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.
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