
" 'Oni ubili detej Io v techenie mnogih dnej, no Io ignorirujut ih krov'. Zatem voznikla den', kogda deti Io skazali drug drugu: »My boremsja vmeste, brat'ja, ili my umiraem»'."
"Blasted verbs." The Human female squinted her closed eyes for a few seconds, but made no other show of effort. " 'The children of Io were killed day after day, but Io ignore- ignored?- their blood' ... argh, genders... last sentence?"
Aleksei moved closer to the bars, wanting to give the woman some sign that she was doing well. "Zatem voznikla den', kogda deti Io skazali drug drugu: »My boremsja vmeste, brat'ja, ili my umiraem»," he repeated slowly, clearly and quietly.
"Yes... 'There came a day when the children of Io spake unto each other, saying, 'Brethren, we fight together, else we die.' Close enough?" Master Ranclyffe opened her eyes and jumped slightly at Aleksei's closeness, but briefly stretched out her hand- surprising herself- when he moved back a step.
Aleksei nodded, reaching through the bars to catch the delicate hand in his own. It seemed the court mage was not used to physical contact, since her face collapsed into mild disgust, then the barest flicker of tolerance. Aleskei looked down at her porcelain hand, mentally comparing it to a small bird, and imagining the thousands of potions it had made and pages it had turned. "This is how Io is making dragons to live in peace on the islands he is making with his blood- you are studying the faith of Io?"
"Oh, no," the mage replied with a faintly embarrassed smile, drawing her hand away from the studious hazel eye. "I believe only in my grave, I'm afraid. Someone sent this with two battered guards, and Nithraz would have impudently thrown it back, had I not snatched it."
"It is Dragonborn bow sister," Aleksei mused. "I am certain. She is surviving Stingers den, and is free, like the other women."
"I see." The mage scooted her chair farther forward, close enough to nearly put her head on the bars. "Might she be the type to start riots?"
"This... is demand for action. Perhaps Dark Quarter is in more danger than I am finding before. She is pretending she is the Human, and is making Dark Quarter and guards to be Io's children," Aleksei nodded, thinking as he spoke. "She is saying that she will not stop until the guards work with the people, and not against them. She is... giving me second chance to die with honour."
"I disagree, Ser Voyonov." The court mage again folded her hands in her lap, but looked down at them, wondering what Aleksei had seen in them. "Of course, Nithraz could come to me to get the Draconic read, but neither of us know the lore well enough to understand the intention behind that passage. She is making an Io out of you- and expects you to turn your attentions elsewhere while Nithraz answers her challenge and either succeeds, discovers the greater danger she's attempting to flag, or dies."
Aleksei frowned in thought for a few moments, then stopped, smirked, and began snickering.
"Counter-argument?" Master Ranclyffe smiled lightly.
"I am in chains, behind bars," Aleksei replied, trying not to laugh. "What god is like this?"
The mage arose to replace the chair by the guard's desk. "A dangerously infectious one, Io."
"Dangerous, perhaps, Gospozha Ranclyffe," the Dragonborn laughed, unable to help himself. "But you are checking if I am sick before. You are ready to scrape scale or take skin, but you do not, because already you know I am well. And certainly I am not avatar of Platinum Dragon. Please to call me Lyosha."
"My previous analysis was incorrect," the Human stated strongly, turning her back on Aleksei's cell. "I now realize that you are a victim of brainworms, which, due to years without treatment, now force you to attack in complete confusion. I shall immediately seize everything you've touched due to possible infection, and I shall examine every living person to come in close physical contact with you in the last three weeks."
"I am not understanding," Aleksei said wonderingly.
"Of course," the mage threw over her shoulder as she walked up the hallway. "Because you are Exceedingly Confused. I shall tell the high captain to ignore every word you've ever said."
"But Gospozha Ranclyffe-"
She stopped at the foot of the stairs that ascended to the main floor of the castle. "Trizelle."
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