2:41 The She.

Not a single candle burned inside the small, cavern-like room.  The light from the oil lamps in the halls spilled about five feet into the room, but dissipated into darkness in the far corners.  From somewhere in the dark areas came the sound of a single flipping coin, which sang like a tiny angel- or cried like an angry pixie, depending on what one's imagination turned toward first.

"Your past casts shadows over your present.  Your present will change the future- for tomorrow, today will be yesterday- but you can never change that past."

"Market report, Dark," a hopeful male voice called into the darkened office area of the Forge tunnels.  "Sleeping?"

"No."

"Planners like you don't believe in luck."

"I beg to differ, Stone," the Tiefling replied, a smile playing on hidden lips.  "It's good practice to take out insurance on card houses built on sand foundations."

"Fine.  Hail Tymora and Lolth."

"And Graz'zt, apparently," Dark breathed, using her coin and a piece of flint to light a candle near her.  When her eyes adjusted, she could just barely see Stone's famous scowl.  "House Darkness bit off more than it could chew in that poisoner they lost so many girls to get hold of."

"Whoever's responsible," Stone shrugged.  "Two males, four females, no mages.  In Nedstra's hole, making plans."

"Of course they're making plans," Dark smiled as she brought the candle to the torches on the walls.  "If they go back with the job unfinished, it's shame and death.  If they go forward without rethinking the plans they had when they thought they were still well, it'll be failure and death.  If they reshape their plans successfully, Spark will have a lot more fun- but they'll still be dead.  I'm certain she and Dodge will help them to make the right choice."

"Dodge?" Stone started, surprised.  "Thought she was at Witchrun."

"She was, until she got bored," Dark quipped brightly as she set the candle at the edge of the desk.  Her office in The Forge, which was older than Spectre, was much smaller than her preferred office area on The Fringe.  Both spaces, however, were very organized.  "But unlike you and Pox, she hasn't checked in with either paymaster, so I'm certain she's still sniffing for a challenge.  She's got a good gut sense- she'll find the action.  And when she gets back, she'll have Stitches."

"Long job for him," Stone muttered, leaning on the entrance way's wall.  "Might crack."

"Not with Spark and Dodge.  Trust me."  Dark walked over to Stone, who unfolded his arms to hand a few sheets of paper to the red haired Tiefling.  "I like these prices- oh, except for in grains.  We must have problems with the trade roads again."

"No.  Seas, for once.  Pirate Isles going hot."

Dark nodded silently, turning around to flip through some papers that were already sitting on her desk.  "Time to get back into that action, then."

"Dodge has history with the poisoner," Stone began, moving into the room to stand next to Dark.

"Neither will budge.  They have history, but it's not as- amicable- a relationship as, say, her semi-friendship with the Dragonborn."

"Don't like it."

"Graz'zt appreciates what he specifically described as our 'organized chaos.'  He, and his favored vessel, may not be directly accessible or malleable, but we seem to have at least a temporary understanding reigning between us, and that'll have to do for now."  Dark sat behind her desk and prepared to draft a letter.    "I thank you, as always, for your time, Stone."

The Orc grunted, moved to the entrance way and leaned on the wall just outside of it.  Dark listened to the low rumble of his exhalations as she penned a first contact.  Just as she was beginning to feel surprised at the lack of interruptions, a slender Elven recruit peeked into the study.

"News from the Palace District," she offered hopefully.

"Excellent," Dark stated, looking up and extending her hand to the young female.  "Let's hear it."

"Ntoru's received word that Sembia would like to reopen trade, seeing as they've got crops they can't sell and somebody's told them we need food."

"Continue," Dark encouraged, putting her elbows on the desk and leaning her chin on laced fingers.

"She's been skipping meals and popping outside at odd hours to do some kind of magic portal or something- I- I'm afraid I don't understand what the watcher said- how she described it."

"That's fine- I'll send you with parchment next time, and whomever you're reporting to can simply write down magic occurrences.  And for further education, you can always stop by The Fringe and sit with Spark.  She's not the best arcanist we've got, in some aspects, but she is the best teacher.  Extremely patient."

The Elf smiled shyly.  "I'd be glad to.  Not a lot of Humans understand an Elf who's bad at magic.  The watcher just kept talking like I understood.  She may as well have been describing the portals to a Dwarf."

"Don't be so hard on yourself- or the Dwarves.  There are few skills in existence that can't at least be understood.  Now- anything else from the north?"

"Ah-" the radiant blonde shifted her weight from one foot to another while she scratched the back of her neck.  "Nithraz.  Yeah- Nithraz is taking a task force into the Dark Quarter, or getting ready to."

"And by 'task force' he means 'cadre of armed men,' " Dark sighed.  "Fabulous.  The second he took that promotion...ugh.  Never mind that.  I haven't anything new for you right this second, so- thank you for your time."

"Um... if you don't mind, I'd like to set up on another rooftop," the Elf managed quietly.  "I don't think that one archer can handle the task force on her own."

"I'm certain that she can't," Dark nodded.  "If you'd like to do some solo work, go ahead.  If you'd like back up-"

"Please," the Elf nodded eagerly.  "I'd like to set up an answering task force."

"Of course," Dark replied, getting up from her desk.  "I remember about your brothers.  There's one operative already in that area, but he prefers to be lone wolf.  If he's not your cup of tea, well... show it.  In whatever manner you think is best."

The young female was obviously uncomfortable with the idea of harming someone who was on the same payroll, which Dark noted as a sign of a deepening trust in Spectre as a whole.  "Can I ask other- um- operatives to join me?"

"Of course.  Organize them as you will, and I'll consider that part of the Dark Quarter protected."

And with a grateful smile, the Elven female nearly skipped out of the office.  Stone barely had to move to turn back around the corner, and immediately leveled a glower.

"What would you have preferred I say, Stone?" Dark laughed lightly.  "I sometimes wonder if I shouldn't have left you in the priesthood."

"Couldn't have dropped a hint?"

"How does one hint about an abduction?" Dark retorted, crossing her own arms for a few moments.  "I told her when she joined that I would protect her people, and I am keeping my word.  When we've put Nithraz away and replaced him with one of the more palatable options, we'll make a small production of getting our operatives out of the house- I was planning to get a few city guards killed in the process, actually.  As far as the operatives know, they're holding two undercover House Darkness fences.  As far as the brothers know, the operatives are unusually sane Stingers.  And as far as our sweet-faced little Elf will ever know, her brothers are safe.  Where's the problem?"

"Hail Tymora and Lolth," Stone grumbled grimly.

"You make them sound so terrible," Dark smirked, untangling her arms and rolling her papers.  "How would you like a bit of escort work?"

"It's not work."

"Oh?" Dark asked, looking up as she stuck the papers into a small pack that hung close to her leather armor-clad side.  "Not challenging enough for you?"

"Too much fun," Stone replied with a shrug.

Dark pulled the black ribbon that had remained on her wrist, but stopped herself from staring at it for too long.  Leaning her head back, she tied her wash of red hair up into a neat bun, then expertly plucked her grey streaks out of it so that they hung about her face haggardly.

"The She walks tonight," Stone chuckled throatily, moving back from the desk area to the doorway.  "Bit more grey every time."

"Thank goodness, yes," Dark smiled as she threw her long, black cloak over herself and pulled her famous black half-shroud up from her neck and across her face.  "Soon, they may try turning me into Master Ranclyffe, but at least they'll stop thinking I'm Hawke's pet mage in female form."

"Why the demon mage would do that, possessed or not, is unthinkable."

"Some demons- M'lord Graz'zt included, I discovered- are quite virile," Dark explained as she put out the light in the office again and moved past Stone into the hallway.  "It's said that Graz'zt makes pacts with particularly handsome men- a sliver of his power for a few glorious physical joinings.  And to complete his end of the bargain, m'lord becomes madam in the batting of an eye.  Of course, such pacts have... lasting consequences."

When she entered Hammer's true forge area, the Dwarf looked up with a half smirk.  Without a word, she held up two severed Human fingers as though they were writing implements or carrot sticks.

"Verdict?" the well-covered Tiefling smiled.

"Zhennie," Hammer stated strongly.  "Squishy, now."

"Good, thank you.  Pump out as much information as is possible before it swallows its tongue or something-"

Dark was cut off by the sound of the stone portal opening, and was amused to watch one of her speediest messengers nearly fall inside.

"Oh!  Glad I caught you!" puffed the sandy-haired Human male.  "Gods, you move too much.  The captain's caught on, I think.  Didn't say anything, but gave me twice as much gold as he promised.  Here's for you, unless you want me to hand it over to Dragon."

Dark accepted the wavering, strangely shaped pack of gold, pulled the note out of it, then handed the sack back.  "Yes, Dragon'll do.  Anything else interesting?"  She scoured the message for a few moments, then began to chuckle.  "Well done, DiCiprione.  We have a future, you and I."

"The Dragonborn can't write either language, and now doesn't even have the means to send fruit and ale again," the messenger breathed, catching his breath gradually and straightening his hunched body.

"That'll be useful, in time," Dark mused, almost more to herself than to the messenger.  Looking up, she smiled radiantly.  "Thank you for your time- and I'd sit down a while, if I were you."

The sandy haired Human, knowing precisely what this meant, nodded and moved out of the smithy area without another word.  Dark, after pocketing the note and giving a gracious bow to a bemused Hammer, put her hand to the stone portal, crossed through, and made her way toward the surface.

Even before she and Hammer made it all the way up, the cries and clashes could be heard echoing in the tunnels.  It seemed every corner, every crevice was filled with the sounds of struggling guards meeting serious resistance.  By the time Dark came above ground, nearly at the Dark Quarter's border, she was prepared for the sight of unarmed bodies piled high, but was pleasantly surprised to note that the bodies were mostly Urmlaspyr guards who had gotten themselves stripped of their belongings.  Bowing her head with a sigh, she moved toward a wall and gently brushed it with her fingers.  Stone knew this particular act quite well, and lagged behind, attempting to blend in with the deep shadows of the houses and taverns.  He didn't expect Dark to be nearly immediately intercepted by town guards, but kept his distance when they did, knowing that she'd probably planned for it without telling him.

"What are you, woman?" one of the guardsmen asked. "Do you live here?"

Dark turned her head slightly toward the sound of the male's voice, but did not look up.  "Speak 'arder, ya muck, won't yeh!  Oughtn't mumble to old women."

"Oh, gods," a second guardsman sighed.  "Going home, mother?" he asked in a louder voice, coming close to her- but still too far away for a good jab in the ribs.

"You tinks I git far from 'ome?" Dark replied in a hideous shriek.  "Go on, you li'ul shits.  I sifts de refuse, I goes to market, I goes 'ome.  What wid your lot runnin' 'round, I wish I could rest my bones in de 'ouse."

"Why don't we just leave her be?" the second guardsman suggested in a quiet voice.  "Not like she's doing anybody any good or any harm."

"Plagues take ye," Dark crabbed, pivoting slightly with her head still bowed, as though she'd forgotten her way.

"We could use her," the first guardsman replied, his voice lowered even farther to ensure that what he thought was an old deaf woman wouldn't hear his plot.  "The archer knows better than to shoot through an old blind bitch to get to us- and if she doesn't, then..."

"That's not-"

"Eh?" Dark egged, feigning frustration.  "Gods box your ears, you wort'less li'ul shits, I knows you talkin' 'bout me!"

The first guardsman took hold of her elbow firmly.  "Sorry, mother- this fool wasn't wanting to give you a hand, but I will."

"Bloody bastard," the second guardsman sighed, giving up on his attempt at an argument.  "Sorry, mother."  Taking a flanking position, he trudged silently along with the plan he didn't quite agree with but didn't want to contest.

"Pox on you both.  I'm on Beggars' Row, where you all leaves mine to die," Dark crabbed, snatching her shoulders away and moving off.  "It's none of you pantywaists got courage to peek you 'eads 'round de corners dere."

"Gods," the second guardsman complained.  "You really want to-"

"She's asking for it," the first replied.  "Creature's a right witch."

"Alright, maybe..."

And for the first couple of minutes, Dark said nothing.  She allowed them to guide her toward the ruckus that she had heard from the tunnels, but began to slow down the louder it became.

"Dis ain't right," she dared at last, when she was certain of her surroundings.  "Dis near de heart of de quarter.  I was closer 'ome afore you all started draggin' me- push off, you jus' turnt me 'round!"  With that sound pronouncement made, she turned herself down the nearest alleyway, put her hand on the nearest wall and began charging down at a great speed.

"Wait, wait," the first guard charged immediately, a concern that wasn't at all for her lacing his voice.  Following her proved to be more difficult than he'd expected, considering that there wasn't even any torchlight in the alleyway.

"We're practically there, we can leave-" the second urged, stopping about a third of the way into the alley, but it was no use.  The first guard, who'd made it half way down the alley behind Dark, reached out and grabbed her arm, and she responded by ducking down and putting her heel to his ankles.  The backward spin was jarring, and the second guard, confused, didn't move forward to help his partner.   The man was kicked over onto his back, then run through the chest with a short sword.  By the time the second guard realized that the female that had reminded him of his grandmum was, in fact, much more athletic than he'd thought, he found himself slammed into the stone side of the building with the same short sword in his guts.

Dark watched the man slide down the wall, a look of shock still painting his face.  Licking her blade clean of blood, she hocked, then spat crimson-dyed phlegm into his face as she sheathed the weapon.  As she removed his short sword with its sheath, she couldn't help but fiercely whisper her disapproval to the corpse. "Coward."  The sword easily disappeared into the folds of her cloak as she moved away.

She stepped over the one that was near the middle of the alleyway and continued down, taking advantage of the seclusion as she listened to the various shouts of fear and frustration just on the other side of what seemed now to be a row of abandoned houses.  Dark made a note of the location in her mind- abandoned real estate was perfect for moving in above-ground bases or providing temporary protection to Spectre allies.  At the other end of the alley, another long row of poorly constructed houses crowded together, close enough to lay wood planks across to bridge the short gaps between the rooftops.  Before the houses lay a lovely assortment of town guardsmen- some in leather armor, some in chain mail, some with or without all of the proper gear- all dead or rapidly dying- with arrows piercing through various body parts.  Dark looked at the way their bodies had fallen, and thought deeply about the positioning on each of the arrow shots.  As she did, a rock smacked her perfectly in the small of the back.  Without a second thought, Dark crumpled down into a ball.  Seconds later, an arrow sung over her head- an arrow that the Tiefling knew would have otherwise caught her in the neck.

Sofiya obviously didn't trust an old woman she'd never seen in the Dark Quarter before.

"Good check, Stone."

Dark counted a few more seconds, then rolled to her right side, avoiding a shot that would have caught her in the top of the left shoulder.  She put her hands in her hair and stood up, pulling her hood back to reveal her half- shrouded face and half of her river of red-and-silver hair.  Picking her head up to the roof of the woe-be-gone home just slightly off to her left, she pulled her short sword and pointed it directly up toward it.

"I know you're there, bitch.  Let's go, you and me."

The street, which had already become quiet because of the recent burst of violence against the guards, grew even more tense, and Dark knew she was being watched.  She was the only Spectre operative who broke the witness rule, but she always broke it spectacularly.  There were so many different rumors about her that any appearance struck greater fear into the hearts of the people of the Dark Quarter than that of the High Captain himself.  Some of the more fantastic ones were born out of performances just like this one.  Shaking the dead guardsman's weapon out of its sheath, she began listening and calculating.  She walked between the bodies with her eyes still on the rooftop, stepping directly carefully between them, occasionally stopping to slap each of the still-living ones with the flat of the Urmlaspyr sword.  Each strike was hard enough to snap the head to one side, but there was no intention to kill at all.

It was as though she was completing a ritual.  The heart of the unknown and unsung watchmen, the embodied criminal soul of the Dark Quarter, was rejecting the Urmlaspyr guard as insufficient.  As weak.  As cowardly and not worth even killing outright.  Not a person who watched her fearfully from their filthy windows could mistake her.  Her senses heightened with the beautiful bloodiness that surrounded her, Dark seemed to feel it in her soul when the archer's bowstring pulled taut.  A beautiful spin won her full readiness.

One arrow, one sword deflection.
Breath, two steps.
Second arrow, second sword deflection.
Breath, two steps.
Third arrow, third sword deflection.
Breath, hold movement action.

The bowstring pulled back again, and by this time, Dark was smiling up into the face of her opponent.

"Let go, Sofiya.  Let it go, see if I'm worth your time."

The bow sung, and in a gorgeous arc of steel and adamantine, the flaming arrow was split completely in half, creating a rainbow of flame over the red haired woman's head and showering the immediate area with sparks.  The Dragonborn archer stood up, her bow at her side, looking down at her opponent thoughtfully.

"What has the She to do with me?"

"Good question," Dark nodded, throwing down the Urmlaspyr sword.  "One that I'll answer, completely and honestly, on equal ground."

The light tan scaled Dragonborn, whose few leathery tentrils hung longer than her raven hair, squatted down and fearlessly jumped from the rooftop- a good two floors up- to the ground before Dark.  Putting her bow in its place behind her and crossing her arms, she gave a small nod of readiness.  Dark, noting the display of trust, sheathed her own weapon, but allowed her cape to fall behind its place so that it was still quite visible.

"So you escape the Stingers and immediately protect the people that they considered toys and dinner?" Dark began, her one visible eyebrow lifted.

"I am not becoming part of Stingers because I am wanting to," Sofiya replied grimly.  "It is miracle that I am surviving that den alive."

"And this is your thanks to your gods, this rain of arrows down on the lackwits that stood by and allowed people to be kidnapped and preyed upon?"

Sofiya didn't even hesitate.  "Partially.  What are you to me, that you ask me these things?"

"An ally, if you would allow it," Dark replied.  "You're obviously not afraid of being caught by the High Captain."

"I welcome his attention," Sofiya laughed bitterly.  "If only he is coming here, maybe he is seeing why his actions are cruel to these people."

"Why don't you just take Voyonov's place?" Dark probed.  "As their protector?"

"Never is Voyonov being protector of Dark Quarter.  He knows he cannot be this.  But I am learning that he is bringing hope, unlike his sword kin, who are not caring who is lost."  Sofiya shrugged.  "This people, constantly in darkness, are much needing hope, no matter from where."

Dark thought deeply about her words, looking down the deserted street at the people she knew were hiding in their homes somewhere.  "Saints and departed battle heroes are to be honored and valued, of course, but they're extremely impractical when your house is being burned to the ground and your children are being dragged off by Sembian slavers and witches."

"You are saying High Captain will kill me," Sofiya interrupted, now raising her own eyebrows as she rested her weight on one hip.  "I am not believing this.  He will come to me, and he will give me money to do as he wishes.  Then I will kill him."

Dark took a sharp intake of breath and let out a quiet sigh.  "Ah- the former High Captain was killed.  By a band of mercenaries who slaughtered the Rattail Clan mercilessly on the docks.  Nithraz is high captain now.  And he's weaker than his predecessor."

Sofiya blinked for a few moments, turning her head slightly as though the information would sink in to her head better that way.  "Nithraz?"

"I think you've been- let's see- he was the lord captain when Cormyr's most recent Azoun died- he had been promoted when the Sembian spy was confined to the tower.  That should sound familiar."

Sofiya shook her head.  "I know King Azoun the fifth, but I am not knowing of his death.  It is years I am spending with the Stingers, many years."

"You should remember the Cormite treaty that allowed Urmlaspyr to become its own sovereign state," Dark offered calmly.

"Yes," Sofiya nodded.  "I am Purple Dragon then, and am assigned to northernmost Sembian border, near council's 'palace.'  But then-"

"But then the Stingers.  Well, in the time that you were down below, the one taking the bribes and turning a blind eye while his cronies did the same was replaced- violently- with a pathetic sapling who merely turns the same blind eye to everything, even the guardsmen who are acting as though the last high captain were still in charge."

Sofiya closed her eyes and breathed deeply.  "Truly that is even worse.  But still I am not regretting what I am doing.  I am sending message.  Someone will answer me."

"Of course," Dark replied.  "Reproach is not my intent.  Granting you necessary information and proper protection is.  The pay is good, but if you favor noble causes over gold, there is a small cadre of associates that would be glad to work with you."

"I am not understanding what you have to do with me," Sofiya stated flatly, redistributing her weight properly.  "I am not regretting how I am doing this."

"Of course not, Soulbow Sofiya Fedotyevna Atlasova.  You are an upright woman, and I seem to you to be quite shady.  I had expected such a response."

Dark turned around and walked precisely four steps before the inevitable question came.

"How are you finding my clan name?"

"I told you," Dark smiled as she stood still for a moment.  "Information.  I know that the Stingers had you for nearly seven years.  I know that they killed two of your Cormite compatriots before your eyes- slowly and painfully- when you at first refused to take up your bow for them.  And I know that when you climbed out of that slave tunnel, you still felt like a Stinger.  You felt like they stained you, and that you could never become again the woman you'd been.  But even with the guilt, even with the dishonor- this feels good, doesn't it, what you're doing to these guardsmen?  You may never have intended to become what you are.  But you don't have to let it remain a curse."

There was a pause that maddened Stone, who shifted from foot to foot, well-hidden in the shadows.

"Or this Nithraz could come and end it."

Dark laughed, shaking her head.  "And end you?  Please.  If he even dared to set foot here, would you let him kill you?  That tenderfoot abhors the Dark Quarter- can hardly stand to walk the streets.  He tries to be a soldier, but he's definitely not a leader.  He's nothing more than a tactical adviser and a planner- practically a nobleman with a sword."

"You dislike his weakness," Sofiya smirked.  "I am hearing it in your voice."

"And you dislike his dishonorable nature.  I don't need any outside resources to tell me that."

"Let me see with my own eyes what you will do," Sofiya stated strongly.  "Many hearth tales are not true, and I do not obey shadows."

"Who said you had to obey anyone but yourself and your gods?" Dark countered.  "You are free to go and to come as you please.  In fact, I expect you to leave, in your own time- perhaps return to Cormyr to rebuild your life.  I'm no coterie queen.  And I don't pretend at complete domination, though sometimes others wish I would.  I don't demand utter loyalty or service to the death.  But as far as it can be managed, I would be a dependable ally.  I would certainly move to prevent most untimely demises."

And it was the Dragonborn's turn to laugh.

Chains of Destiny 2:40 The mirror, broken.

At her southern wall, with two books sitting flat on the working space, the court mage frowned at the insides of the leech that she had just split open with a small operating knife.  On the other side of the room, standing precisely where they'd been left by the guards, stood one chestnut brown haired Human female and one dark-haired Halfling female- Amilie and Udala, respectively.  Sitting on the floor in front of them was an itchy Elven male- Greenstar- who was being grimly watched from the far side of the study by a pale skinned female who refused to talk, touch anyone, or sit down.  That, apparently, was Snakesoul.  On his other side was a mouse-faced Human female- Fairwillow- who was much more visibly worried.

"At it for how long?" Master Ranclyffe asked grimly, flipping a few pages in the book on her right without touching the pages.

"Ten years," Amilie replied guiltily.  Her arm ached miserably where the leech had been, and Udala finally reached over a strong, rosy hand and grabbed the more slender hand so that its owner would stop rubbing.

The older woman gave a quiet huff, then turned two more pages simply by waving fingers over them.  "Swamp hags.  Has to be.  Unrealistically resistant to poison and disease."

"Gods, she doesn't have to be so sharp about it," the Halfling bristled.  Master Ranclyffe sensed a spike in the half-pint's protective instinct, and her lips pursed up with the bitterness of a semi-hidden truth confirmed.

"The halls," the twitchy Elven male managed, his dark eyes staring past the dark corners of the room and into some other plane of existence.  "stretch into despair- into the nothingness, the void of fear-"

"Hush," Fairwillow urged with a frown.  Snakesoul took her eyes up and away from the Elf, turning to stare down the corridor beyond the court mage's study as though some danger would suddenly materialize somewhere in the distant morning air.

"Into the maw of the demons," the Elf finished waveringly, shifting farther away from the woman next to him.  She simply responded by scooting herself over.

"Greenstar, quiet," she insisted again.

Greenstar gave a sudden sharp shrug and shake in the attempt to get the Human away from him, which startled the couple behind him.  Udala squeezed Amilie's hand by accident, and the latter gave a quiet yip of shock and protest.  Realizing her error, the Halfling sighed- but did not let go.  "Sorry."

"Ser Voyonov was the first... patron... with which you became intimate, correct?" Master Ranclyffe asked the Halfling, flipping backward through the book on her left without even moving her hands at all.  "Strongheart?"

"Ghostwise mother, Strongheart father," Udala replied simply.  "Long story.  And Voyonov wasn't the first.  He was the most recent."

"Interesting," the older mage woman shrugged.  "But if you'd caught something, I'd see it.  I don't."

"Babe in flame," Greenstar murmured to himself, rocking back and forth as though in a trance.

"Greenstar!" Udala growled.  "The woman's trying to work, or don't you care?"

"Work, work; hags' work- demon's work, Shar's work," Greenstar replied, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing a hand to one temple.

"Amilie is not a-" Udala began protectively.

"Yes, I am," Amilie replied in a near whisper.  "You know that.  Even my blood says I'm a hag."

Master Rancliffe turned around calmly, and the Human female next to the Elf noted that her hands were covered in leech slime and blood.  "Amilie, you will return to Daerlun.  Udala, the Hullack."

"You're deporting us?" Amilie asked, her face slackening in shock immediately.  "For what?  What've we done?"

"You read; check the laws," Master Ranclyffe shrugged, turning back around to dip her hands into a basin of water that sat to the right of her workstation.

"I'm not from the Hullack; I'm from the High Forest," Udala retorted.  "Xenophobic Elves whooped my clan right out of there, too."

"Eldreth Veluuthra," Master Ranclyffe corrected with a raised eyebrow.  "Less than polite."

"Them, or me?" Udala shot back, her eyes narrowing.

"Both," the mage scoffed, drying her hands and preparing to dispose of the unfortunate leeches.

"Clawed basket in the candles, where the shadows are real," Greenstar rumbled, hugging himself and rocking again.

"Aren't either of you going to do anything about him?" Udala asked the speechless female, who glared at her with ruby eyes.

"But what can she do?" Amilie whispered gently, squeezing Udala's hand herself.  "He's in a state; we'd best listen.  Perhaps it'll be like what he told me-"

"And the shadows eat us up," Greenstar breathed, a terror beginning to grip his throat.

"Not all of us," the court mage replied, looking down at the creature on her floor with a look of sharp displeasure.  "Westgate, then?"

"Gods, that's even worse than the Dark Quarter!" Udala exclaimed, releasing Amilie to throw up her hands in exasperation.  "Pirates and assassins run the place in the open air; everybody knows about it!"

"Oh?" Master Ranclyffe intoned with a mocking turn of her head.  "Well, fortunately, the firebrand from the old kindling is smarter than her ancestors."

"Now what the hell's that supposed to mean?" Udala crabbed, pressing her hands to her hips.  "I don't care if you're the daughter of the gods, you-"

"Be careful," Amilie warned.  "She's not an enemy-"

And with both palms pressed flat to the sides of his head, Greenstar began to scream- a shrill, unearthly sound that forced almost everyone's eyes shut.  Master Ranclyffe crossed her arms, irritated, but largely unaffected.

"Unacceptable, Torquin.  Use.  Your.  Words," she demanded bitterly.

"The gates jammed wide, his fingers push through, they tear through- tell him to stop!  Mama!  Why don't you tell him to stop?" Greenstar moaned, contracting into a fetal position and falling helplessly on his side.

Fairwillow, once she recovered, prepared to scoot closer to him again, but Master Ranclyffe clapped her hands at her, waving her away like anyone else would shoo a stray mutt.  Stung, the Human female got up and crossed her arms, watching the older woman gather her court robes to kneel on the immaculate floor.

"It wasn't him," she admitted in a very low, careful voice.  The Elf, panting and shaking, threw one arm around himself and began waving his other hand in the air, searching.  With a sigh, Master Ranclyffe took his hand, knowing when his clear eyes bolted open that she would have to go on.  "I hated that child- wanted it dead.  I did it.  I warped the ritual."

"The touch of Baator is still here," Greenstar whimpered, his eyes full of tears.  "Why?"

"All the demonologists agreed.  They put me out.  With that damned child.  And we came here."

"You still hate him," the Elf said pointedly.

"Yes," the court mage smiled, as though reliving a sweet memory.  "I thought- but... I- argh, well.  So much for that.  He- and every porridge-brained practitioner in that little Phoenix- can go back to Baator, for all I'll ever care.  Let them eat each other's eyes and shit them out."

Amilie and Udala ripped their eyes away from the terrifying scene in front of them to look at each other.  A single curdled horror grew between them, and they willingly stepped closer to each other, holding on to each other as though they were the only two safe creatures in the room.

The court mage looked up at their movement, then looked from the shocked face of Fairwillow to the perplexed gaze of the perpetually-silent red-eyed female.

"Whoever made the mistake of telling you I was a kind old spinster, I'll have their tongue cut out for slander," Master Ranclyffe scoffed quietly, releasing Greenstar's hand and standing up with some degree of stiffened difficulty.

"You horrified a cadre of hardened Thultanthar demonologists to the point that they let you walk away from them as free as a bird, with a baby- your baby!- that they might've studied, at least," Fairwillow dared after a few moments of silence, during which the court mage turned her back and continued cleaning her workstation.  "You're hideous."

"Decided?" Master Ranclyffe asked sharply, turning her head over her shoulder to Udala and Amilie.

"I'll go to Daerlun," Udala stated strongly.

"That... would be... nice-" Amilie began.

"Until you're hanged or burned," Master Ranclyffe snorted.

"Go toward the Hullack, and you'll disappear when the Firebird passes by."

The raspy voice, more like the crackling of leaves than an actual tone, pulled everyone's gaze to the pale skinned female on the other side of the room.

"She talks," Amilie marveled with a gentle smile.  She was filled with the desire to run over and congratulate the full grown female on uttering a few words, but kept that quiet within herself.

"Only when she has to," Fairwillow shrugged.  "Snakesoul is the one who tells Deadriver when we've found a kin-soul on the outside.  You'd be the first in years."

Udala didn't waste a moment.  "I'm not joining your circus.  Not to dodge a stoning, a burning or a hanging.  Not to hide from those blasted Elves.  Not to please anybody.  Far as I'm concerned, you all can lump it."

"Be reasonable," Amilie urged.  "When they return, you can visit.  And you won't even have to suffer with mead- I promise every spiced rum you call for, I'll answer for it."

"I said no," Udala huffed.  "My life is here."

"And your death might be too," Master Ranclyffe sighed in a voice so quiet, Udala wondered why she bothered speaking aloud.

"Oh, please, do as they've asked," Amilie pleaded.  "Not everyone who tells you what to do is just trying to be bossy, you know- you don't have to fight everyone."

"You don't get it," Udala groaned.  "I do not want to go to the Hullack.  I do not want to go with any troupe of nutters.  I do not want to be shipped out to a smuggler's paradise.  I also don't want to be hanged, burned or stoned to death, but I do not want to be where you aren't.  And that's that."

Amilie blinked a few times.  "I do get it.  But they'll kill you- probably us both.  We can't fight the whole of the city, and beyond that, all of Sembia.  I'd rather you alive and somewhere else than dead by my side."

"You give up too easy, unless it's you on the block," Udala thundered.  "You're set up to take a blade for the Dragonborn and a kick in the face for me- shoot, FROM me- but what?  You don't think you're worth the same, is that it?"

"Udala-" Amilie began, conscious of Udala's rising volume and the warmth in her own cheeks.

"No, you tell me," the Halfling insisted.  "You tell me why I ought to just do what I'm told and either never see you again or have to content myself with catching up with you over spiced rum whenever the bloody circus is in town."

Amilie misted up, unable to stop the tears from coming, and could speak no more.  Udala sighed, aware that she'd pushed too hard, and began to let go.  But surprisingly, Amilie shook her head fiercely, clinging even tighter to the Halfling than before.

"Snakesoul, what if the swamp herb sister comes?" Fairwillow suggested at last.  "I don't think mountain sister is coming at all, if you ask her to come alone."

Snakesoul turned around to walk in absolute silence toward the weeping female.  Master Ranclyffe crossed her arms, and just for a moment, Snakesoul stopped her progress to reguard the court mage, who inclined her head slightly to one side.  After nearly a full minute in those positions, Snakesoul lowered her gaze, and Master Ranclyffe gave a small nod of permission.  With this, Snakesoul turned and placed her hand atop Amilie's head.  Amilie looked at her, eyes still full of tears, and unwaveringly met her crimson eyed gaze for some time.

"Good?" Fairwillow probed, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Backbone's soft," Snakesoul whispered at last.  "But- good."

"We'll take 'em off your hands, then," Fairwillow smiled to Master Ranclyffe, who gave slow, small nods.

"Ser Voyonov's hands.  Speak with him, before you go."

"Are they going to kill him?" Amilie dared, her voice choked, as Snakesoul stepped back to the other side of the room.

"I'm not a seer," Master Ranclyffe replied, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Greenstar supplied from the floor.  "Not gonna kill your big papa.  Mama Triz won't let it happen."

"Welcome back," Fairwillow breathed with an obvious, immense relief.  "We'll get you outta here quick as we can."

"It hurts, Mama Triz," Greenstar said with a slight moan lacing his words.  "Why does it still hurt?"

Fairwillow stepped forward and bent over in the attempt to get Greenstar off the floor.  "Probably because she-"

"Most of the rest of the toddlers in your experimental group died within hours- screaming, writhing, bashing their heads against the walls until they burst like-" Master Ranclyffe stopped herself.

"I'm alive," Greenstar said hopefully, sitting up and putting a hand to his head nearly immediately.

"Yes, well," Master Ranclyffe scoffed with her eyes pressed closed.  "I was the only goddamned one in there who knew where to put the scrying shard."

Greenstar inched himself forward, crawling like a baby toward the isolated woman at her workstation.


"You held me."

"Yes."

"You fed me."

"Yes."

"You taught me- until you were gone."

"Yes, Torquin."

"I'm Greenstar, Mama Triz."

"And I am Master Ranclyffe."

"You were my only mother."

"I'm sorry... Greenstar."

"No- Shade changed everyone.  I still love you- Master Ranclyffe."

"May you be the last to waste those words on me."


"Gods, I'm going to cry," Udala whispered, leaning her head close to Amilie, who bent slightly so that their faces were nearer each other.  She could only nod, because she already was crying freely, and was striving valiantly to keep herself from sobbing aloud.


"City's gonna burn.  Half-orc ain't taking the up path."

"I'm no seer."

"You can get away."

"No, Greenstar.  This time, I stay.  Now, begone."

"I love you."

"These... women had better guard you with their very lives."


"We'll do our best, Master Ranclyffe," Fairwillow stated strongly, taking Greenstar by his shoulders and standing him up.  "I'm... sorry for your loss."

Master Ranclyffe stared up at the shelves above her potions workstation, which was now clean enough for a baby to safely eat from, and the two books that had been on the table floated back to their places.  Even after they lodged themselves there, she continued looking up, wordlessly, and Fairwillow moved back a few steps with Greenstar.

"Master Ranclyffe?" a gruff male voice called.  The guardsman, who had been told to check in on the court mage's progress once every half hour, had returned.

The older woman reached out her left arm and flicked her hand at the wrist- a simple, dismissing movement that seemed to Amilie like the most agonizing choice ever made.  The Human, in complete defiance of the guard's judgmental look, clutched Udala closer to her in response.

"Right- come with me, all of you," the guard rumbled uncomfortably.

"We'd like to pass by Ser Voyonov's cell briefly, or see him from a distance, if possible," Fairwillow began carefully.  "We know he may be contagious, but-"

"Master Ranclyffe?" the guard asked.

Again, the court mage flicked her hand at the guard, and Amilie couldn't help but allow a small sob to rattle through her being.

"It's all been very harrowing," Udala supplied quickly.  "You're a man of fight- you know how it is when young creatures brush up on death for the first time."

A wave of understanding washed over the guard, who laid a fatherly hand on Amilie's trembling shoulder.  "Never you worry, miss.  She's a right grump, but she's competent.  She says you don't got the sickness, you don't got it.  Now come on, off with us all."

The court mage released a long sigh as the sounds of clanking armor, bare feet and rustling clothing died away from her study.  Turning around, she moved toward the chest that sat across the room and- after a long and deliberate pause- opened it.  There, among the various sections of dried roots, little pots of this or that powdered ingredient, lay the gold-plated mirror- missing one perfectly diamond-cut shard.  She gazed at it, then at the reflection in it, then closed the chest.

"Master Ranclyffe- I am so sorry to bother you- two more prisoners from the top cells."

"Directly," replied the court mage in her customary dry, curt tone.  Yet when she rose- with stiffness, as always- to follow the slight Halfling female that had come to fetch her, the messenger could swear that the older woman's eyes were just a little brighter than they normally were.

2:39 An unnatural pack.

In the early twilight of the twenty fifth day- as Silveredge counted her time- the platinum-eyed Shadar-kai stepped carefully between the tufts of dry grass, falling just slightly behind an agonized Vhalan.  Niku, who seemed to have just as much energy on the second day of tracking as he'd had when he left the catacombs, padded faithfully at Silveredge's right side, not wanting to dart too far ahead of her.  At the head of the party loped Smokedog, and though she ought to have been at the party's tail, Darelove trotted ill contentedly at his side.

"Much longer?" she asked with a quiet urgency.

"We just gotta pick up the cooky plants," the swarthy man replied gruffly, taking part of the bark off of another tree.  "Soon."

"But Smoke, it's been nothing but the same old brush and nasty old scrub trees this whole way!  You sure we're going the right way?"

"Is he the tracker, or are you?" Vhalan finally asked in exasporation.  "I assume he is on the same scent as the puppy, though he will not lead- let them both guide us in peace."

"Hush it," the archer replied.  "Let something happen to Smoke, you'll eat me and your pet right up."

"This insistence upon moving while it is day works in your favor."  Silveredge watched Vhalan roll his red stained brown eyes when Darelove raised a confused eyebrow.  "Ah, that's right.  'It is painful to move' is still putting my situation on a proverbial shelf too high for your powers of comprehension to reach."

"That's it- it must be the blood sucker," Smokedog replied grumpily, his voice not far from a true growl.  "He's a rat, so now the shamblers know we're coming."

Vhalan rolled his eyes again, affecting a faint sigh.  "Alas, mortal, you've discovered my fiendish alliance.  It's not possible that a towering, lumbering wolf-man attempting to discreetly pass through low, dry brush in the middle of the day could have been seen snooping about."

Silveredge bit her lips, looking down at the ground where she walked in order to avoid open laughter.

Smokedog whipped himself around to hit Vhalan, but the vampiric chain master simply blocked the incoming arm, paused to shift his weight, then sent a chambered long-fist strike to the inside of the larger male's shoulder joint.  When Smokedog responded by scrunching up the freshly-struck soft tissue, Vhalan calmly re-positioned his hairy head and slapped his face- relatively lightly, although the strike still resounded in the open air.

"I thought you said it hurt to move," Darelove crabbed immediately, seconds away from pulling an arrow from her quiver.

"It does."  Vhalan's gaze, deeply planted in Smokedog's natural brown eyes, taunted the man's nerves, frittering away his calm.  "Yet I will move; therefore, be mindful."

Bouncing out in front of the stopped party, Niku fired off a series of warning barks, and Silveredge quickly got her chain into her hands.  Smokedog, forgetting Vhalan, began to turn to see what was the matter, only to have his arm twisted behind him by its wrist.

"Arms, lamb," he called lightly, as though he were requesting the limbs for breakfast.  When Smokedog looked back at him as though he'd lost his mind, the vampire inclined his head slightly, letting go of the male.

Silveredge prepared her chain for a close range attack, whipping it around herself until it reached a singing speed.  Niku, who located and reached the zombie before his mistress did, launched into it head first, knocking it onto its bony behind.  Silveredge easily slung her chain around one of its arms, allowing the chain to bite into the rotten flesh, and ripped it off before the shambler was able to make any moves.  Quickly whipping her chain two times to clear the severed limb and return to full speed, Silveredge wrapped the chain around the other arm and tugged it free of the creature's trunk.   Meanwhile, Vhalan uncoiled and prepared his own weapon for an assault.  Whipping his chain around his body and up over his head for maximum speed, he slung the weapon out with twice the effort that it would normally take him.

Silveredge, knowing that she would not hear the chain, listened instead for the sound of Vhalan's controlled breathing.  The moment she heard him release a sharp breath, she turned her ankles outward, folded her knees, and laid backward on the ground like a temple dancer, allowing Vhalan's chain to pass directly over the length of her body to wrap itself around the creature's neck.  The zombie, faintly aware that this was the end of his second life, began to make pitiful groaning noises.

"Gods, kill it, won't you?" Smokedog huffed.  "Trying to put on a show?"

"Patience," Vhalan replied, turning under his chain and pulling it back toward himself with the centrifugal force.  The zombie's neck was sliced through, and his head spun clear of his body, landing a pitiful quarter inch beyond Silveredge's head.  "Wait, lamb, wait..."

Silveredge remained exactly where she was, terrified to breathe.  But Vhalan, intent on reminding her to do so, pulled his chain clear of his last attack softly enough so that the tip of one of the barbs caught the bit of tunic covering Silveredge's midsection.  Surprised, Silveredge gasped, and got a nose and mouth full of moldy death, which instantly made her gag.

"Control, lamb.  For me, my hunger.  For you, your... reflexes."

Silveredge squeezed her eyes shut and bit her tongue in the attempt to quiet her body.  Niku, too concerned to allow the lesson to continue, shoved himself against her shoulder with most of his attacking power, which knocked her out of position and provoked a short squeak of pain.  Silveredge rolled onto her face three inches away, and was immediately extremely grateful for the smell of dry, scorched ground.  Niku skittered over to her side and pushed his face into hers, eager to apologize for hurting her arm.  His breath, while still slightly foul, was nothing in comparison to what she'd breathed in just moments before.

"My lord will forgive Niku?" Silveredge managed, when she was certain that opening her mouth wouldn't allow more out than she'd planned.

"I will not," Vhalan replied, crossing his arms over his chest.  "The puppy very well ought to be at the bottom of an ocean- instead, he interrupts lessons whenever he chooses."

Niku, as though he understood, closed his eyes and put a paw over his nose.  Silveredge sat up on her elbows to look at him, then scooted up to sit on her knees with her gaze firmly pinned to the ground.

"Niku begs our lord's pardon," she nearly whispered.  Niku made a few pitiful whines, and Vhalan covered his face with one hand.

"You know, the tribe has a chain fighter," Darelove offered, moving from Smokedog's side to offer Silveredge a hand up.  "A good one."

"There are many in the Shadowfell, also," Silveredge replied, scratching behind Niku's ears for a moment without looking up from the ground.  "Yet, none like my lord."

"You're just afraid," Darelove smiled.  "We can take him, sister."

"Not so," Silveredge corrected, briefly inspecting the few cuts that her weapon had given her when she rolled over.  "Though my lord be demanding, here shall his servant remain until she is removed from his teaching."

"Or until she's turned into a goddamned thrall," Smokedog grumbled, turning away from the kneeling Shadar-kai.  "Get up, won't you?"

Vhalan picked his head up to finally respond to his student's request for pardon, but stopped when he caught a damp scent in the open, dry area.  Niku, similarly struck by the scent, picked up his head and wagged his stump of a tail, immediately gathering power in his limbs.

"Send him, lamb," the ivory skinned male commanded in a very small, but firm voice, preparing to gather his chain.

Silveredge said nothing, but simply pushed the hand that had been scratching behind the hound's ears against his hindquarters.  Instantly, the intense hunter leaped up and soared back the way the party had come.  Vhalan raised an eyebrow, but made no other show of his surprise.  Readying his chain, he looked over at Silveredge, then sent his gaze toward the direction in which Niku had gone.  Just as hair-trigger responsive as her hound, the periwinkle-hued student arose and nearly flew after the muscular canine.

"And you're gonna stand here and watch her go?" Smokedog growled, annoyed.  Not willing to waste any more words on the alabaster creature who'd bruised the inside of his shoulder, the brutish male hustled off after Silveredge.

Vhalan cast his glance over his left shoulder, took a deep breath, then held up a his hand to stay the archer behind him.  With a quickness that stole her breath away, his chain sang through the air and found purchase around the neck of a zombie that was most certainly edging its way toward them both.  In five perfect silvery spins, the head, arms and legs were all gone, and the creature was nothing but a helpless stump.

"Make yourself useful- put an arrow in the mage responsible," the vampire commanded without looking up.  When Darelove didn't move, Vhalan allowed his eyes to rise just slightly from his kill.

"I'm not your pet," Darelove replied acridly, though she still drew an arrow for her readied bow.

Vhalan only kept himself from hissing at the stubborn female with every drop of his fading self-control.  The final rays of the sun taunted his skin, making his muscles ache as he pulled himself back to a ready position.  A familiar scream pressed his eyes shut.

"Change your range," he called.  "Don't let them get closer than you want them to be."

An arrow whizzed behind his back and straight into the head of another zombie, nearly taking the decaying thing right off.  The sound of its landing- a thick splat, as though a slab of meat had slapped a wood cutting board- revolted Vhalan, who suddenly disappeared from the sight of the warm blooded skirmisher.

Niku discovered, through the sudden clutch of reanimated dead, a live creature to attack.  He plowed through the shamblers like a thing possessed, either slamming into and running right over the zombies, or forcing them to stumble and give way.  Silveredge, working hard to remember her lessons in the face of things whose stench nearly stopped her breath, could not keep up with his forward advance, and found herself hemmed in by five shamblers within minutes.  Smokedog pushed his way toward her, the coming night and his rising energy level putting more hair on his arms, sharpening his teeth and lengthening his nails.  The smell that sickened Silveredge merely poured more furious power into his spirit, pushing him to attack more fiercely.

It was only after ten solid minutes of bare force that Smokedog was able to notice what Niku was fighting so far ahead of them.  Beyond the shamblers- which seemed to respawn, two to every one taken down- raged a warrior with a heavy bladed mace.  Surprisingly for the werewolf, Vhalan had somehow passed through the fight between Darelove and the living warrior without being seen by friend or foe, and was giving the much larger male a very difficult time.  A lucky strike smacked the hound spine-first into a tree, which Vhalan repaid by binding the male's arms up in his chain.  From somewhere else, some strange magic word was spoken, and Vhalan's athletic stance weakened considerably, enabling the warrior to grab hold of the chain and sling its owner into the same tree that Niku had struck.

This done, the warrior charged through the zombies himself, and Smokedog prepared himself to launch an attack.  The warrior, seeing the potential obstacle, prepared to slam his mace into the werewolf.  Smokedog dodged it, but stepped into Silveredge's area of attack in the process, and received two deep scrapes on his back.  As the werewolf howled his pain with back stiffened, the warrior slammed his mace into his shaggy side, forcing him down to one knee, and buying himself passage through the rest of the zombie horde.  Silveredge, mortified, stopped cold, which resulted in a not-quite-dead zombie taking advantage of her abrupt pause.  The Shadar-kai found herself caught in its grip, and as she attempted to move farther to the side, she fell spectacularly on her side.  The zombie immediately clambered on top of her, but a recovered Niku appeared to slam himself into the zombie's side, knocking it away from her.  Smokedog, also recovered, picked the zombie up by its neck and squeezed, popping its head off like a cork.

Darelove, who had been taking down zombies easily with single arrows, was concerned when she saw the warrior coming toward her.  It was quick and intelligent enough to dodge her flying assaults, and closed the area between himself and her much faster than she could hope to draw her knife.  Just as the warrior raised his mace to smash it into her face, a rock materialized out of apparent air and bashed itself into his own.  It knocked the helmet off his head, showing pallid flesh, cobalt black eyes, and a completely shaved head.  While it was obviously Human- or it had been some time ago- the male now seemed to have more in common with Vhalan than the warm blooded creature it fought.  Smokedog took advantage of the stunning strike to the head, grabbing the inside of the male's armor and throwing him to the ground.  Just three slashes from his rage-powered, clawed hands rendered the Human's pale face utterly unrecognizable, but the werewolf was repaid with a sudden two-zombie rush that pushed him back and onto the ground.

Niku tore away from Silveredge once her last enemy had been destroyed, and Silveredge- after making sure that all of the fallen were indeed dead- took off after him.  Past Smokedog, who was successfully defending himself against the two zombies who had attacked him, both discovered Darelove sprawled forward, with a mage of some sort curling his fingers above her body.  Silveredge moved her chain up her arms for a moment, then reached out her hand toward Darelove, silently willing the mage's magic to stop.  The magic worker looked up and saw her at once, stepping over Darelove's body with the obvious desire to take control of the meddling hag.   Silveredge prepared an icy spell, but was surprised to watch Vhalan rip past her and toward the mage- apparently unarmed.  He leaped forward, and in midair, his lean, muscular form stretched and melted down into that of a perfectly white dire wolf.  Niku, terrified by the transformation, shot back away from the area and toward Silveredge at once.

After a split second of simply staring at what she knew was Vhalan, Silveredge rushed forward, put her arms under Darelove's arms and dragged her backward.  When she was satisfied with her distance, she grabbed up a stick and drew a circle around herself, the cowering hound and the unconscious archer.  Smokedog, managing to overcome his attackers, crossed into the circle and knelt to support Darelove's upper body on his lap.  Silveredge had just enough time to will a ward into place before a frustrated male cry rose up.  She looked up, and seeing only Vhalan kneeling on the ground, at first wondered if he had been beaten.  Behind her, Smokedog had also looked up, and began to growl.

"You and your lessons!  You let this happen," Smokedog accused, his Common unwieldy in his werewolf form.

Vhalan rolled his shoulders, picked up his head, and turned his gaze over his shoulder with a fierce hiss.  Moonlight, beaming victoriously over the few low trees that dared to stand in its way, seemed to set the vampire's red-tainted eyes on fire in his gaunt face.

At that moment, Silveredge trembled within herself, knowing that her tutor had not fed during the journey.  "Oh no," she barely whispered.  It would be foolish, at this point, to attempt to remind him of the way he had recently admonished her to retain her control over herself.   Silveredge shook her mind clear of the previous ward she'd put up, choosing to replace it with a ward against undead.  As she briefly closed her eyes to will the ward into taking hold, Smokedog continued.

"Hiss, hiss, huh?  Come face me," the werewolf growled, laying Darelove down gently.  "When I get through with you, you're gonna wish you'd stayed dead the first time."

Vhalan was too far beyond the bounds of his reason to even reply verbally.  His eyes jumped between Darelove's shifting body and Silveredge as though he were unsure of which victim to claim.  The pause was thankfully unlike him, and his student took full advantage.

"Is my lord tired?" she began, scooting herself in front of Smokedog and bowing her head.  Pulling her braided hair to one side, she purposely exposed her neck.  "Here is his lamb... ready to do all required of her.  Let... let calm fill him."  She breathed deeply with her folded hands pressed tightly against her thighs, forcing herself to push fear as far away from her spirit as possible.  Niku, concerned but terrified, pranced just behind her, barely inside the protective circle.

"Calm," Vhalan echoed in a choked voice that sounded as though something solid had accidentally gone down his windpipe.

"Yes, my lord," Silveredge managed.  "The- ah- serenity of the Nameless Goddess be upon you."

"Here a true packmate lies in pain, and you can speak of serenity?" Smokedog roared, standing up.  "Calm?  Here's to that!"  The werewolf took off too quickly for Silveredge to react to him, but Niku bounded out of the circle and slammed himself into the backs of Smokedog's knees, causing him to stumble.  Silveredge didn't waste any time, getting her chain into her arms and up to speed rapidly as she moved toward the confrontation.  Desperate to keep Smokedog from attacking, she devoted every iota of attention to slinging her chain out and to wrap his legs up tightly.  Only when she succeeded, bringing the werewolf to the ground, did she realize that she had left Darelove completely unprotected.  She looked up from the furious Smokedog to note with horror that Vhalan had disappeared from view.  Abandoning her chain, she whirled around and ran back toward Darelove, only to see Vhalan reappear just beyond the fallen archer.

Silveredge wasted no time in imagining a solid ball of ice in her right hand- it appeared quickly, and she slung it at the vampire's chest, catching him squarely in the breastbone.  Unaffected by the cold but disrupted by the impact of the ice ball itself, Vhalan allowed his upper body to crumple inward, and took a few steps backward before he sat down on his behind with a graceless thump.  In a few running steps, Silveredge was between himself and Darelove, but stubbornly put her back to her tutor in spite of the cold dread that ran through her.  Farther away, Niku barked happily, then picked up Silveredge's chain in his mouth to drag it back to her.

"That... thing," Vhalan breathed raggedly.  "Miserable curr."

"I am certain that Niku will apologize, my lord," Silveredge responded very quietly, looking at Darelove's bruises carefully.  "These appear necrotic- it is more than obvious that our presence has been noted, and is disagreeable to those that reside here."

"I... don't... mean the hound," Vhalan scoffed bitterly, laying down on his back to look at the sky.

"Get away from her," Smokedog demanded as he trotted up.  "The vampire trying to bite her, the dog coming after me-"

Darelove's eyes shifted under their lids, and Silveredge leaned down to gently blow air across them.  Before long, the archer squinted in response to the passing breeze.

"Still with us," the Shadar-kai confirmed quietly.

"You're to blame," the vampire responded slowly.  Smokedog glowered, certain that the comment had been for him.  "Finish the job, lamb.  Use your weeds- quickly."

"I said get away," Smokedog demanded, reaching forward to grab Silveredge's hands.  He pushed her backward, toward Vhalan, who ground his teeth instantly.  Niku growled protectively, but Smokedog simply picked Darelove up- waking her up in the process.  "You're all- something ain't right with you.  Hound ain't got no business defending undead against the living.  Ain't natural.  We're going back."

"No," Darelove muttered, barely able to be heard.

"If you will take her," Vhalan began, still looking up at the sky, "check for disease."

"You're full of it, Bats," Smokedog retorted.  "If there was gonna be sickness, I'd've smelled it first.  You might get a little furry when the mood takes you, but I was born and raised natural.  You can go-"

"I want to finish," Darelove managed, her voice stronger.

"I only saw bruises, but infection is possible- perhaps we should all go back," Silveredge suggested gently.

"No," Darelove insisted, trying to sit up out of Smokedog's arms.  "I want to finish this.  Let me stand."

Vhalan rolled over and got to his feet with a sigh.  "I am confident in your ability to hold your own, lamb.  I will return."

"As you say," Silveredge answered patiently, dropping her gaze.  Niku, not convinced that Vhalan's separation and free wandering was a good idea, began to whine his discontent.  The Shadar-kai tried to quiet the hound discreetly, but couldn't manage.

"Will I explain myself to a puppy?" Vhalan asked, only half serious.  Pulling the sewn crest of Yrel-Ades out of his waistpouch, the pale skinned creature knelt and held it out.  "Take his scent, you bit of tat, and follow it.  You have two hours."  The hound bounded up to him, buried his face in the crest, picked up his head, and took off.  Folding the crest up and tucking it back into the pouch, Vhalan disappeared from view.  Silveredge wordlessly turned to begin trotting after the hound.

"Dare, we can-" Smokedog began as the smaller female wriggled her way out of his arms.

"Let's do this," she replied, searching around to recover her bow and quiver.  "I don't want to go back and say, 'We saw shamblers and I ran away.'  Can't give Sir Fangs the pleasure."

"These three aren't right, I tell you," the werewolf argued, looking after the running hound.  "No living animal is supposed to prefer blood suckers over natural pack mates."

"Maybe they are their own pack," Darelove shrugged, fitting her quiver back over her head and jumping slightly as it touched one of her bruises.  "Let's just see this through- for our clan.  c'mon, Deadriver promised the old man."

The moon had reached its highest point by the time the hound sat down, panting.  Vhalan reappeared a short distance behind him, and Silveredge was the first of the three to make it to the slight dune that looked down upon a tumbled fortress.  The ground around it seemed blighted, and the edifice itself- carved of a grey, mottled rock that was wholly unfamiliar to the area- looked frightfully out of place.  A vibration of chilly energy brushed over the Shadar-kai, who allowed a concerned frown to cross her face.

"That's not real," she breathed.

"Your senses are sharpening," Vhalan agreed.  "And the image hasn't fooled your son, either- yet, Svaentok is there."

The fortress disappeared into mist, and shamblers suddenly pulled themselves from the ground where it had just stood.

"We must have been very close before, then, to be attacked like that," Silveredge sighed, sitting down on the ground.  "But whatever archmage is responsible will simply take Svaentok away from us when we are discovered."

Darelove and Smokedog arrived at last, as Vhalan shook his head in disagreement.  Darelove had a noticeable limp, and Smokedog's face seemed snarled into a permanent scowl.

"It stood, plain and unmoving, until you arrived," the tutor argued.  "Whoever is in charge is not responding properly to all possible threats."

"Shall my lord and Niku go alone, then?" Silveredge asked, truly concerned.

"The Firebird mortals can go back, as the male wished," Vhalan sniffed.  "A lame archer is more a liability than a help, and it is foolhardy to send her back alone."

"Shall I also return?"

Vhalan laughed bitterly.  "I cannot teach you self-respect.  How much do you think Svaentok will want to fight me, once he is freed?"

"None of us are going anywhere until your missing packmate gets found," Darelove whispered fiercely, getting the impression that she was being watched.  "Smokedog'll carry me if it shakes down to that.  But as many of those shamblers caught my arrows as bit your chains, and I ain't going back just to shrug and say 'I'm sorry' to the old man."

Vhalan closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his lips firming and thinning considerably.  "You reek of coming fever.  Take your own puppy and go back."

"How many times do I gotta tell you, Sir Fangs?" Darelove crabbed, crossing her arms.  "I'm not your pet.  Now, what's the plan?"

"The smell of fever may be attractive to those searching for more bodies and souls to do their will," Silveredge suggested quietly.

"No," Vhalan replied, his voice sharp.

"That makes sense," Darelove encouraged.  "If we can draw them out, we can take them down on our terms, instead of trying to march on the place."

"Absolutely not," Vhalan repeated, glaring at Darelove.  "It is unreasonable to abandon a living creature in the lap of the unliving with the ridiculous intention of setting a sentient trap-"

"It ain't abandonment if the bait's asking for it," Darelove retorted.

Vhalan sighed bitterly, then moved away from the group.  Silveredge patted the side of her leg to grab Niku's attention, then wisely walked behind the vampire.

"Once, my lord was a man of faith," she began carefully.  "It is unfortunate that it was wasted on companions that did not protect and a god that did not guide."

"I am still a man of faith, lamb," Vhalan replied with a strange buoyancy that chilled Silveredge.  "I believe wholeheartedly that the female will go down to her death and the male will abhor me for the rest of his days.  Let us see whether the Nameless Goddess and I agree or no."