2:55 Moving out.

"Turn to the left."

And the seven foot, green and ivory scaled Dragonborn did exactly as he was told, noticing the immaculate green tapestry as he did so.  Arching patterns reached themselves up the cloth like spiderwebs, graceful in their bitter simplicity.  Master Ranclyffe, who stood on the other side of a book in which words seemed to appear when she spoke, sighed as she took in the view.

"Scales dull, but no further deterioration.  Right."

The male shuffled a bit, and the older mage moved around the book to look over the entire side with an eye so sharp that it could have taken flesh away with it when she tore her gaze away.

"Green scales, color faded," she pronounced as she returned to the other side of the book.  "Silver scales, dull.  How many people do you remember harming during your stay?"

Aleksei's gaze floated slowly to the ceiling.  "Two- one is dead."

"Lucid- for now.  Thank you; move along."

"Mne budet vas ne hvatat'."

Soft spoken though it was, the mage's ears still caught the sentimental phrase.  She glowered at Aleksei, who smirked sheepishly.  When she turned herself away, his right shoulder was pushed at by the only guard in Urmlaspyr who was anywhere near his size- a lumbering Human who seemed to care very little about the proceeding.

Aleksei and his lack-luster attendant plodded at an agonizing pace, and got to the apprentice mage much more slowly than was obviously intended.  Pohatkon, who'd been waiting there with arms crossed five minutes before the Dragonborn had even appeared before Master Ranclyffe, had a glare of his own for the guard.

"Oh, come up for supper, I see," the high captain remarked sharply.  "His name's already in the register.  Clan, patronymic and all.  The only one of its kind in there for years.  If finding it overtaxes your competence, just ask me for the torture records when I get back, since he was there, too."

Without bothering to get an answer from either the Human guard who stood like a stone or the Eladrin male that withered under the weight of his voice, Pohatkon turned on his heel and marched out toward the courtyard.

Outside, the freshly minted lord captain had taken a stand between an older Dragonborn and Aleksei's grindstone-like advance toward the five purple and gold clad guards that waited with their commander beyond him.  Grinding his teeth, the high captain marched directly toward the confrontation.

This early morning, the orange-scaled wyrmkeeper sported light blue robes that appeared to be mere pajamas compared to his normal clothing.  Even though the hemlines sparkled with quartz, gold and sapphire, it seemed less ridiculous and more along the lines of an actual sacred vestment- though one probably reserved for some high service.  Upon Pohatkon's advance, the older Dragonborn turned his attentions and unfortunately caught sight of Aleksei behind him.  Ignoring the high captain completely, he shouted shamelessly at the captive behind him.

"The works of your hands- the desires of your heart- you cannot escape them!" he hollered, distracting nearly every inner guard within earshot with the strain of his voice.  "Your choices will haunt you everywhere you go!"

"And what about that makes him different from you, or me?" Pohatkon shot back immediately.  "All males and females I have had the displeasure of knowing have made choices that they later come to regret."

The wyrmkeeper scoffed, barely casting a glance at the sharp featured Human.  "You know nothing of-"

"I'm tired of you running around here telling folks what they know nothing about," the high captain sighed, his left arm and open hand flicking upward in a sudden gesture of dismissal.  "No matter what he's done, you're no longer each other's concern, so get gone.  No, don't say something else; go away, please, thank you."

Two inner guards stopped talking to each other farther away in the courtyard and, upon hearing the last phrase, nodded to each other.  Without so much as a courtesy warning, they flanked the wyrmkeeper and began walking him out of the courtyard.  Pohatkon nodded slowly.

"Thank you two- and wash your hands before you come back!"

As Aleksei finally made it all the way to the center of the courtyard, where the Human guard stopped moving as though he'd been a golem whose enchantment was hardly powerful enough to move the stone, Karth trotted around the gathered purple-plated guards and met Pohatkon with an outstretched hand.

"Congratulations, man," he breathed with a smile as the two shook hands.  "I'd hoped you'd be up for a promotion soon- not this way, of course, but, 'tis good all the same."

"You've gone up the ladder of importance yourself, MacSairlen," Pohatkon nodded.  "Not every soldier goes straight from firstsword to roadcaptain like that."

"What they've gone and done is given me fourteen men to lead to a maukit death chasing a blasted vampire witch," the Human sighed, scrubbing his right hand through his wealth of red hair.  "Could use a hand with that, really."

"So thinks Master Ranclyffe, who bid me scrape up some scabs that nobody'll miss when they drop," Pohatkon nodded.  "I can do you one better.  There's half a dozen men in irons whose only crime was to be without money.  Most of them can fight, but some of them need a flagon or two first.  Shall I send them with you?"

"Not without giving them a proper deal," MacSairlen urged.  "If they come back, they come back freed."

"Debt paid, and free to go wherever their hearts desire, the hells included," Pohatkon smirked.  "Done.  You're as good man as any I've worked with.  Sir, I've not yet had the pleasure?"

"This is Swordcaptain Akrias Shesua, who's been through the hells coming through slaver raids to get here," Karth explained.  "Cart what was brought for the biggun's smashed to bits, and twa of his men're already dead."

Shesua, who was either a tall Dwarf or a short and incredibly hairy Human, marched over with Luvec and offered his hand, which Pohatkon carefully took.  The vise-like grip brought a wince to the Human's face, which Luvec tried not to laugh at.

"Quite a task ye have before ye, Sir Sakoda, in this Urmlaspyr," Shesua noted gravely as the two let go of each other.  "I bear ye no envy.  'Tis a pity the Crown would not send a greater number with the roadcaptain, that he may in his absence defend this place against such as I saw in my travel here.  I fear my men, though brave and well-tested they be, be not prepared for what this place has in such short order become."

"I'll do my best, gods aiding and permitting," Pohatkon replied in a professional tone that Luvec was certain he'd never heard before.  "Yet, as for this creature, he is powerful when he is in his right mind.  I have little doubt that he should even come to defend you, if the need presented itself."

"And if it doesn't, he'll be otherwise as docile as a trained pup," Luvec added.  "Rae did as much weaving with him as with Terry these few days gone."

"Well enough," Shesua nodded.  "I shall allow my men to-"

"Excuse me, I'm sorry," an inner guard breathed as she jogged toward the gathering of commanding officers.  "We've got a Dark Quarter Drow out front, saying he's got something for the Dragonborn.  Won't let us see it or touch it.  Says it's dangerous for the likes of us; that only the-"

"It's frenzywater," Luvec smirked wryly.  "One of your favorites, wasn't it?"

And Aleksei, who didn't feel much like speaking at the moment, simply nodded.

"Let him pass, and any that says they knew him," Pohatkon replied.  "We don't know what Ranclyffe's father's going to do to the male- may kill him."

As the guard bowed and trotted back the way she'd come, Shesua turned his attention back to the sharp brown eyes of the high captain.

"Battlemage Ranclyffe is a capable man," he said in a strange cross between a consilatory tone and a threatening one.  "It is not like that he should kill him with poor practice."

"No, no, none of that," Pohatkon remarked as he watched two guards return, escorting a dark Elf who sported an apron and a small, bottle-shaped cloth bag.  "I'm thinking it'll be a mercy killing, if those worms Master Ranclyffe is talking about get him crossed up.  Hail, ser; what's in the purse?"

"All the wishes of all the Dark Quarter," the Drow replied.  "It's quite potent; one must be very cautious, you understand.  Every other patron I've seen couldn't have taken much more than a sip of it, but this soul ordered a proper shot of it every morning- for breakfast."

"This is expensive," Aleksei noted immediately.  "It is honor greater than my actions deserve."

"You can say that because you hadn't lived long among us, suffering the way we did with that lot beneath and around us, before you took action," the Drow said, shaking his head as Shesua gingerly took the bottle from him.  "Wendre put in the order, but Illie can't keep a secret.  Once everyone else found out- well, now it's from all of us."

"If she is long staying with you, she will learn to better keep her secrets," Aleksei laughed.

"There's only so much to be done with my darling," the dark Elf smirked, truly amused.  "A proper matron mother she'll never make, but I am Drow enough for both of us.  May you die swiftly at the hands of your closest friend."

"Don't worry," Luvec whispered to Pohatkon and Shesua.  "For a Drow, that's a blessing."

"It is my privilege to speak with you, Valryn."

And with that, the Drow left, again escorted on either side by a inner guard.  Shesua put the bottle of frenzywater into his pouch and lifted his hand to motion to his men.  Quietly and seriously, the men brought over a lead chain and manacles to replace the set that Aleksei was already wearing.  While mildly offended by the idea that Urmlaspyr's chains were not good or strong enough for them, Pohatkon managed to be quiet about it.  Just before Aleksei got down to one knee to receive a chained collar, two females appeared without any guard escort- one Tiefling in a loose and lovely scarlet dress that ended at her knees, and one Shadar-kai with a dark grey dress that played about her calves.  Around and ahead of them charged a short-haired, light tan dog with swirling red battle tattoos.  Pohatkon was just going to ask who they were when MacSairlen crossed his arms and addressed them.

"Mi'ishaen- Silveredge.  You're lucky to not be yet in the cells," he laughed, apparently unable to hold a straight stare.  "And have we nae talked about keeping that pup on a strap?"

"Well, we had to move quickly," the Tiefling shrugged.  "Our husband is being walked to Cormyr in chains, and no one bothered to tell either of us."

Pohatkon watched Aleksei waver for the first time since the torture chamber, his tone stretched somewhere between surprise and concern.  "You are leaving from where you are now to come find me?"

"Well, since you're no better than these milk-sponge brains, knowing you're going to be moved to an entirely different country, at five days' distance, without saying a blasted word to either one of us," the Tiefling charged.  "What did you expect us to do when we found out, paint our nails, prance about and twirl our fingers in each other's hair?"

Pohatkon and Luvec looked at each other strangely.  Shesua raised an eyebrow at them, then turned his attentions to the Dragonborn.

"And so, by the count of this man," he began, referring to Luvec, "you have two girlfriends and two wives?  It seems to me that worms in the head isn't the only malady you suffer."

"That every man should suffer so dearly," Pohatkon whispered jokingly, provoking Luvec to give him a sharp slap to the back of the shoulder.

"You had girlfriends, too?" the Tiefling charged, hands on her hips as she leveled a glare at Aleksei's one functional eye.  The Dragonborn, catching a familiar glint in her lovely crimson eyes, merely smiled.

"Let us have Master Ranclyffe examine them both for the sickness," Luvec suggested.  "Perhaps that might explain their actions as well?"

"They were both examined before they left the cells- and this one was in and out twice," Pohatkon reminded.  "Ranclyffe gave each girlfriend a once-over as well.  If any of them were suffering the same illness, she would have said something."

"Illness or no illness, chains or no chains, we go where he does," Mi'ishaen stated flatly.  "And this girlfriend conversation is not over, m'lord.  I want details."

"I am much missing you, and not able to find you," Aleksei finally managed to reply quietly.  "Maybe I am spending too much time in tavern?"

"You get out of the lockup for public drunken carousing, and you go back to a tavern!" the dark-haired Tiefling huffed, crossing her arms.

"Is she the only one of the two of you that gets to tear into him like this?" Pohatkon asked the Shadar-kai with a smile.  "She sounds like my wife."

"She is the first, and I honor her," Silveredge replied, as though that explained everything.  The perfectly executed way in which she lowered her eyes as she curtsied left Pohatkon with a strange feeling in his chest.

"Come, get up," he urged, not wanting to even explain to himself what he'd felt.

"Shall they go with him?" Shesua asked Pohatkon simply.  "And if they do, shall they also share his chains?"

"They are not needing chains," Aleksei interrupted calmly as he received his collar and stood to his full height again.  He looked like a dangerous beast- chained by his neck to one guard, by his hands to another, and by his waist to still two others.  "Every time I am being made prisoner, they are not leaving me.  When I am free, this is not always true."

"There you have it, Swordcaptain," Pohatkon shrugged.  "May as well move out while you have the power of the day on your side."

Luvec thought for a few moments, then interjected.  "If there's any trouble, bind them up to either side of you; that should do it."

"This is very dangerous thing you are asking him," Aleksei smirked.  "They are not delicate."

"He's got that right," Pohatkon sighed, remembering meeting Mi'shaen in the torture room.  "He's got more feeling for this one than she has for herself.  Go on- if you're going with him, then go.  You're wasting daylight, and you know the Semmites have been bold of late."

"I humbly thank you," Aleksei rumbled with as much of a bow as he could.  "As I am leaving here, the Reaver is leaving with me.  May your people grow stronger, and put off their enemies like one is shaking off old robes."

Saying nothing, Pohatkon raised his arm, and Shesua turned to bark orders to his soldiers, who obediently marched.  Karth marched to the gates of the courtyard with them, then stood at attention to watch them go without him.  As Aleksei, Mi'ishaen and Silveredge left- with the hound still going without a lead or collar- Luvec leaned his head back slightly.

"You've realized something- what?" Pohatkon asked.

"What he said- sounds like he thinks he's the Rooftop Reaver himself," Luvec noted.  "You heard that, right?"

"And I ignored it," Pohatkon admitted.  "Talk to your daughter about what he'd just come out and say sometimes- it's baffling, really.  That kind of thing makes me think those worms are real and dangerous.  The Rooftop Reaver killed people while he was sitting in jail.  How he thinks that we now no longer have to bother with that creature just because he's leaving- it's beyond me."

"Well, that's the last of them," Karth sighed as he walked back into the courtyard.  "We'd better get to work- what've you done with Ntoru?"

"Oh!" Pohatkon grimaced, remembering.  "Give me about a half hour; I forgot to turn her right side up."

He turned and trotted toward the jail, and Karth pegged Luvec with a look of confusion.

"They call him 'Ser Sadist,' " Luvec explained as they turned to follow the high captain's path.

"Master Ranclyffe didn't stop him from getting her into the-"

"She isn't much for warning or protecting people," Luvec admitted.  "When Ntoru wouldn't name who she was working with, Master Ranclyffe got up and left the cell without saying another word."

"So, with a borderline sociopathic court mage and a high captain so zealous in his torture methods that he's actually called Ser Sadist, no one on the council has thought to temper-"

"That, MacSairlen, would be my job," Luvec laughed as the two began the long descent to the torture chamber.  "Welcome back to Urmlaspyr."

2:54 Interference.

"So that's aberration?  The fact that she-"

Mi'ishaen was interrupted by a rapid fire pecking.  She repressed the urge to look for the messenger, but Silveredge looked up into the few pitiful trees that grew low in the area.

"I suppose it is late enough at night to be early morning," she commented softly, "but it's unusual to hear the stirring of birds-"

And then she herself was cut off by the sudden, sharp cry of some large bird- the sound of it stopped all her forward motion, which surprised Mi'ishaen into stillness next to her.  A split second later, she noticed that she had closed some of the precious little distance between their bodies.

"Are you alright?" she asked, leaning forward slightly to look into Silveredge's face.  The Shadar-kai shook her head quickly, and with a look of distant concern.

"Betzal- I'm certain that's Betzal-"

Another avian screech- a higher one- echoed up to the two females standing still in the massive graveyard.  Niku bounced around in front of them without barking, and Mi'ishaen began looking up into the trees herself.  She caught movement on the horizon that gave toward the docks, and turned her back on it quickly.

"Do you know that second one?" she asked after a few moments of silence had gone by.

The rapid pecking came again, and Silveredge finally caught hold of Mi'ishaen's hand.

"I don't know who that is," she responded quietly.  "Elder Sakhma doesn't have a companion, so the only other raven down there is Vashte.  And I can't remember ever hearing her voice."

"Maybe it's some bird out here, then," Mi'ishaen reasoned, feeling strangely weighted by Silveredge's grasp.

"There's no bird out here," Silveredge breathed quietly, releasing Mi'ishaen's hand and turning her attention to the entrance of the catacombs.  "There are shadows, though.  Long ones.  Perhaps you will go look at them."

"I- they're not going to let me down there, you know," Mi'ishaen called as the Shadar-kai moved away.  "You're the convert, not me.  They're liable to make me a permanent resident."

"My lord, the Shepherd Aric, is kind- remember when I told you?  Not even when Bahlzair spat in the fire did he wish any harm to him," Silveredge reminded gently as she began to descend.  "I'll wait for you, though, in the hall."

Mi'ishaen turned around and looked up again, then moved down away from the source of the tapping- toward the water.  In a few minutes, she was intercepted by a figure that stepped out of the shadow of a stark, leafless tree.

"She's smart, Dodge," a Human male breathed, coming close to her at once.  "You're trying to play it down, but she's gonna be on the business end of a knife or a arrow pretty soon."

"Dark can talk to her like a woman," Mi'ishaen replied.  "Just like she did to me.  And she hasn't witnessed anything, so if somebody starts-"

"She hasn't," the Human admitted.  "you're right.  She doesn't go looking for trouble, but if she keeps point blank seeing right through-"

"I said, let Dark handle her like a grown woman.  She deserves it.  She's a pickpocket extraordinaire, and she can disappear into any shadow naturally- I've seen her do it.  And she's got a better handle on how to manipulate people than anyone would ever give her credit for at first glance- sometimes I don't even know what she's really saying.  She's a born rogue; I can vouch for her."

The dark haired, rosy faced young man looked deeply into the red eyes before him until they had to tear themselves away.  He sighed deeply, but quietly, telling himself that he would, in fact, remind Dark that the Shadar-kai did have a proven affinity with the shadows. 

"Well, here's the message- the Cormite convoy sent for Leath- um- for the Dragonborn isn't gonna come 'til tomorrow, because a Semmite ambush busted the cart to shit and killed nearly half the soldiers.  Everybody left has to go on foot.  Dark says if you wanna go, she can make a place for you in the company.  And she's already gotten to work on that ring research- wanted to get started on it as soon as we heard about it."

"You guys eavesdrop just a little too much," Mi'ishaen grumbled.  "I guess I was going to ask her, but whatever.  Tell her that if I get a place, Silveredge gets talked to like a grown woman.  It's her ring we're looking for anyway, and I can promise that I'm not going to be nice to anybody who tries to get rid of her 'for the good of Spectre'."

"I'll tell her, I'll tell her," the messenger laughed lightly.  "We've got a day to tie the ends up, so come on up out of this hole as soon as you can."

Mi'ishaen turned away from the Human, walking back toward the entrance to the catacombs.  It was so plain, so like a simple hole stuck into the ground, that she passed it twice- and as she did, got an opportunity to notice some of the engravings on the plethora of tombstones that spread out around it.  This or that man, killed by Semmite siege, this or that woman, died in childbirth, this or that noble killed in honorable combat, this or that child, lost to disease.  Another sharp bird cry alerted Mi'ishaen to her reverie as well as to the entrance to the catacombs, and she descended the cut stone stair quickly.  Once she'd gone so low that she could no longer see the sky, a carved hallway stretched before her.  At the other end, where the hallway began to slope downward again, there stood an old, scarred man with a staff and a vigorously young- if a bit pale- man who stood right next to him.  Both males sported large black birds on their shoulders, as though they were falconers.  Silveredge knelt before them both, which sparked a defiant spirit in the Tiefling, who couldn't keep her feelings from powering her steps and rising into her face.

"Welcome, child," the older male said calmly, his worn, reedy voice settling into Mi'ishaen's bones like heavy clay.  "It is good to at last meet the one for whose fate this dedicant has so faithfully prayed."  On his shoulder, the large black bird turned its head so that one of its eyes stared directly at the Tiefling, who felt irked by its gaze.

"You chose well, lamb," the pale male said to Silveredge.  "Surely this one will keep a knee in your back for the rest of your days."

"Who the hell are you?" Mi'ishaen asked immediately, inexplicably insulted by the comment.

"This is Elder Vhalan, who is the chain master," Silveredge explained, turning her head over her shoulder.  "He is very perceptive, in his way.  And this is Shepherd Aric, who leads us all- he is blessed with the beyond-sight."

"Well, they can both keep it to themselves, thank you so very much," Mi'ishaen stated flatly.  "Do what you have to do here and let's go- we have a convoy to catch."

"I go where you will have me," Silveredge replied.  "I hope my masters will understand?"

"They're not your masters," Mi'ishaen replied, squeezing her eyes shut as she realized her own words.  "No one is- you get to choose where you want to go.  I-"

"I'm glad you thought to bring me along," Silveredge interrupted, turning half way around to put a hand on Mi'ishaen's foot.

"You'll always have a place here, my daughter," Aric smiled.  "No matter how far you go."

"And I will expect you to continue honing your understanding of your implement," Vhalan added.  As he spoke, Mi'ishaen got a glimpse of his fangs and nearly jumped.  "Interesting- your fear flashes quickly before your violent response like a streak of lightning before a torrential downpour.  Not rank, more- like still-warm coals in a furnace- I suppose it's the touch of the Hells."

"And you all sit down here with a vampire like that?" Mi'ishaen shot back, feeling again as though she'd been insulted.  "What are you, all insane?"

"I have known Elder Vhalan for some time," Aric replied simply, adjusting his stance around his cane with a phantom, well-hidden pain.  "There are stronger forces at work here than you can now imagine- though it may come, in time.  If you will allow it, of course.  I have no doubt that Jyklihaimra will find in you a loyalty very similar to that which I find in this my brother.  Indeed, and it must exceed it, in order to survive."

"Oh, that's enough," Mi'ishaen spat, lifting her arms in surrender.  "I can see why Bahlzair- okay, never mind.  Just- just never mind."  With that, the Tiefling turned and marched right back up and out of the hallway to the catacombs.

"She tries so hard to give you the freedom that she cherishes," Vhalan smirked.  "But you crave her dominance- you invite it."

"I'll go with her," Silveredge breathed.  "It's what she wishes."

"Have you learned so little, lamb?" the vampire replied, reaching down to lift the Shadar-kai to her feet.  "Speak of and for yourself.  You wish to be with her."  He brushed her cheek with the back of two of his fingers and sighed.  "Even without Aric's blessing or my curse, you know her.  You can feel her feelings as you do magic- truly a gift of your delicate soul."

"My lord will forgive my leaving?" Silveredge asked hopefully.  "I have spent so little time as your student."

"There was time enough," Vhalan replied.  "You must be much better when you return.  What I have been will be weak and haphazard in comparison to what I will be."

On his shoulder, Vashte turned her head to one side and ruffled her feathers, as though she were showing off.  Silveredge, who remembered her old perch, simply smiled.


Above ground, Mi'ishaen was slowly making her way back toward the Dark Quarter when she saw a familiar figure moving down toward the entrance to the catacombs.

"Hey- Seyashen?" she called, relatively certain that there was only one maimed Tiefling in the town.

"Mi'ishaen!" Seyashen replied gratefully, quickly making his way to her.  "I'd figured I might find you near Silveredge- well, I at least figured I could ask her where you were.  Are you too converted to the ways of the Raven Queen?"

"For gods' sakes, no," Mi'ishaen sighed, rolling her eyes.  "The day someone can explain to me why they think the gods are responsible for the outcomes in their lives and actually make logical sense, then you may have to worry about that, but since that'll never happen, just assume that I'll believe in greed, hate, war and death until the ending of the world."

"Love," Seyashen prompted.  "Don't forget love."

"You've seen it; I remember," Mi'ishaen shrugged.  "What were you looking for me for?"

"A convoy's coming for Aleksei from Cormyr," Seyashen replied.  "Seems as though he's going to have his head poked at- and for whatever reason, the Merchant Council didn't trust the Bone College to do the poking.  I-"

"What, did they stop and ask you for directions?" Mi'ishaen laughed.  "I thought Aleksei was supposed to be publicly punished somehow, not shipped off to the dream land that no one here has apparently ever seen."

"Iaden," Seyashen sighed heavily.  "I would have stayed quiet in the Bone College cellars, if Iaden hadn't kept asking me to tell you."

Mi'ishaen stared at Seyashen as though he'd just admitted to eating his own offal.

"My older brother has been dead for years."

Seyashen's form seemed to wither slightly, as though Mi'ishaen's terse statement had been the radiant and unforgiving glare of the noonday sun.
"I know."

"So then how-"

"He's here," Seyashen interrupted, his voice very small.  "They all- they're always here.  With me.  Hundreds of spirits, walking between, around and through the living, looking over their shoulders, whispering unheard messages- but, I can hear them.  I hear them all."

"He's here?" Mi'ishaen asked, trying to keep the cynicism out of her voice.

"Yes."

"And he told you about Aleksei?"

"I wouldn't have known any other way," Seyashen replied simply.  "I study with the Master Inquisitor Semnemac.  Sometimes he doesn't come out of the Stonerows for days- and I stay right with him, until I have to eat, or bathe.  He- people think he's mad, but- but it's just like it is for me.  He sees everything I do- it's the first time I've ever met anyone like me.  But sometimes things on the outside world go by.  I honestly would not have known anything about Aleksei even being imprisoned if it hadn't been for Iaden."

"Why would Iaden even care about Aleksei?" Mi'ishaen frowned.  "He died fighting Dragonborn-"

"He died doing as he was commanded," Seyashen corrected.  "There was no hate in him, you know there wasn't.  There's no hate in you, either- just bitterness.  He gave his life protecting his home-"

"Which fell apart anyway," Mi'ishaen interrupted sharply.

"He regrets that!" Seyashen charged.  "He regrets leaving you.  If he had it to do again, he wouldn't.  He-"

For a few moments, the hornless Tiefling's golden eyes looked at something else- there was a sliding of focus so strange that Mi'ishaen wanted to check his back for fatal knives or arrows.

"He would have taken- taken you with him to- back to Maelvalle or-"

"To where?" Mi'ishaen suddenly interjected.

"Maelvalle," Seyashen repeated, his eyes abruptly refocusing.   "Where he-"

"And where was I born?"

"Vor Kragal," Seyashen replied, confused.  "Why-"

"What did Mama call Papa when she thought we weren't listening?"

Mi'ishaen felt a strange chill, as though a breeze had just passed.  Not a single leaf on any tree moved, however, and she watched as Seyashen's eyes glazed over again- just for a few seconds.

"Mencho."

"What did he do with his precious stone collection?"

Mi'ishaen stared directly into Seyashen's eyes, and watched them lose focus for a breath before snapping back into living reality.

"Sold it," he said, nearly whispering.  "to buy Noc'mala.  Please believe me, he-"

Mi'ishaen closed her eyes and held up a hand to shush her cousin.

"Tell him he's got nothing to regret.  He did what he was told- he was the responsible one- the good one."

"But he's also the dead one," Seyashen urged, moving forward and grabbing Mi'ishaen's shoulders before she had time to move away.  "He's glad you question things more than he ever did.  He's very proud of you."

"Maelvalle collapsed," Mi'ishaen shot suddenly, not sure where the anger that suddenly laced her voice had come from.  "It fell into the Hells or something, so we'd both have been dead anyway!  I probably wouldn't have wanted to go; I'd have been scared.  But he was always brave, always.  Tell him that.  He did what he had to, and I understand, I do.  Tell him it's- that I'm fine.  Tell him I-" Mi'ishaen stopped herself and sighed deeply.  "Never mind.  I'll find this convoy, see this Cormyr for myself- you coming too?"

Seyashen shook his head as he released his cousin and backed up a pace.  "I've applied for permanent registration- for citizenship.  I have so much to learn-"

"From a madman?"

"From a man who sees exactly what I see, and hears exactly what I hear," Seyashen reminded.  "Maybe madness is the price I'll pay someday, but it's better than what- it's better than being a bitter old lich, how's that?"

And surprisingly, Mi'ishaen stepped forward and hugged Seyashen tightly.  "You're all the family I have left.  You'd better not undead-ify yourself, or go crazy, or just disappear or something."

Seyashen accepted, then returned the embrace.  "If I promise not to undead-ify myself or go crazy, will you promise me that you'll learn to read and write?"

Mi'ishaen didn't bother to ask how he knew that she was illiterate, assuming that either she'd told him herself or he'd spoken to some spirit who didn't know how to keep a secret.  "I'll try.  You know, Iaden didn't, either."

"So he said," Seyashen laughed lightly.  "It's never too late to learn- even for him."

"So you two will- I dunno, I guess stick around each other?" Mi'ishaen asked, leaning back to look up at Seyashen's golden gaze.

"I've done significant research on precisely what happened to him," Seyashen replied with a sigh as he released the embrace completely.  "It seems that one of the lords of the Hells enchanted Noc'mala and made him a death knight- he has more leeway than most other spirits, and can come and go as he wishes with no other focus than the desire to spread death and destruction."

Mi'ishaen shrugged.  "That's not really his style.  Knowing him, he'll wait until he gets told to spread death and destruction, and then he'll ask precisely how many people need to catch it."

The chill breeze passed by again, and Mi'ishaen shivered in spite of herself, feeling as though it had gone straight through her clothing and into her bones.

"That would have been a hug," Seyashen explained apologetically.

"I'll take it," Mi'ishaen smirked, rubbing the back of her neck with her knuckles.  "Take care of each other, you two."

A grateful smile spread across Seyashen's face, and with one final, tight hug, he turned and moved back up toward the Bone College.  Mi'ishaen pivoted slightly to watch him go, but still caught the nearly imperceptible sound of movement just off to her right side.  She chose not to turn toward it just yet.

"How much did you hear?"

"The whole thing," Silveredge admitted quietly, stopping her advance immediately.  Much farther behind, Niku obediently sat with his heavy head on both paws.  "I lost my sisters.  All three of them.  I was the only one that survived the tiarnaí- they just- couldn't."

Mi'ishaen stared straight ahead of her, not willing to move a muscle.  Silveredge, sensing a Bahlzair-like need to hurt something, finished her intended movement to her side and knelt down.

"At this hour, I should be training," she admitted quietly.

Mi'ishaen reached a hand out to Silveredge without looking at her.  "I have a lot to do."

"If you tell me what to put my hands to, it's done," Silveredge replied calmly.

"Remember that time when Aleksei said we were both his wives, and you just went right along with it like he was right?"

Niku, somehow feeling as though something exciting were going to happen soon, got up and trotted to close the distance between himself and Silveredge, who took Mi'ishaen's hand and stood.

"I'm going to get some things from the place I was staying," Mi'ishaen concluded, taking Silveredge's silence as an encouragement.  "Meet me at the mouth of the prisons tomorrow?"

And in response, Mi'ishaen felt her hand get squeezed ever so gently.
In the distance, a tapping began again.
Both women ignored it.

2:53: And the wolf shall lie down with the sheep.

As evening stretched itself into the wee hours of the morning, Aric felt a presence near his face.  He didn't bother turning his head.

"As you will, Betzal," he thought, knowing there was hardly a need to even speak the words aloud.

But instead, the raven tucked his head and pressed it into Aric's cheek- an urging that the Shepherd didn't need to receive twice.  In moments, he had swung himself off his barely-cushioned bed, rinsed his face and arms in his basin, thrown his robe over himself and taken up his cane.  Betzal spread his majestic wingspan and took off, flapping down the hallway with the same ease with which he would have taken to open air- and at first, Aric believed that that was exactly where they were headed.  When Betzal suddenly broke to his left down Vhalan's hallway, a heavy realization descended upon the Shepherd.

"Let his thread be still woven with ours," he prayed inwardly, "Yet, if it must be cut..."

Circling back for a moment, Betzal turned his head into the flesh of Aric's cheek, and with closed eyes, Aric could almost feel the Raven Queen herself stretching between planes of existence to strengthen him. 

"...I will bear the shears."

Steadied and determined, Aric moved forward- past the murals, past the flame-less candles, and into the lair of a male who had once been every bit as Human as he.  Deep inside, past the unfinished sculptures, stood the alabaster-skinned Vhalan- fully clothed and at rest, with paints and brush in hand.  He was so focused on shaping the image on his canvas that at first, Aric was not certain his approach- as heavy as his cane-assisted limping sounded to him- had even been heard.

"It is good to see you creating beauty again," the Shepherd stated aloud, with the benefit of about an eighth of his vocal power.  Still, it was enough to stop the brush's motion in the listener's hand.  "All the sacred candles are out; you could have come and gone.   As you wished.  With every mortal in here at your mercy."

Vhalan merely put his paints and brush down calmly, then turned to sit down in his heavy wooden chair.  Once in it, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

"I need not keep you here with ropes and gags," Aric stated clearly.  "You didn't touch any other living creature.  And you destroyed her so completely that- well.  It is as Svaentok says.  You fear to become a sire."

"That is... only partially true."  Vhalan set his head properly upright again, but did not open his eyes immediately.  "Silveredge, whose lovely form cries out to be dominated, is still pitifully mortal."

"Not for lack of effort," Aric scoffed.  "You pressed that poor child so hard some nights that I could not sleep until I had seen with my own eyes that your fangs had not met her flesh."

"My desire to enthrall her nearly consumed me," Vhalan replied quietly.  "And the Queen is wise; no other mortal but you would willingly do what she did, presenting herself like passive bait before Enmech not once, but twice.  I could empower her, uplift her, sharpen every sense- but even she, lovely, intelligent, considerate creature that she is- might have turned hideous and hateful, if my blood touched her soul.  I remembered my own sire, who in his power was utterly destroyed at my hands, while only the barest flickers of his rage and hunger had only begun to burn themselves into me, and-"

Aric had to restrain himself from scoffing.  "You're nothing like your sire.  Despite every temptation, every opportunity, and every threat, you did not destroy your hosts- until Baruk.  You enjoyed that, I know- the glory of your revenge was palpable, even at my distance.  Now, Quilafae must have made you work harder for the kill, but there was no exultant rage- you may as well have been tearing an old tunic into rags, or destroying a useless pot.  Why was it so different the second time?"

"Your sacrifice enabled that restraint; reminded me of the parts of me that were not fully monstrous.  She was yours, and you loaned her to me; I was... slower... to destroy her than I would have been had she been only mine."  Vhalan finally opened his eyes again to notice that Aric had moved to look at the painting on which he'd been working.  "I owe you much.  Why torture yourself, Aric?"

Aric slowly turned his scarred face over his shoulder to look at Vhalan, then faced him fully.  "Just as part of you will always be a lover of all types of beauty, Vhalan, part of me will always be a slave to an all-consuming curiosity.  You know that."

"There was... a type of beauty... in Quilafae's death," Vhalan managed.  "Her struggle was lovelier than she herself could have ever hoped to be.  Her blood was much warmer, richer- almost worthy of the pride it carried.  The scent of Baruk's fear was so rank, I tore his cowardly heart-" Red-brown eyes narrowed for a few moments, then closed completely.  "Svaentok had a chance.  I couldn't have fought back.  He should have-"

"But instead, he made the same choice I would have, given the same situation," Aric interrupted suddenly.  "By your self-restraint, he knew something was changing, and he was right.  For the first time, you chose your target- you directed your hunger, instead of having it compel you to attack anything, even against your waking will.  When your focused thirst was rewarded with the blood of your chosen target, your once-mortal body and spirit rejoined each other on safe and satiated ground- found the ability to work together in their new, soul-less existence.  Thus, you transcended, in that very moment, the feral state.  That means that the only difference, the only difference between a feral vampire and vampire lord is the degree of mental integrity.  And if given discipline, structure, and time- about seventy five years, in your case- a feral vampire can regain its own mental stability without the bloodlust driven rampage that dooms so many much too early."

Vhalan remained silent for a few moments, contemplating Aric's summary.  "I hope you don't expect me to turn some young thing in order to test that thesis, Questioner Owain," he murmured.  "Why did you leave the Bone College?"

"Semnemac leaves his mind purposefully unguarded for prolonged periods of time, and the results tempt me into attempting to figure him out.  He insists that Afflux would guide us both, but I suspect the relationship would warp dangerously close to some one of us abusing the other somehow."  Aric scoffed at the half-hearted comment and leaned on his staff.  "How do you feel, Vhalan?"

"Feel?" Vhalan echoed, looking over Aric's frame.  "Like a wolf sitting quietly among sheep.  As I have always felt- as it has always been, since you and your flock found me here."

"But there are no chains, brother.  No blindfolds, no sacred candles- Betzal hasn't come to smack his wings in your face.  This day, when the wolf sits quietly, it is not because he is trapped in a pen.  I had feared this day, Vhalan, but now... now, I find I must rejoice in it."

"As well you should, Aric," Vhalan replied, rising from his chair and pushing his head toward it in a wordless command for Aric to sit in it.  "You are free.  You weakened yourself further and further each time you submitted your blood to me, but those nights are behind you.  Your sheep have no idea of the full value of their shepherd, and now, they will never have to."

Aric moved slowly to Vhalan's chair, allowing his whole self to register the pain with which he constantly lived.  "Had the Raven Queen not had faith in my ability to withstand your needs, I am certain she would have disagreed to my terms.  And as for the sheep- who are also your sheep- some of them are not as cattle-brained as you think.  Kennig has repeatedly asked to take my place, urging his youth.  I have against him urged his inexperience, and he has in response far exceeded his coven mates' dedication-"

"Ironfeather can train with me if he so desires," Vhalan replied, picking up his paints and his brush again.  "He will be a useful bridge between you and the Firebirds."

A few moments, punctuated only by the sound of calm brush strokes, went by before Aric tried the air with his voice again.

"Do you accept the continuation of your thread in this place?"

Vhalan raised his head for a few moments, then turned over his shoulder to look back at Aric, who had rested in his chair with his staff in his lap.  Betzal, who had rested himself on the back of the chair, turned his head so that it seemed that he could watch both males at once. 

"I will honor the Raven Queen because I so wish, but our accord is complete.  I do not expect either of you to have a use for a creature who has completely flouted the laws of mortality."

"It wasn't your choice," Aric reminded Vhalan very quietly.  "I thought you had already died when I found you, and when you awoke, you had no idea what your name was, let alone what plane of existence you were on.  You didn't know how, or even why you were attacking me-"

"Does it matter how or why a monster becomes a monster?" Vhalan asked, putting his paints and his brush back down again and turning to face Aric with crossed arms.  "Is it not sufficient for any monk, mage or fighter that the monster simply is?"

"You are our brother, not a monster," Aric argued, raising an eyebrow at Vhalan.  "All of the warrior initiates prayed for a favorable turning of your fate- Shanna herself cried desperately for you."

" 'The Raven Queen abhors the undead,' says the scroll.  All mortals must pass through the sacred doors of death once- just once.  I am no less an abomination than a necromancer; it is enough for me that I may even exist in peace."

"The doors of death are sacred, but Raven Queen herself passed through them twice without any god's permission or bidding, and is thus herself undead," Aric replied strongly, putting half his proper tone into his voice.  "Much as I respect Sulyic, it is her stubborn refusal to remember that fact that brought the full and righteous wrath of both the Firebirds and Lucien down on the entire coven."

"The Queen ascended to godhood while shielding countless souls from abuse.  Who did I protect?  Who did I save?  Certainly not you, nearly beaten to death by Cuthbert's cowards when you brought me back to them.  They had protected themselves by putting a fearful distance between themselves and the vampire lord their great saint had marked for destruction.  And I?  If my intent had been self-preservation then, then I either failed miserably, or succeeded beyond my wildest dreams.  What here is worthy of any special dispensation of grace?"

"Aside from the fact that you, alone, completed the quest that the entire monastery of Saint Cuthbert had been given, consider this," Aric breathed, taking his voice back down to its normal, near-rasp level.  "Your sire was Lucien's vampiric brother- you are one of the two Daggerdale dire wolf vampire lords left in all Sembia.  Unlike bat vampires, wolf vampires command a famously strong pack sense.  In your near-feral condition, you affected the otherwise stalwart creature so strongly that through him, all his spawn sensed your episodes.  Had Enmech succeeded, had he managed to somehow force you into his court, Esvele's protege would have used you to lure Lucien- and all his spawn with him- to her very doorstep, eventually replacing the bickering mortal mercenaries that Svaentok obliterated when he first came to this plane with pack-minded, immortal warriors.  The Pale Lord of Urmlaspyr- a vampire old enough to have had the small village that this place used to be built on top of his coffin, who warned those whom he considered his mortal charges against the danger of Thultanthar long before the civil war even began, who arose from his ancient crypt to lead midnight battalions in the war against the Shadovar- would have been trapped and compelled to work toward the reclamation of Urmlaspyr by the vampiric equivalent of a far, far younger nephew."

"Lucien well deserves his title," Vhalan admitted, moving away from his easel and leaning himself on the wall near the place where the old mace still sat.  "I have heard of one or two relatively recent strikes that I believe are his, but more interesting are the Bone College's tomes concerning vampiric tendencies and attacks, some of which read as though he simply sat and allowed them to take dictation.  He has the determination, patience and precision of a master warrior, that much has become obvious to me."

Aric watched Vhalan's movements with a dull concern, and Betzal ruffled his wings.  "He admires your passion for beauty and art; apparently, it is amazing to him to behold a creature who can wield what he considers an exotic weapon, a chisel, and a paintbrush with the same stunning dexterity.  He sent one of his spawn- a little girl, freshly turned- with his message, while you were gone.  He meant her to speak with you, but she would not tell me what about, and the message made no mention of it."  Aric shrugged lightly, then produced a paper that had obviously once been sealed.  "The message I read, but out of respect, I kept my vision to myself."

There was a pause during which Vhalan heard a distant howl- a young, thin sound that awakened an entirely unfamiliar sense of paternal concern within his spirit.  He realized with some amusement that Lucien and his clutch of spawn would be the only actual family he'd had since being dumped on the monastery of Saint Cuthbert for his various indiscretions many years before.  Then a grim understanding broke upon him, and he laughed bitterly within himself.

"Aric.  After everything you've done," Vhalan sighed, testing his ability to near the mace.  "How I could do to you what you would not do to me?"

"That will still burn you," Aric warned as he laid the paper on the arm of the chair, opting to ignore Vhalan's question entirely.  The vampire, in his turn opting to ignore the warning, laid his whole hand on the base of the thing.

"Good," Vhalan managed as he ripped his hand away almost at once.  "It can yet serve its purpose."

"What purpose?" Aric asked bitterly, planting his staff and arising.  "All it has ever done is remind you who left you rejected, feared, hated, and alone."

"No- let it remind us both that I will not do the same," Vhalan replied, nearly whispering.  "I expected the Raven Queen to be done with me, but I have never had any intention of being done with you."

"If that is so, then take your proper place and title from Shanna, and let her return to Quilafae's place."  Aric stood, and Betzal moved from the back of the chair to his shoulder, pressing his talons into his shoulder and leaving his wings outstretched as if prepared for an embrace.  "Let there be no more confusion or thought of rejection; become, and remain, our warrior elder.  If the Queen would have had it differently, I am certain she would have told me so before this moment, wouldn't you agree?"

Red-stained brown eyes met and held the Human shepherd's grey eyed gaze.  Both in the silence traveled back to the beginning of their friendship, when one soft-hearted necromancer and one worldly monk laughed together at the strange turns of life over a dying fire pit and a shared flask of pilfered wine.  Neither one of them could ever have imagined the turns and tumbles their lives would take, separately and together, that brought them to the moment of this decision, this new accord.

Vhalan nodded- a gesture so small that it hardly troubled the air around him.

"I will.  And, if I break my word, may you, or Svaentok, or whatever shepherd comes after you both, take up this same implement against me.  Let it find my skull and my heart, as it could have, and probably should have done years ago."

Betzal gave a single piercing cry that seemed to push through the cold stone walls of the place, and received a higher pitched response.  Moments later, Vashte soared into Vhalan's chamber, rested herself comfortably on the back of the wood chair and turned her head to consider the vampire lord.

"What have you to do here?" Vhalan asked, raising an eyebrow.  "Your mistress is dead."

"I told her that," a female voice replied.  Shanna poked her head into the chamber with a smile that infected Aric at once.  "But I couldn't convince her not to come up here anyway.  Now I know why."

"As you will, Vashte," Aric encouraged, relief warming his voice.  Beyond the chamber, scuffles and murmurs began to sound as rumors of Vhalan's return spread from one person to another.  "I tell you, brother, you were sorely missed in this place."

Vashte turned her head in the other direction, clamping her talons down into the chair a few times.  Vhalan frowned and moved toward the chair.

"If it's a perch you want, you could have at least waited until I carved a proper one."

Betzal cawed at Vashte, who lifted herself briefly to move to Vhalan's shoulder.  Vhalan looked at her, then at Aric, who was watching Vashte's ginger acclimatization to the unnatural cold of the vampire's body.

"I think she found one," the Shepherd nodded.  "Welcome home, Elder Vhalan."

2:52: An appointment.

The Halfling girl shrugged, causing her shaggy brown hair to tremble at her shoulders.

"It's all so much- and so godawful fast.  He's just hashing through it all," she admitted, as though she were explaining away something minor that was wrong with her.

The silvery haired Human reached out his hand to pat the girl, but when she shrunk away from him and into the stone wall, he took a step back and nodded.  She extended an arm down the stairs, then turned and nearly flew up the stone steps beyond the Human.  He turned over his shoulder to watch her go, sighed deeply, then turned back to step down through the crude, cold stone arch that separated the basement cells from the levels above it.  A hallway of empty cells, all clean and ending in an open door on the right side, greeted him.  The place reeked of all the worst fluids that any living being had to offer, but to all appearances, no living soul had so much as received a paper cut anywhere near the area.  In the last cell, short, sharp movements in the semi-darkness caught the Human's attention.  As he squinted, he made out a stooped back, very familiar sweat-slicked, pony-tailed hair and a battered rake.  A low, determined muttering came from the creature, as though the looker-on had interrupted an intense discussion.  Struck by the Halfling's perception, the watcher leaned just inside the arch and put the back of his head on the stone with a bitter chuckle.  A full ten minutes of silence passed between the observer and the observed before the latter finally stopped moving and stood straight up.

"How long you gonna warm the stone, Luvec?"

"Halfling waif's got you pegged, Pohatkon," the silver haired Human sighed.  "The real question is how long are you going to keep to this burrow of yours."

Hawk-sharp brown eyes nearly glowed with indignation, then dimmed into frustration as he turned back to tossing hay.  "Well, I'm not hiding from all the new responsibilities, if that's what you think.  Made up the posting changes easy enough.  Wife hates the move, but the kids seemed to have already known half the guttersnipes down there anyway.  Goddamned Council's a joke.  They deliberate on simple decisions so long that I told them that they could just send me down their proposals after they were done biting each other's tails.  And unraveling the bullshittery that Nithraz caused or was putting up with- I dropped the charges against Leatherface, since- orders or no orders, monk or drunk- he did the entire town a favor by cleaning out the Stingers, and luckily managed to live to tell the tale.  I just turned one of the Raven Queen's shamblers out of here.  He's not the Reaver, I don't care what the hell our dearest Lady Mimsa puts out of her goddamned gob.  Spiderspit's been in twice, because of her and those accursed pageant clowns that sniff up Dresan's ass- I just barely got him off the noose this time."

"You know he's not the Reaver?" Luvec asked, walking back toward the cell where Pohatkon was working.  "Absolutely sure?  I'd heard in the market that he was caught doing blood rituals outside of the temple to Lolth."

"The Reaver uses a knife," Pohatkon stated strongly, standing straight again.  "A carved silver one, that MacSairlen said he saw pop up out of a man's head and fly straight up in the air.  I remember that much.  So this boy's a monk initiate.  Knows magic enough to kill a man while kneeling at prayer, but he's no damn good with a blade," Pohatkon chuckled.  "Even I disarmed him.  To boot, Leatherface goes, 'Nyet' soon's he sees him go by- apparently, that means 'no.'  Ranclyffe says he's got worms in his head, but I believe him on that one."

Luvec resisted the urge to poke at the fresh hay with the toe of his shoe.  "You gonna let him go on to Cormyr?"

"He can't stay here.  Not with a disease like that.  According to Ranclyffe, the one worm gets in your head, then begins replacing your brains with its spawn.  You get some headaches, you puke a bit, nothing so bad as to put a good soldier down.  But before you know it, two boys playing in the street could turn into dangerous monsters from the depths- and you would attack them as though they really were."  The man shook his head with a sigh.  "The thing's docile as a bloody puppy, most the time.  Can't put anybody in the cell with him, though- Nithraz found that out the hard way."  Pohatkon picked up the rake and moved past Luvec and into the room with the open door.  Luvec followed him, only to be surprised by the source of the smell- the well-used hall of grotesque torture instruments, complete with chamber pots that had been left to fester in the corners of the place.

"Dear gods, Sakoda-" the silver haired Human began, pinching his face up.

"Ser Sadist, at your service- and everyone else's," the high captain sighed deeply, completely ignoring the smells and the sights of remains still on some of the instruments.  "Frankly, the more I talk to him, the less I think he's sick, but Ranclyffe says that's the trouble with the worms- they don't eat everything.  There's a lot of him in there, or so she says- and truly, I just don't want to cross her on that one.  In case she's right.  I can't put the whole town guard at risk, just because he's the politest handbag I've yet had the pleasure to turn thumbscrews on."

"You always- were one to- ugh- pick your battles," Luvec managed, his eyes finding no comforting place to rest.  "Did you have to leave that one hanging upside down?"

"Eh?" Pohatkon said absently, following Luvec's revolted gaze to a prisoner who'd been hung upside down by two hooks in his pelvic bone and allowed to remain.  It seemed that his mouth had also been somehow mutilated, although with all the flies swarming him, it was hard to tell. "Oh, him.  Well, he shouldn't have tried to sell his wife to slavers.  You think he's bad off, you should see her- poor thing's abed a week now.  Can't go to market or cook all beat up like that, so my daughter and I brought her some food.  I thought hoisting this bastard up by his prick-box would be a nice touch- lady had a good laugh at it yesterday.  Did my heart good to see her at least try to smile, even with most of her mouth still swollen."

Luvec gave up and closed his eyes, but could only maintain that for a few moments, since the lazy buzzing all around him irked him deeply.  "This is-"

"Useful," Pohatkon insisted, raising a finger.  "It's all about results.  My job is- or, now I suppose part of it is- to make most living creatures uneasy from the moment they get in the door.  The rest are why I have spikes and screws."  Chuckling at Luvec's revolted look, he turned to check on the long needles that rested on a small table on the other side of a closed coffin.  "I'm not a monster, you know.  Any time he tells me who his slaver contact was, he's free to go.  And I do turn him right side up once or twice per hour- depends on when I think he's losing consciousness.  I'm very attentive that way."

"High Captain Sakoda?" the Halfling female asked, peeking around the corner with an arm full of paper.

"Thank you, Gwen; read them," Pohatkon commanded, moving toward the coffin and opening it to reveal flesh that had been entrenched between the spikes within.   With a short sigh, he began calmly scraping off the fly eggs with a small knife.  The Halfling gagged, but Pohatkon didn't even bother to turn around.  "If you're going to vomit, use the bucket on the left side of the rack.  Muck in there could do with some freshening."

"Dear gods-" Luvec began.

"I doubt any one of them will listen to you, down here," Pohatkon pointed out in a flat voice that Luvec couldn't quite place.  "Take your time, girl- try covering your face, until you can stand the smell."

"Edict number five hundred seventy four," the Halfling began, putting the cloth of her tunic over her nose and mouth and squinting her eyes nearly shut to prevent flies from getting at her.  " 'The public stoning of suspected witches without due process and trial.  Insomuch as-' "

"Skip down to where Mimsa gets to the point," Pohatkon counseled, flicking the eggs into a convenient chamber pot and moving on to another piece of stuck flesh.  "Bloody flowery bitch."

The Halfling giggled quietly- much to Luvec's surprise- as she skimmed the document.  "Um... oh, here... 'Therefore, all suspected Shadovar witches must be reported to the nearest guard, who will at once bodily apprehend the woman-' "

"Ranclyffe must have been teaching," Pohatkon interjected acridly.  "She'd never have stood for that."

" 'and bring her to the Mage's Quarter council member for judgement.  Should the woman be found in any way guilty, she shall be burned immediately.  All parties caught in the act of stoning a suspected practitioner of Shadovar magic shall be put in irons at sunrise and imprisoned for no less than four days-' "

"Imprisoned?" Pohatkon echoed immediately, standing away from the spikes of his instrument and straightening himself.  "The woman- and apparently, the edict's offenders can only be women- can be bodily dragged off at any godless hour to be burned immediately if Mimsa's in any way convinced that she should be, but the person caught preparing to stone her is merely imprisoned for four days?  And unlike the poor woman, they get to sleep through the night!  Mimsa's not protecting the city, she's getting rid of competition- where the hell is she right now?"

"Um..." the Halfling frowned for a few moments, then shrugged.  "Gimago might know.  Should I-"

"You know what?  Let's deal with it later."  Pohatkon wiped the knife on a cloth that sat on a long wooden table in the center of the room, then moved to the other side of the room to attend to the gears of the rack.  "Don't sit on that chair, Luvec, it's spiked.  Give me another one."

The Halfling female nodded, which caused her twisted knot of brown hair to bob and shudder behind her, then shuffled the paper in her arms.  "Addition to act number ninety two, 'The Protection of Registered Coven Members against Persecution.' "

"They must have added the Raven folk," Luvec murmured, still looking back at the cloth-covered chair that he didn't have the heart to inspect.

" 'In addition to the registered gatherings of religious magic workers, practicing coven members and students of good standing enumerated-' "

"Why bother reading Mimsa's drivel from the beginning!" Pohatkon exclaimed.  "Just give me the juicy bits."

"Ah... yes, the Raven Queen's coven is here," the Halfling smirked, swatting a fly away from her eyes.  "Along with the Psions of Zuoken, the- oh, um- the Blighted Ones of Incabulos-"

"That'll end well," Luvec quipped, rolling his eyes.

"And the coven of Pyremius."

Pohatkon moved away from the rack, but paused mid-stride at this pronouncement.  "She won't let the Firebirds settle here without getting tailed by guards, but she brings back the goddamned coven of Pyremius?"

"At least they'll be registered this time," the Halfling replied with another shrug.  "It's a risk, but Cormyr would probably put them in the middle of the sea on a boat without oars, and Sembia would sell them cheaply up to Thultanthar for dissection."

"They should have considered their options more carefully," Luvec groaned.  "In this town, they'll be vivisected."

"That'd be a sight to see," Pohatkon noted thoughtfully as he finished his cross to a low burning brazier and the ash-and-burn covered body strapped into a chair right behind it.  In a small cage on a stool to the right side of the chair were six jumpy mice.  Chunks of hair were missing from the body in the chair, as though it were dropping out due to disease.  "Alright, I'll register the Pyremius nutters, just to see which one of us gets to slice into one of them first- me, or Semnemac.  Leave that one on the table for my seal.  Another."

The Halfling shuffled the papers so that the one that she had to remember rested between two fingers at the bottom of the pile.  Pohatkon meanwhile produced a bit of bread and cheese from a pouch hanging over his belt and calmly introduced it into the suddenly noisy cage.  "Inquiry number one hundred fifty eight, 'Non-payment of Noble Taxes.  The following nobles ain't paying their share: Illance, Bristlebur, Gai-' "

"Hold on, hold on," Luvec urged, prompting Pohatkon to pause in his feeding of the rodents.  "Illance is dead- the house collapsed on itself because of a fire in the basement.  Bristlebur isn't noble.  The man's a bloody good harper, but he's not a noble."

"Nobility's changed, is the trouble," Pohatkon sighed.  "There aren't titles earned by blood; just titles earned by gold.  That would be the Stonemuncher's fault.  Also, he's sending me an inquiry why?"

The Halfling skimmed the paper briefly, then shrugged.  "It reads more like a summons to me; I don't know why he didn't just draft an arrest order."

"Do nobles get arrest orders?" Luvec asked, noticing that the body strapped into the chair before Pohatkon seemed to move slightly at the sound of the mice.

"If they didn't before, they're going to start now," Pohatkon sighed, standing straight and rubbing his hands together to get crumbs off them.  "I'm not sending guardsmen to basically go and politely ask the nobles to open their dupe record books.  They'll be arrested and properly dealt with until the real books come out."

"That- person- is still alive, isn't it?" Luvec managed, realizing with some sinking feeling that he couldn't tell which gender the person might be.

"Yes," Pohatkon replied, walking back over to the table and picking up an instrument that resembled a pear attached to a thick metal handle.  "Yes, he is.  Although in a few minutes, I'm certain he won't want to be."

The high captain picked up a pair of tongs, then pulled a lever on the instrument back, and the pear opened to reveal a wire mesh that also opened with a key screw at the side.  When the Human walked over to the brazier before the body and calmly placed a single red coal inside the wire mesh, Luvec felt a dread clamp down on his gut.

"What did he do?"

The Halfling, who hadn't been fazed by Pohatkon's agonizingly slow movement as he first closed the mesh, then the pear shaped covering, turned to answer- almost brightly.  "He's one of the Dark Quarter survivors.  He-"

"Wait, wait," Pohatkon interrupted, walking around the man while gazing at the instrument in his hands.  "Let the gent himself speak.  That is, if he has something to say?"

At first, the prisoner merely whimpered, but when Pohatkon suddenly ripped the strap around his chest off and kicked the chair out from under him, the whimpers became open mouthed cries.  Waving the hand with the tongs, the torturer dismissed the Halfling female- who wasn't slow about moving out.

"Gwen, you'd better- ha, she's gone.  Well, now we can talk like men," Pohatkon breathed, rolling the man over with a foot, then planting the foot on the bruised back.  The rounded bottom of the pear came close to the prisoner's backside, flipping the loinscloth that had laid over it up so that Pohatkon had easy access.  "It's worse once it's inside.  Once it's inside, I start opening it.  And when it opens, your shithole gets introduced to the tender, warm kiss of Asmodeus."

"I- I- took payment- for p-protection," the man stammered, his voice wavering on the edge of prepubescent-like cracking.  "Valuables, money."

"And when they didn't have any money?" Pohatkon prompted tenderly, as though he were reminding a small child of a forgotten toy.  He swung the arm holding the implement slightly, inhaling the smell of the warming metal with a strange, distant pleasure that printed itself plainly on his face.

"Then- I- demanded sex."

Pohatkon dropped his arm so that the bottom of the pear was inches away from the man's behind. 

"From?" 

The man began crying, which brought a vicious smile to Pohatkon's face. He gently touched the back of one of the man's thighs with the bottom of the pear. 

"Oops."

"Oh gods!" the man exclaimed in a sob, gulping in the foul air and choking on it almost immediately.  "The children!  I took their children- please, please, don't put it in there!"

Pohatkon exhaled slowly, like a newlywed relishing the last flickers of good love making.  "I'm happy to oblige, you know.  I am.  But you have to tell me what I want to know first.  That's the deal.  You give me the names of the guardsmen who were in on your game, and you go free- or you go in a few more days... maybe weeks, if I like you... as free as you can, with your hair cut to shags, your asshole burned out and your guts chewed through by panicked mice.  It's up to you how long this goes on, my friend."

"I... I can't," the man whined.  "It was secret, hush-hush, nobody helped me.  Nobody knew."

"If it was so hush-hush, so secret and private, I still wouldn't know about it," Pohatkon soothed.  "Those families would have tried to keep their own safe by not breathing a word.  But that's not what happened, is it?" 

The pear-shaped device was waved about a quarter inch away from the back of the man's thighs, prompting small whimpers and actual tears.  Luvec stared at the man- whom he could no longer consider a victim- as Pohatkon quietly threatened some of the most delicate flesh he had.

"If you turn your head just a bit, you'll see that chair I asked my friend not to sit on.  The last person who had the honor sang about you like a well-trained bird.  Of course, you don't know who snitched, so I'll just describe the person for you.  He walks with a cane, must have a cushion to sit down upon, is missing two nails from his right hand, and the tip of his tongue has a burn hole.  Through it.  The awl took a while to warm up, but it was worth it- that man is blessed with a truly enchanting scream.  I'd bring him by to visit, but we promised each other that we'd do our best to never cross each others' paths again.  So I'll just let you... hmm... imagine what a red-hot awl and a chair lined with spikes can do to a man for now.  We can chat again once I've shown my former comrade here the door."

And with that, Pohatkon kicked the man back over, replaced the chair and put him back in it, then put the strap back around his chest and arms.  There was a momentary quiet that was punctuated only by the creaking of thick rope and a few soft, embarrassed sniffs.

"Ser Sadist indeed," the silver haired Human nodded, at a loss for pity.  "You earned the title, and not entirely without reason.  But you can't bring every crooked guardsman down here, and the Dark Quarter certainly didn't eat them all.  You need more efficient methods- you need help."

Pohatkon stopped and turned to the noticeably pale Luvec.  The silver haired male looked somehow much older- more fragile than normal.  Pohatkon blamed himself immediately, but found himself at a verbal impasse.

"Help?" he asked limply, not sure of the answer he would receive.

"With putting paid to all this bullshittery, once and for all," Luvec finally managed, thoughts beginning to file neatly in his head.  "The pirating, the traded favors, the useless laws, the secret plots and hoarded tax money- you'll need a hand.  And someone logical at the other end of it.  When last I was a guardsman, it was about getting the physical presence of Sembia- and the Shade Enclave- out of our borders.  Now, it's not so simple.  It's about sorting through our own, taking out the trash, putting light to where all the damned underhanded, shadowy plots are.  You'll need someone to hold the torches."

"So thinks the crown of Cormyr," Pohatkon noted.  "I got a missive- said they were sending MacSairlen back to serve as Lord Captain."

"Is that so?"

"They were sending him to Nithraz.  Cormites didn't have their sons and brothers die here to let Sembia swallow us back up, so they likely would have sent the whole of the guard, if MacSairlen had said it was needed.  Tusk-mouth's dead though, and nobody's asked me my opinion on it yet."  Pohatkon put his hands on Luvec's shoulders for a few moments, then decided against embracing him.  Forcibly turning him around, he began marching the swordsman toward the fresh air and light that sometimes made his skin crawl worse than any sight in his gory playground.  "You can think these edicts through with me.  And I could use someone who can teach these sword wielders how not to get disarmed by a boy of ten years.  Come get your crest on before it rusts away to nothing, you fowlhearted old crone."