3:12 Seared soul.

Battlemage Ranclyffe's experimentation level was little more than a re-purposed root cellar, compared to his daughter's obsessively organized study.  While he was, as an educated of the War Wizard's college, much more privileged and provided for than the court mage of Urmlaspyr could ever hope to be, the state in which the study could perpetually be found would earn one of her deeper scowls.  Scrolls and journals lay all over the well crafted wooden table behind which he leaned in his chair.  Unfinished potions and open, ruined tinctures were scattered on the floor, with notes scrawled in charcoal or chalk next to them on the walls, or on the floor itself.  Aleksei stood, still bound hand and foot with pulsating blue magic, in one of the few places bare of an experiment gone awry or a note scratched onto the surface.  Before him on the table, flanked by piles of papers and books that had been cleared to accommodate them, were two swords- one brutally crafted longsword and one elegantly tempered rapier.  For a combined total of more than ten hours, he had remained completely still, with his eyes closed and his head bowed, speaking only one word.

"Nyet."

Pushed to frustration, Terezio finally took his glasses off his face and pulled his hand over his thick grey hair.

"You do realize, of course, that if you do not permit me to get on with this research peaceably, I will be forced to compel you with violence?" he finally groaned as he sat up in his chair.  "Look, I don't like having them here any more than you do.  Don't you want to just get this over with?"

Aleksei said nothing.

Since Mi'ishaen and Silveredge had been put out the evening before, he had been peacefully non-compliant.  Bahlzair actively thwarted Eunice's attempts to treat his swollen, discolored ankle with spells that ranged from the annoying to the downright harmful, but Aleksei stood patiently throughout the scale and claw shaving, the trimming of a bit of hair, the blood, urine, skin and spit sampling.  The most he'd had to move was to withdraw to a quiet room to fulfill what seemed- to him- the very strange request for semen, and after a few moment's thought, he had done so without remark.  He watched as the mage put all the samples in their various testing vessels without a word, but Terezio knew that the more intensive trials- the ones intended to divine his true moral and lawful alignment- would be much tougher to complete.  Having already foreseen a few brief flashes of the Dragonborn's denials, the divination master longed to simply pry his way into the scaly soul.  Gentle questioning won Terezio vague, confusing answers- not all of them in Common.  More persistent questioning won him single-word answers, then finally, an almost complete mental shutdown.  Terezio wondered at this, since Aleksei entered what seemed to him to be a waking sleep state- something he'd never seen a non-Drow soldier do before.

So Terezio sent for the swords in the middle of the afternoon, and they were delivered to him by two very careful students of the College of War Wizards by early evening.  Their presence in the house chilled Eunice to the bone immediately, and she'd poked her head down to ask if her teacher had been somehow forced to practice necromancy.  The apprentice was sent off with a good tongue lashing, and nearly scampered away like a scared rabbit.  An hour later, Druce sent a visibly disturbed Eunice down a second time to complain that a foul, persistent breeze blew through the house, even though all the windows were well bound and shuttered.  It wasn't a casual puff kissed by the smell of water, as the waterside was accustomed to, but instead a miserable pushing of heavy air that reminded the old seamstress of her father's feverish, dying breaths. The description struck Terezio to the core, and Eunice won herself an even stronger verbal whipping.  She didn't even wait to be sent away, dismissing herself from her master's presence without another word.

"Not a single one of these tests points to illness," the Human said quietly, standing behind his desk in the attempt to look the taller Dragonborn in the eye after the door shut behind Eunice.  "I therefore have three options.  I must either believe that my- that Master Ranclyffe, rather- lied when she sent you to me, that my testing is insufficient, or that there is an illness present in you that affects mind and soul so deeply that drastic measures should be taken.  This is my penultimate attempt to divine between option one and option three.  I advise you- no- I implore you, ser, to work with me; I have no intention other than your aid."

There was a silence during which Terezio sensed a strange change in the Dragonborn's spirit- as though he were invoking a spell on himself.  It troubled him deeply- nowhere in Trizelle's note did she say that the fighter before him was capable of magic.

Finally, Aleksei replied simply, "I do not believe this."

Terezio pushed away from his desk, turning his back to the Dragonborn for a few moments.  His robes swirled around him, but quickly laid silent at his sides as he moved around the desk.  He expertly navigated the piles of things around the place, circling Aleksei three times before deciding to speak again.

"You cast some sort of spell on yourself just now- what was it?"

"I am remembering," the Dragonborn said quietly, almost as if speaking to himself.

Terezio stopped circling Aleksei and looked up into his face.  "Remembering.  Remembering what?  Answer me!  I swear to you, by every god, by every plane of existence, I will complete my work."

"That I believe," Aleksei admitted.  "Gospozha Ranclyffe says you push much to happen."

"She should mend her own ways before looking down that narrow nose at mine," Terezio snorted.  "She has always been self-centered and stiff-necked; she may clean her room these days, but I don't expect that sour, stubborn attitude to have changed one bit."

"From father comes daughter," Aleksei sighed.

Terezio noticed that what few words Aleksei had were coming more slowly, as though the language were growing increasingly difficult for him to manage.  He was just going to pursue this realization when Eunice peeked through the door to the study for the third time.

"My lord, the Drow-" she began carefully, not daring to come all the way through the doorway before speaking.

"Oh, for gods' sakes, just lock him in the room," Terezio commanded, tossing a frustrated glower over his shoulder at her.

"I can't get near the door; he sends acid arrows nearly down the hall after me," Eunice retorted, now frustrated herself.  "And it looks like he ripped down a curtain to splint his ankle himself, anyhow."

"Lock him in the room, Eunice, now," Terezio urged, turning his head back over his shoulder.  "If you can think of nothing else to pacify him, take a scroll out of my library and use that."

"Te, kto molod, slab ili glupo," Aleksei muttered.  "Zashhitite sebja bez razrushenija. Zashhiti drugih bez gospodstva."

Terezio raised his right hand over his shoulder and flicked it backward to shoo Eunice away from the door, and the young woman stormed away like a much younger child.

"You, ser, are a fraud," the mage pressed the second that the door had closed.  "A fake.  And this test proves it.  You speak virtuously enough, with your eyes closed and your head bowed, but you cannot put your hands to these weapons because if you did- the very moment you did- you would become a monster."

There came a soft puffing sound from Aleksei, somewhere between a snort and a genuine chuckle.

"Tell me it isn't true, then.  Show me it's not true.  You cannot, with the way you look, tell me that you've never seen a weapon before.  I am not asking you to do anything with them.  I'm asking you to pick them up and hold them- that's all.  And if you will not do it, then it will be as good to me as if you had run me through."  Terezio crossed his arms and stood close enough to the Dragonborn to feel the slight chill of his breath.  "Oh, so you're getting angry?  Excellent; let me help you.  As thick as your scales are, as powerful as your body is, and as strong as your will is, I will reduce you to a wailing babe.  I will crack that will of yours.  I will prove you for the shameful pretender you are; I will drag your past up and out of your mouth piece by bloody piece.  I-"

"Ser Aleksei!" Druce called brightly from the hallway.  Moments later, she appeared in the doorway, holding the three-quarters filled bottle of frenzywater that had been Aleksei's gift from Urmlaspyr.  "Good news! Blade Rafa's stopped vomiting at last, sits up on his own, and is well enough to beg your condition, as he fears you must be suffering worse than-"

"Drussandra!" Terezio growled, clenching his fists in frustration as he turned around.  "You know you're not to come down here!"

Druce paused, greatly surprised by her husband's reaction, and in seconds, her pause gave way to concern.  "What are you doing?  Why are there swords in here?  What precisely are you doing to this poor creature?"

"What message had you, other than Rafa's question, which you can see is irrelevant?" Terezio frowned, regretting his temper.

"I don't know if it is," Druce shot back, bristling.  "I know you know what this is- probably better than I do, for all that.  Rafa said he had but five little spots of it, but the you see where the level of the liquor is.  I'd like to know where Ser Aleksei learned to drink so hard, and why."

Terezio lifted his head sharply, then bowed it again as if in submission to Druce's sense.  "Right," he said brusquely as he turned back to Aleksei.  "Can you at least answer the woman, so that her mother's heart can beat more quietly in her chest when she returns upstairs as she ought?"

Aleksei sighed, then lifted his head slowly, opening his eyes with noticeable effort. 

"By the gods, it's perhaps another day's drunk on him- mayhap he won't vomit until tomorrow, and then what mess will I have?"  Concerned, put the bottle down on the edge of Terezio's desk and began to move toward him.  "Dear boy, you mustn't-"

"Stay back- and keep that away from him," Terezio warned.  "This is no one's little boy.  He's a more dangerous creature than he would like you to know."

"He's only as dangerous as you make him," Druce counseled quietly, still moving forward.  "You don't see that?"

"He won't let me," Terezio sighed, moving back toward Druce in the effort to prevent her from walking all the way up to the Dragonborn.  "Perhaps... I should try a gentler tack.  But I still doubt your legal and moral standing, and until you prove-"

"What?  Why?"  Druce asked suddenly.  "That's usually the first test anyone down here passes."

"Well, now you see my dilemma, Druce," Terezio said quietly, turning his head slightly toward her.  "He refuses to allow me to complete it."

"Refuses?" Druce mused, thinking.  "What if I-"

As soon as she reached out her hand in the direction of the swords, both males in the room responded.  Terezio grabbed her hand, being near enough to have physical effect, but Aleksei went a step further.

"Please not to touch!" he said at once.  "These are- not good."

"So you won't let me at them?  Fair enough, there's at least a sort of conscience in you, never mind how damaged it may be.  But I'll only do it again," Druce smiled flicking sharp eyes up toward Aleksei.  "Not today.  Later.  Perhaps a week from now.  Sometime when neither of you are about to prevent me."

"What nonsense, Druce; you're too old to be-"

"But I want to know.  I want to know why this house has smelled like death since three this afternoon.  Why can't I hold it in my hands and understand it?"

Terezio took his wife by the shoulders and nearly shook her.  "That's ridiculous!  Why should you take an interest in them now, when they've been on display in the college for years?  You've never so much as asked why they were placed under wards and constant watch in there!"

"Yes, well they weren't in my house, stinking like an open grave," Druce countered, crossing her arms.  "Never before has alcohol crossed my threshold.  Never before have I played nursemaid behind your abominably awkward apprentice, bless and save her soul, who can't manage to set an ankle without infuriating an already-testy charge.  But today, I have a bottle of frenzywater, a malicious Drow, a hungover Purple Dragon, a still-drunk Dragonborn and a pair of mysteriously enchanted swords in my house, where I live.  Where I sleep, Terezio, and it is night, now.  I have to sleep here.  So I would like to know what in the bloody Hells these are, and that none of the creatures that probably know how to wield them will do so."

Terezio pursed his lips, fighting against a strange urge to throw his wife backward toward a wall.  "Look, Druce, I don't know what-"

"This one is being made by orcs," Aleksei responded quietly, referring to the rough sword.  "This I am knowing from fighting a few of them, not many years ago.  Many of their swords are looking like this.  But it is different, because it hungers.  It must taste blood, once each day.  It is not doing this for many years, and so it is ravenous.  It does not know or care whose blood it is.  If you are putting your hand to it, maybe you might even run yourself through, only so that it can feed.  It has no reason, but it is very strong."

"And it's in my house-" Druce gasped, her hands going slowly to her face.

"This other is made by Elves- it is made to look like surface Elves, but it is Drow.  This sword does not only cry for blood.  It craves the lives of the good, and with time, it will convince the person to take these lives only, bringing the person down into evil.  It has a soul of its own, and speaks with reason, not only hunger."

By the time Aleksei stopped speaking, Terezio noted that Druce had begun to tremble.

"Don't ask; I don't know what it is," she whispered, noting her husband's look.  "I'm not cold.  But- a fear- as instinctual as grabbing on to whatever floats in a storm- bites me deep."

"You are a soldier- or you were, once.  It doesn't shock me that you know the make of these swords, but- their nature- I ask you again, what spell-"

"It is no spell," Aleksei stated strongly.  "They speak to me as they speak to Bahlzair and to Rafa.  I am awake; I make myself awake, but they lull me to sleep again, to obey them and take your life for them.  You are diviner.  You are knowing this all the time- why are you bringing danger into your house again?"

"Oh, gods, get them out, Rezi, get them out, I beg you!" Druce cried.  "The whole house reeks of-"

" 'Again,' you say?" Terezio countered, insulted.  "What do you mean by that?"

Aleksei shook his head, then got down to one knee.

"You dare call me weak or foolish?" the mage thundered, flying into an uncharacteristic rage at once.

"Rezi, look!  Does that look like an attacker?" Druce screamed.  "These things- they've gotten you- get them out of here!"

"What I hear is this Dragonborn presuming to tell me that I cannot protect you- from what?  From him?  He's already in shackles- magic shackles, I thank you to remember," Terezio scoffed, walking directly up to Aleksei again.  "What will you do to me, much less to my wife?"

"Please to leave from here," Aleksei breathed, not daring to look up at the frantic old woman.

"If you dare to lift a finger to this woman, I swear to you by every holy implement-" Terezio began, a low, ethereal voice powering his words.

"Terezio Reginald Ranclyffe, you stop it!"  Druce grabbed up the Drow rapier, slicing herself on the Orcish blade in the process.  "Here!  I've touched it now!  Here it is!  What could this prove to anyone about anything?"

"Drussandra!"  Terezio cried at once, sensing the Orcish blade's appeasement.  When he turned around and spied the dark Elven blade in his wife's hands, he rushed to her.  "Oh gods, you can't drop it now, woman, why would you-"

Aleksei breathed as much air out of his lungs as he could, concentrating.  "Zashhitite sebja bez razrushenija. Zashhiti drugih bez gospodstva. Atakovat' vragov s radost'ju, a ne so zlym umyslom. Bud'te akkuratny, tak chto vam ne nuzhno byt' tochnym."

Just as Terezio was realizing that Aleksei was reciting a sort of prayer or chant, not a spell, the Dragonborn stood and pushed himself between the mage and his wife.  Using both hands to grab the weapon, he pinned Druce's fingers against the hilt, eliciting a piercing scream from her.

"I am stronger," he growled savagely.  "Leave her, and I will give you a good death."

The sword trembled in Drussandra's hands, sending gangrene-like tendrils of green and grey up her arms.

"Oh gods- gods!" the elder woman screamed.  "It hurts, get it away from me!"

"My blood ran for Etiol," Aleksei said firmly, pressing the woman's fingers until he could feel the bones in them.  "I am hunter; she is only prey."

The sword stopped wavering, pushing its way from Druce's fingers to Aleksei's.  Immediately, the skin below the scale on both arms was flooded with the sickly green and grey cast, accompanied by a heart-stopping pain that the Dragonborn could only sustain with a clenched jaw and a deep groan.  Terezio, realizing what had just taken place, snapped his fingers, sending a thundering pulse of magic that knocked Druce to the floor.  Aleksei staggered two steps, but kept his balance.  The sword, itself stunned, released its hold on the Dragonborn, clattering to the floor like any common weapon.  The skin beneath the scale returned to its natural, pale hue, but Aleksei still felt the ringing ache in his chest.

"Etiol was a consort of Tiamat, as I remember," Terezio began very quietly, stooping to check on his wife.  "Not a particularly nice character."

"Always he and all that follow him will be evil."

"The sword believed you- chose you over my wife, gods be thanked.  Further, my talents are considerable, yet it took much more effort for me to sense that- soul burn than it should have, even in this strange, incomplete state... you're burying it.  With someone else's mantras.  Whose?"

Aleksei turned away from the sight of Druce's slightly puffy hand. "If you are knowing of Etiol, perhaps you are also knowing of Master Kwai."

"Someone in the Lightning Dragon Dojo might- I shall have to send word back to Marsember, have someone ask around.  What have you to do with this master?"

Aleksei shook his head- a tiny movement that hardly moved the air around him.  "If you find him, let him tell you."

3:11 Keen focus.

Stephen Raibeart, a muscle-bound man whose six feet usually dominated every room he occupied, looked up from his anvil briefly, then turned back to his work.  His eternally-pricked father's ears had caught the soft footfalls of his eldest daughter over the roar of his furnace, but unfortunately, the girl's elder brother wasn't as aware of his surroundings.

"Papa!  I-" the light brown haired girl began, stopping in the archway that separated the hall up to the house from the three sided armory shop.  Her brother, who had just drawn the bow that he'd finished and painted the day before, lost focus and let go of the arrow, nearly catching his younger brother, who was on the other side of the shop practicing his calligraphy.

"Saul!" the little boy cried at once, having heard the song of the arrow whistling past his left ear before it struck the wooden beam beyond him.  "You about killed me, y'know!"

The holler paused Stephen's punishing of the metal before him, but only for a few moments.  After deciding that the metal before him was no longer hot enough to be worked with, he turned slowly to push the still-unrecognizable hunk of metal back into the gaping mouth of the furnace.

"Blame Sarai!" the eldest brother groaned, picking his brooding dark locks off his forehead with the fingers of his barely-calloused left hand.  "How many times has Pa told you about sounding off that clarion voice you've got down here?"

"Papa sent me to go get Uncle Iordi, didn't he?"  Sarai complained, crossing her arms over her chest as she'd seen her mother do thousands of times.  "What'd you think I'd do, twirl about three times and forget?"

"Well, you didn't have to shout," Saul grumbled, turning around to face his sister with a face of frustration.  "Wake the dead with that bloody-"

"Language," Stephen rumbled at once, pulling the glowing metal out of the fire and leveling a glare just as hot at his first child.

"Sorry, my lord," Saul mumbled, scrubbing the front of his scalp with his fingers.

"Never mind an arrow about went through my head," the younger boy muttered from across the room.

"He's sorry for that too, aren't you, Saul?" Stephen counseled, still fixing his gaze on Saul's dark eyes.

"Sorry, Sly."

"Now, you figure whether that bow is stiff or not- without braining your brother."

With that, Stephen put the metal back into the fire and reached his arm over to pull at the bellows, causing the furnace to roar into a fiercer life.  Saul, meanwhile, stood nearly motionless with the bow, a look of thinly covered disgust on his face.  By that time, Iordyn had turned himself sideways in the hallway to scoot past Sarai with a whispered excuse.  Spying the arrow stuck fast in the beam and the frustrated young boy, he had to fight to stop himself from laughing.

"If I may- good archers must learn to shoot no matter what is going on around them," he offered calmly.  "It wouldn't do, in a fight, to be put off mark by a whoop or a holler."

Saul finally took his hand out of his hair and made a show of looking at the handhold of the bow.  "Thanks, Uncle Iordi, but I'm not supposed to be an-"

"Now, Saul, listen to your uncle," Stephen counseled, this time putting his hammer down completely.  "Learn to use what you make.  Nothing worse than an ignorant pounder- you want to be like that, you go down the street and apprentice yourself to that woman smith or the farrier, make horse shoes with them- not that there's anything wrong with female smiths, eh, Sarai?"

"No, my lord," Sarai responded obediently, although her wrinkled nose spoke quite to the contrary.

"Go on, Uncle Iordi, tell us how to properly shoot a bow," Stephen encouraged, taking the metal back out of the fire and picking up his hammer to begin his work again.

"What were you aiming for in the first place, Saul?" Iordyn asked, maneuvering around the various pieces of equipment in the shop until he arrived at Saul's side.  The younger brother, relatively convinced that he was safe, took up his quill and began writing.

Saul rubbed the knuckles of his left hand on the inside of his right elbow joint.  "I wasn't really gonna let go," he admitted.  "I was just trying to see if there were still stiff spots, like the last one.  I... um... don't make really good bows."

"This is a standard longbow, then," Iordyn nodded.

"I have to do longbows before I can do composite, Papa says, even though nobody-"

"I do," Iordyn interjected immediately.  "I love longbows.  Their simplicity is their strength; composite bows and crossbows may be more in demand now-a-days, but you'll find that inexperienced archers will be returning every few years, because they're both easy to ruin.  Longbows, not so much, especially simple yew longbows.  In your father's family, a child of five years inherited a yew bow that survived two sisters before him, and had it not been for an unfortunate accident, he might still have had it to give to his child."

"Before you say something silly," Stephen mentioned as he continued to turn and shape the metal before him, "Your Uncle Iordi was that child.  Split bulls' eyes in two, at your age.  Proved to your grandmother definitively that not all of her sons were meant to be swordsmen."

"What happened to that bow, Uncle Iordi?" Sarai asked, leaning on the side of the arch.

"Your grandfather broke it, is what happened," Stephen scoffed.  "I made that bow at six or seven years- one of the first things I ever made, actually.  So I was plenty angry myself."

"You made bows before swords, Papa?" Saul piped up, leaning around Iordyn to look at his father's back.

"What might a child get hold of first, wood or metal?" Stephen replied simply.  "Your grandfather was a brave soldier and brilliant tactician, but can't smith worth my spit.  You have things a bit differently, as your father is already appointed by the Dragons to craft their weapons and armor.  Now, listen to your uncle, boy."

"Now, the first thing you need to realize is that a bow is just as dangerous as a bared sword," Iordyn counseled, gently taking the weapon out of Saul's hands.  "Never direct a readied bow toward a living target unless you mean to kill it- even a jest could be mortal."

"Should I move?" the youngest brother asked, picking his head up to look at his uncle.  "I can go upstairs with Mum and Salone."

"You're just looking for an excuse to muck about in the kitchen with the women, Sly; stop it," Saul sighed, as though he'd said the same thing hundreds of times.

"Well, I'm not pounding metal or stringing bows; I'm trying to get this 'M' right," the boy retorted, hurt.

"Sylvester, stay where you are," Stephen muttered, not even casting a glance up at his youngest son.  "None of us are going to hurt you, and your brother's right.  You must stop skirt-fasting yourself and learn to carry yourself among men.  Especially as a... scribe."

"Yes, my lord," the hazel eyed boy replied, settling back into his place and rearranging his things.

"Do you want a hand with the 'M'?" Sarai asked, genuinely concerned.

"Let him alone, little raven," Stephen warned as he paused to look over his shoulder at her.  "He'll get it on his own."

Sarai shifted uncomfortably in the archway for a few moments, a frown printed plainly on her face.

The smith turned his upper body so that his daughter could see more of his consoling countenance.  "I know it pains you, but Sly's not going to have his big sister when the priests look upon his writing, is he?"

"No, my lord," Sarai sighed unhappily, trying not to look as dejected.

"So, as I said, the bow is dangerous.  If you're just testing it, choose an area where no living target exists," Iordyn continued.  "Sylvester counts as a live target, as does your father and Sarai.  So we only have one corner left.  I'm aiming for the heart of the easternmost post."  Reaching over and picking up one of the roughly made arrows that lay on the low table next to Saul, Iordyn expertly raised the bow and set the arrow.  At once, he felt two unyielding spots in the bow, but figured that Stephen would feel that for himself when he tried the bow later.  "Now, as I wait here, I know that your father is putting that metal back into the fire, that Sylvester is practicing the curl at the end of that 'M,' and that Sarai is still shifting somewhat impatiently behind me.  I'm focused on my target, but I'm very aware of my surroundings.  I have to be; I cannot afford to be surprised.  If you aim purposefully, focus, and remain as aware of all that works either with or against you as you can be, you should hit your mark with relatively little error-"

"Sarai!" Stephen suddenly called, snapping his eldest daughter to attention at once.  He tossed his head toward Saul, and her feet flew toward her brother without delay.

Iordyn released the arrow just as Sarai grabbed Saul's shoulders.  Saul jumped slightly, but Iordyn's arrow sang directly into the center of the easternmost beam.  Relaxing his stance, he sighed deeply, then turned to his slightly miffed nephew.

"There.  Do you see, Saul?"

"That's enough, Uncle Iordi," Stephen pronounced, pulling the metal out of the fire and putting it into a stone trough on the other side of the furnace.  "I've two arrows in my shop beams, now.  Sarai, Saul, Sylvester, begone with you.  See if lunch is ready."

Surprised at the sudden change, Sylvester wasn't sure if he should move or not.  Only when Sarai hustled away from Saul to help him gather his things did he snap into motion.

"Bye, Uncle Iordi, bye, Papa," she said in her sharp, but sweet voice.  "If it's not ready, should I send the boys back down?"

"If it's not ready, you get about the business of helping your mother get it ready," Stephen replied.  "Saul can feed the dog and check her pen.  And let Sylvester keep to his own studies, please, little raven."

"Yes, my lord," Sarai said, hustling her brothers up the narrow stone hall to the house's entrance.

After the children's footsteps had faded into relative silence, leaving behind it the crackle of the flame and the sounds of the city beyond the open part of the shop, Iordyn put the bow back down on the table.

"Papa broke that bow over my back for a reason- do you ever tell them what that reason was?"

"They wouldn't understand.  He's much better now as a grandfather than he was as a father," Stephen retorted with a trace of bitterness, walking over to the posts and pulling the arrows out.  "You've got two reasons to stay with Suze and I, and the children.  One, Saul can't craft or shoot a bow to save his soul.  Always one or two stiff spots, because he hasn't any patience- never mind the flimsy arrows he puts out.  Two, your summons just came.  Messenger brought it down here to me instead of to the front door for Suze to swoon at.  Papa said in his letter that he'd crow on you, and he did just that; stunned me but good.  I thought he'd actually realized a thing or two since the old days, but-"

"He did the right thing," Iordyn nodded.  "I had thought the guard that had been present at the time would have been the one to say something, but- it's just as well."

"You're plenty of things, but a murderer isn't one of them," the blacksmith frowned as he turned to face his younger brother.  "If it were Aaron or Adassa, then perhaps, but you- no.  I can't conceive of it.  And a Purple Dragon- how?  How could it happen?"

"I killed him.  I wasn't aiming for him, but all the same," Iordyn admitted, looking down at Saul's bow wistfully.  "He was part of a guard that was to transport a gargantuan Dragonborn to this place, where the retired Battlemage Ranclyffe was waiting for him, alive.  The Dragonborn is sick or crazy or something, and was threatening the commanding officer- one Shesua."

"Oh, I know that one," Stephen mused, moving forward to lean on the beam that held up the center of the shop.  "Not one for backing down, once challenged.  Most times that's a good thing, but sometimes, it's not."

"Well, on the last of his days, he was staring down a creature better than twice his size," Iordyn snorted.  "It was his duty, even if it looked damnably impossible.  As the Dragonborn moved to harm him, I put a warning shot between the two of them.  Shesua put his weapon to the male's neck, but fearless, the creature moved forward, so I shot again, intending to wound him.  A Tiefling sojourning with the party managed to kick the other guard in the way of my shot, and the arrow that would have only hit the back of the Dragonborn's shoulder split the man's head in two.  So true was my aim that anybody would think I'd meant to do it."

"But you didn't," Stephen noted at once.  "Had the Tiefling held his place, the arrow would have met its true mark.  You're a dedicant of the bow under the guidance of Lathander himself.  Your shots don't stray."

"Her place, you mean.  She's worse than ever we were told by our teachers that Tieflings could be.  Bitter, rebellious, perpetually angry- and that mouth!"  Iordyn shook his head and seated himself on the dirt floor.

"Well, there's the case right there," Stephen shrugged, feeling himself relax.  "The Tiefling is to blame.  You didn't really kill that guard- who ought to have been wearing his helmet anyway.  Arrows to the head are what helmets are for."

"I did kill him, however much I didn't intend to," Iordyn corrected.  "Lathander doesn't guide shots into the innocent.  I was in the wrong, and I should be punished."

"Iordi, you don't know the man," Stephen argued.  "It's possible he could have deserved to die.  And irrespective of his moral standing, the fact of the matter is that the Tiefling put him in the way of your shot.  You intended to hit one creature and she pushed another into your path.  That's the entire case, right there.  Any judge will put her to death, not you."

"What judge will hang a woman?" Iordyn countered.  "The worst she'd ever see would be some years in jail- and that would be if they decided that she was at fault at all.  The arrow was mine, Stephen.  I killed him, and that's that- what's more, you cannot imply that Lathander doomed the man to death with my bow.  You know that's against everything we were ever taught."

At this, Stephen scoffed quietly, pushing himself away from the pillar.  "There's much about 'Lathander' that no one will teach you, Iordi.  You'll have to do some research.  Some reading and thinking.  And you'll have to do it on your own."

A pleasantly round woman with light brown hair that fell in happy ringlets appeared just inside of the arch to the shop, a smirk stealing across her face.  "My, but isn't this a serious conversation- much too weighty for a delicate lady to hear.  You'll have to hush it up, or I won't be able to tell you that lunch is ready."

"Oh, Lady Susanna!" Iordyn said, jumping to his feet at once.  "Sorry to be sitting; I didn't hear you-"

"Please, please, as though Suze's never seen her brother sit in her presence before," Stephen laughed.  "Every time you visit us, you pretend as though we'd been just married, never mind the four kids that do nothing but get older, stronger, wider and taller every time you look at them."

"Five, Stevie, so bless the gods," the woman replied quietly, her smirk widening into a smile.  "Surprise."

And Stephen was truly surprised.  He blinked as he slowly tilted his head from one side to the other, trying to wrap his mind around the news.

"Anyway, lunch is ready; leave whatever you're yammering about here, and come up."

"It- eh- it's me," Iordyn sighed.  "You should know; I'm to be tried for murder-"

"Nonsense," Susanna interrupted, turning around as though the report were nothing serious.  "Whatever poor soul met the wrong end of your arrow likely deserved it.  Come along, now, it's pumpkin soup, so you know Saul will want to eat it all before you even get to the table."

Iordyn was rooted to the ground, stunned at Susanna's cavalier attitude.  Stephen, rolling his eyes at his brother, simply put the retrieved arrows down on the table, put firm hands to his brother's shoulder blades and pushed him toward the arch after his wife.

A Virtuous Quest 3:10 Occupational hazards.

Eunice was only good to the edge of the sensation of the magic-practitioners compound that she called the College of War Wizards.  Once the three women approached the city beyond the college's grounds, the Human female hesitated to move farther.  Silveredge, knowing how uncomfortable Mi'ishaen would be if they were to remain anywhere nearby, asked for the most cost-effective tavern in the city, and got "the Dragon's Jaws" as a response.

Unfortunately, it was only after the Gnome charged the women two lions and ten silver for room and board that Silveredge began to wonder precisely what kind of money Eunice was used to seeing.  With a bit of arguing, Mi'ishaen at least convinced the creature to allow Niku to sleep indoors instead of tied up outside, but charged an extra two silver for the privilege.

"Don't worry about it," Mi'ishaen counseled.  "Let's just enjoy this tonight and worry about how we'll get our money back tomorrow.   There are already too many guards outside to keep prowling the streets for a better option."

"Guards?" Silveredge had asked innocently, looking over the area.

"Like that sorry plainclothes paladin that's been tailing me since the cart let us off at the top of the street," Mi'ishaen replied, tossing her head over her shoulder toward what- to Silveredge- seemed like a commonly dressed woman.  She sat alone at a table, and contemplated her flagon in a way that vaguely echoed Aleksei.  "Come on, lady, be polite and give a wave," the Tiefling encouraged with what almost seemed like genuine amusement.  "I've been shadowed by better than you when I was just ten years."

And at that comment, Silveredge watched the woman's face go stony cold.  A few minutes later, she got up and left her table, flagon and all.

"You think you've upset whoever it was?" Silveredge asked, concerned.  "If it was a guard-"

"It was; there's no hiding it," Mi'ishaen sighed.  "At least Urmlaspyr was openly racist; these dolts're likely to deny it, all the while peering 'round corners and peeking out of windows at me like I'm some circus sight."

"Oh," was all Silveredge could find to say.

The food that came with the room was appropriate for how much it cost.  The soup actually had vegetables in the broth, the bread was filling and as a plus, an overly-interested server slipped the pair an extra couple of ales.  When Silveredge thanked him, Mi'ishaen had to grin at the Human male's body-wide blush- and Niku's not-so-subtle, growled response.  Not too long after that, the ladies decided that it would be a good idea to get the hound upstairs, where he could demonstrate his displeasure with other males that neared Silveredge without causing the owner to rethink his decision.  Silveredge discovered that Mi'ishaen didn't have any night clothes, and so gave her one of the plain robes from the coven, which gave the Tiefling a laugh.  According to her, she would now look like a celebrant of dance, sex and passion in the day and a mourner of fate and death at night.  This gave rise to a long conversation about Silveredge's conversion to the belief in the Raven Queen.

The zeal with which Mi'ishaen questioned Silveredge was surprising for the Shadar-kai.  She was the most interested in how the Raven Queen managed to get into Nerull's domain to begin with and why she decided to put up with the way the gods treated her in response to her actions.  It seemed the beginning of nearly every question was, "Couldn't she just have...", but Silveredge was patient enough to attempt to render a good answer to every one.  There were a few queries that stumped her, but instead of giving a flippant or shallow answer, Silveredge asked for time to find a Shepherd to question.

"Well, never mind that," Mi'ishaen shrugged after Silveredge's third attempt at explaining how the expectation of death wasn't necessarily the same as welcoming it.  "It's kind of just a quibble-"

"All questions are valid questions," she noted, "especially if they are ones that others have feared to ask, for whatever reason.  A god that will not permit questioning is a god too weak to deserve worship."

At this comment, Mi'ishaen had turned her head slightly, so that her lengthening dark hair washed over her shoulder.

"Did the old man teach you that?"

Silveredge shook her head smilingly.  "You did.  Mikhail complained about you to your cousin while he was working with me.  I don't know if they knew that I could still hear him."

"People should keep their eyes on you, is what," Mi'ishaen smiled, putting a friendly hand on Silveredge's upper arm.  "You wound up the death of that thing.  Obviously, you hear and see tons, and because you keep your head down, people don't know how close they are to being outed or offed."

"My time with the Drow did have its benefits," Silveredge smiled, bringing her own hand up to gently rest on Mi'ishaen's.  "I sometimes miss the Underdark."

Mi'ishaen shrugged, allowing her hand to trail to Silveredge's lap so that it was sandwiched between two periwinkle ones.  "One day maybe I'll see all these places for myself- the Ethereal Plane, the Shadowfell- the Underdark, maybe.  Sometimes it sounds like they'd be kinda fun."

"The Underdark?  Well, I guess sometimes it was," Silveredge agreed.  "There was never a dull moment when I was there, I can tell you, with the houses all scheming against this one common enemy house.  They're so much more deft at murder, the Drow.  Much more polite.  My people, when they want to do you in, they just do it.  There's nothing lovely about it.  Slice, stifle or poison, that's it.  Brutal.  Crude- artless."

"Gods, but you're vicious!" Mi'ishaen giggled.  "An artless death, indeed.  How would you do it?  Say you wanted to kill me, how would you?"

"Well, it would depend on things, obviously," Silveredge replied, looking down at Mi'ishaen's hand.  She began toying with it, tracing the bone structure there with the first finger of her other hand.  "It would depend on what you were doing- what you were like.  If you were living in a comfortable house with some man and your children, it would be quite different than if you were still alone, living on the rooftops of abandoned buildings."

"You just don't want to give it away," Mi'ishaen accused playfully.  "You know I'd never do as somebody's mother or housewife.  Well, if you had to, I hope you'd make it dramatic.  Like a painting."

"I've seen a painting, once, of the Hells," Silveredge offered suddenly, pausing her movement.  "There's more than one, but... the one I mean- this huge thing- it completely covered the entire wall of this one wizard's house.  It seemed it was everywhere, even though it was only on the one wall.  And because I couldn't possibly not stare at it, I closely considered all the souls being tortured by the demons- eyes gouged, bodies beaten, burned, run through by pitchforks, torn at by hellhounds, and the like."

Mi'ishaen sat back slightly, thinking.  Silveredge, worried that she'd offended her, teetered on the edge of offering an apology before the Tiefling asked, "And what did you think of it?  Honestly?"

"I wondered how all those souls had gotten there.  How they could have been so careless," Silveredge replied very quietly.  "But with time, I thought on the demons, and how they enjoyed their cruelty.  It brought them great joy to crush these souls.  And I wondered if somehow, somewhere, there might be someone who had gone to the Hells specifically to do that.  To bring the joy that could only come from the domination of someone else.  I wondered what such a relationship might be like, and if the demon would- or even could- appreciate it.  I wondered if any of the demons were- maybe- in love, or something, and simply showed it in a different way... because not all the souls appeared to be in complete misery.  There's a difference between simple pain and utter misery, you know."

Mi'ishaen pressed her lips together, but couldn't contain the smirk, which burst into a smile after only a few seconds.  Silveredge, relieved that she hadn't been hurtful, smiled herself.

"You are the only person I've ever met to even consider the love affairs of demons," Mi'ishaen finally managed, putting the hand that had been in Silveredge's lap against one eye as she dropped her head.  "What a romantic.  Imagine going to the Hells to carry on a relationship- so that your beloved could enjoy themselves by torturing you?  That's- it's just- I can't imagine what would even become of anyone who would do that."

"I think the demons could do with love the same as anyone else- except for you," Silveredge joked, poking Mi'ishaen in the side.  "You wouldn't be miserable down there; you'd be too busy being put out.  You'd probably say, 'How dare you, putting me here!  You're jealous, because I've done better evil than you!' or something like that."

Both women discovered together that Mi'ishaen was ticklish, a fact that either the Tiefling had never known or simply forgotten.  The gale of hissed giggling that followed as she fell back onto the bed with her arms wrapped around her tummy was irresistible, and Silveredge moved in mercilessly like the middle sister that she had been many years ago.  Niku was at first concerned that the two were fighting without him, but hesitated when he noted that they had no weapons, and weren't hitting each other.  At first the attack was quite one-sided, as it took Mi'ishaen some time to acclimatize to the new use for Silveredge's feather-light, lightning-fast fingers.  When she did, however, Silveredge found herself on the receiving end of a former little sister's abilities.  Apparently, years of picking locks and pockets had done a world of good in preserving the Tiefling's own tender touch.  The two rolled back and forth in the bed for a few minutes before someone beneath them assaulted the ceiling with the top of a broom.  Panting, the two lay flat on their backs and waited for the giggling to subside.

"I suppose people are trying to sleep, by now," Silveredge breathed.

"You know you're not smushing yourself up at my feet tonight, right?" Mi'ishaen managed as she sat up.

"Oh," Silveredge replied, surprised and pleased at the same time.  "Well, should I-"

"Right here where I can tickle you some more when you least expect it," Mi'ishaen smirked.  "Now, try and sleep knowing that!"

"Of course I can sleep knowing that," Silveredge replied, turning over so that she could look at Mi'ishaen.  "I used to go to sleep wondering if I'd be awakened by the slap of a baked strap.  Plus, I'm taller than you.  Sometime or other, it'll be cold, and you will want to sleep in front of me."

"Oh will I, Iceblood?" Mi'ishaen joked, opting to ignore Silveredge's reference to her past for the moment.  "You're kidding yourself.  My ancestors solved my heat problems for me permanently long ago."

"We'll see," Silveredge smiled, reaching over to pull a stray strand of hair out of Mi'ishaen's face.  "This is growing nicely."

"Yeah, I have to cut it soon," Mi'ishaen noted.  "Get too long, and anybody can just grab hold of it and yank me wherever."

"If someone grabs your hair, you've but to turn around and punch the elbow joint the wrong way," Silveredge noted.  "A bit of hair may tear out in the process, but your adversary will have, at best, a disjointed elbow."

"Vicious," Mi'ishaen laughed, closing her eyes.  "I don't know how you can be so sweet and so vicious at the same time- it's like having acid and honey in one jar.  Let's sleep in today; pretend we're law abiding citizens like everybody else and not nutters that consider the romantic affairs of demons and their torture-loving mortal sweethearts."

The morning came casually enough, stretching kindly gold rays over the two.  In the night, they'd so jostled so that Silveredge lay on her left side, close enough behind Mi'ishaen to take her in her arms.  In the chill of the night, Niku had hopped into the bed behind Silveredge, preventing her from rolling back over, and Mi'ishaen had indeed scooted herself backward for warmth. 

Mi'ishaen awoke with sleepy confusion to the sound of the already-alert dog intently licking between his legs.  When she slowly sat up and discovered what he was actually doing, she leaped out of the bed, waking Silveredge immediately.  Niku stopped licking, more concerned about the disturbance than he was about finishing his intent, and hopped out of bed when Silveredge herself sat up.

"What's he doing?" Mi'ishaen asked, unconsciously patting herself down for patches of dog slobber.  "Is that- is he-"

Silveredge rolled over and reached out her arms to Niku, who pushed his face into her own and panted open-mouthed for a few seconds before touching her nose with his own.  After that, the Shadar-kai pulled her upper body back into the bed.

"He wanted a bath, that's all.  I didn't realize that his skin was irritated- especially the skin down there.  It's been bothering him a bit."

Mi'ishaen breathed a sigh of relief that she couldn't quite explain, then rubbed at some vague stiffness at the nape of her neck.  "Well, I suppose we could really make this place deserve the coin and order up some wash water for the basin in here.  We could demand that it be warmed- what do you think of that, dog?"

"Only the rich do that," Silveredge commented offhandedly.  "So much work.  It used to take me forever to heat enough water for Ashok to bathe in."

Mi'ishaen moved to inspect the washbasin.  "You've got a point- if they heated the water, it'd probably have cost us both the- what are they?  Tricrowns?"

"That's right."

"Well, a girl can dream," Mi'ishaen said as she straightened herself up and smoothed the grey robe against her skin.  "There's a bell-"

"I can just-" Silveredge began, sliding out of bed.

"Don't even start.  I'm already up; I'll go."

While the Tiefling left to do just that, Silveredge got up and crossed toward her pack.  Noticing a mirror on her way, she stopped to consider the insides of her thighs and the small of her back.  When she'd tired of this and was about to move away, a strange, fleeting figure moved outside, reflecting in the glass as it did.  Awash in a brief, unexplained concern, Silveredge began making the bed and preparing to put her things in her pack.

Mi'ishaen returned with two servants behind her, both carrying water buckets.  They dumped them into the tub, then held out their hands expectantly.

"I already paid for the water," Mi'ishaen replied, raising an eyebrow at the two young males.

"Yes, but you didn't pay for us bringing it, did you?" the older of the two replied simply.

"Go ask your boss for it; I'm not paying another copper," the Tiefling snorted.  "If you want, I'll leave the water in the basin for the next person, save you a trip."

"C'mon, lady, we brought it for you, didn't we?  You won't give us anything?" the boy insisted, pushing his hand out farther in front of her.

"Look, hasn't your mother told you anything about my kind?" Mi'ishaen tossed over her shoulder as she turned her back on the two.  "You're lucky I don't slit your throats and eat your entrails raw, or something."

"You do that and the guard's up here in a minute to arrest you," the boy shot back.  "I'm gonna tell you said that, then you'll have a watch set on you."

"A watch was already set on me, you little brat; what do you know?" Mi'ishaen groaned, turning around again.  "I'm not paying you for bringing the water, and that is it.  Tell your boss to pay you for your service, and if he won't, then take it."

"C'mon, Jonas, she isn't gonna," the younger boy urged, dropping his hand.  "Told you she wouldn't."

"I'm gonna tell she said she was gonna take our guts out," the elder dug, taking the younger boy by the shoulder and shoving him in front.  "I hope you fall on a spike, you mean old witch!"

"Die of plague, you grubby little runt," Mi'ishaen scoffed, watching the door close behind the pair.  "Now just think- if I were Seyashen, I could actually make that happen.  Pfft."

"The gods are wise," Silveredge said distantly, pulling off her robe and sticking her foot into the water.  "If you had magic, hundreds would die for one cross word."

"Is that a compliment to the gods, a put down for me, or both?" Mi'ishaen laughed, pausing at the basin.  A few quiet moments passed before her next statement.  "Um... remember... um... the sea?  In Urmlaspyr?"

By this time, Silveredge had acclimatized to the water and had sat down in it.  She looked up, knowing exactly what Mi'ishaen was referring to at once.

"I should have asked," she said quietly.  "I don't know what I-"

"Well, it wasn't bad, it just... um... I just don't know what... what it means, you know?" Mi'ishaen managed, rubbing at the spot at the nape of her neck again.

"It doesn't have to mean anything," Silveredge replied.  "I wouldn't do it again-"

"No, that's... it was okay, I just..." Mi'ishaen sighed and looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds.  "I haven't done that before.  With anyone.  Ever.  So, it's just new, and I don't know if... if that's a thing, with Shadar-kai, or- ugh.  I don't mean to be rude, this is awful."

"Or if it's just me," Silveredge admitted shyly.  "That wasn't awful; I'm not offended.  It's not a Shadar-kai thing.  I... hope I didn't cross any cultural boundaries myself... I know as much about Tieflings as you do about the Shadowfell."

There was a delicate pause where Silveredge smiled hopefully at Mi'ishaen.  When the Tiefling's face melted from self-consciousness into a faint, amused smirk, the Shadar-kai felt herself relax just a bit.

"I liked it," Mi'ishaen nearly whispered, feeling very girlish.  "I did.  I could've tossed you down into the water or thrown you off or something, but I didn't, and I... I knew I liked it.  Is that aberration?"

"Aberration is the corruption of the Far Realm- and neither of us has ever even been there," Silveredge explained.  "Those people didn't know what they were talking about.  They're scared of Shadar-kai and magic workers, and I'm both.  You know how being feared is- more than I could ever explain."

Mi'ishaen didn't say anything else.  She simply lifted her own robe off her body and got into the basin.  The two neared each other tentatively, completely aware of what they were trying to reestablish.  But Niku, innocently impatient, leaped into the basin with them, splashing them with the clear, chilly water.

"Oh, he means business," Mi'ishaen laughed, the awkward tension completely gone from her.  "Fine, dog, let's get this over with."

Just as the words left her mouth, a small folded bit of paper pushed itself under the closed door.  Mi'ishaen, hearing and noticing the thing first, grew serious at once.

"Rafa doesn't know we're here, does he?" she asked very quietly.

"No," Silveredge replied, turning around to see the paper herself.  "Although other Purple Dragons probably do.  Their letters have seals, though- that one has none."

"C'mon, get up, we've got to go," Mi'ishaen urged in a hushed voice.  "I certainly wasn't expecting any bloody letter."

"What do we do with the wash water?" Silveredge asked, getting out quickly and watching Niku turn around a few times in the basin before he too hopped back out and shook off.  He completely soaked everything within five feet of him, including the women's packs.

"Ugh, dog!" Mi'ishaen groaned as she put the robe into her pack and took out the scarlet garb of Lliira.  "Couldn't've waited another ten seconds to do that across the room?"

Silveredge considered her second robe, but put on her training slacks and tunic instead, wanting to be prepared for anything.  This done, she began braiding her damp hair as tightly as she could, causing a puddle beside her as she did.

Mi'ishaen braided her hair much more quickly and managed to get on the dress before Silveredge finished her braid.  When she'd packed all her things, she unmade the bed and pulled the sheets off.  Twisting it tightly until it doubled as a rope, the Tiefling tied a knot around her things and another knot around Silveredge's things.

Silveredge prepared to go for the note, only to be whined at by Niku and stopped by Mi'ishaen.

"No, I'll do it-" the Tiefling said as she put both packs by the open window.  "I'll get to the other side of the door.  If it swings open, you've got to be ready."

Silveredge merely nodded, watching as Mi'ishaen moved to the other side of the door, then turned so that her tail could drag the note toward her.  Sure enough, the door bolted open, and Silveredge blasted the oncoming attacker with an orb of pure magic energy.  Both the attacker and Mi'ishaen were surprised, but Mi'ishaen recovered faster.  Snatching a pillow off the bed, Mi'ishaen kicked the male's knees, then smothered him with the pillow.  Silveredge ran around the other side of the male to hold his arms to the floor as Mi'ishaen smashed the pillow into his face, and Niku bolted through the open door and down the hall.

"Ugh- well, we won't be able to come back here, that's for sure," Mi'ishaen grunted as the male kicked his last before passing out.  "I've got the note, let's go."

After Mi'ishaen untied their things, the two moved quickly out of the tavern-turned-inn, not stopping to say anything to the curious Gnome.  Niku had stopped just inside of the tavern door, and other than a madly wagging stump of a tail, gave no indication of his excitement.

"Did you get a good look?  What did he look like?" Mi'ishaen asked as they hustled past a few confused townsfolk.

"I didn't really- no, I don't know," Silveredge breathed, struggling to keep up.  "Where's the-"

"Here, here; hang on, let's- this alley looks good for a  few minutes' look at it.  Quickly, now."

The two dodged into slender alley near the end of the block, and Silveredge put down her things to get a good look at the note that had almost cost Mi'ishaen a scraped tail.

"It's a message to look for a message," Silveredge puffed in disbelief.  "It's apparently near the docks- oh, the Royal Docks, where we first landed."

"You're kidding- in the middle of all those damned-?  Ugh," Mi'ishaen griped.  "Well, it might be the Purple Dragons looking for you, since you wrote that letter for Rafa- c'mon, let's get out of here before that plainclothes guard- wherever she is- starts getting curious."

The two popped back out of the alleyway and strolled, with Niku following them, toward nowhere in particular.

"It's not sealed," Silveredge reminded after they'd crossed over their second block.  "And it was followed up by someone who would have harmed us.  We've only been here two days; there's no call for that.  Even if they had wanted to put us in a position of weakness, they could just walk in and arrest us, for all anyone else would ask.  This is more likely to be from your friends."

"Edge, I can't read," Mi'ishaen argued, too caught up to even think to be embarrassed about the fact.  "Why would they send me a letter of any kind, much less a letter to find another letter?"

"Oh- oh, no," Silveredge frowned.  "If the message is from them and it's for me, the attacker that followed included, it's possible that they're attempting to rid you of me.  I imagine they're smart enough to get over the loss of the element of surprise.  Since I managed to survive long enough to read this letter, a more coordinated attack may be waiting with the second."

Mi'ishaen's eyes narrowed nearly to slits.  "The Royal Docks.  Right now; the pair of us."

Niku barked once, then whined, and the Tiefling rolled her eyes as she turned around.

"My fault, dog.  All three of us."

3:9 Sweet mother.

After suffering with Rafa for a half hour, Terezio hailed a cart driver and loaded the group onto the well-built wooden transport, along with their belongings.  The floating disc was dismissed with a casual wave of his hand, and just a few choice, low words sent the driver into action.  The road was well-paved and even, which was quite fortunate for the one still-inebriated passenger. 

Rafa had every idea that he was the cause of the change of pace, but could do little about it besides try not to become too angry with himself.  Having reached an unfamiliar and strangely pensive phase of drunkenness, he stared straight up into the sky as he lay on his back in the middle of the cart.

"These... these damned wars, you know... they're are all rubbish," he began as calmly as he could, lacing his fingers behind his head to keep them from twitching.  "I mean, it's good sense to... you know, defend home and family, of course, but... but this... bickering, you know... over religion, and land, and laws, and... other things... it's idiotic.  It's nothing to kill over.  None of it."

"It is not," Aleksei agreed.  "There are few good reasons to make war, though there are many reasons to fight."

"That doesn't make sense," Rafa responded, confused.  He rolled over on his left side to focus on Aleksei, and noticed that Bahlzair- still covered head to foot with veils- had leaned his head on the Dragonborn's side like a devoted lover.  "It just... war is just a big fight, is all."

"Not so, my lord," Silveredge replied.  "A war involves many more people-"

"And not all of these people have direct stake in it," Aleksei finished.  "Wars always are distant from the hearts of those doing the fighting.  Even the soldier whose children the enemies are killing still is not having the entire war in his heart.  He can only have the death of his children.  Others are losing land or property.  Others are taking offense to different culture.  Others are gaining money from the buying of weapons or armor or potions- or something.  So, this war is confusion of smaller fights, a storm of only partly focused fury.  It is a monster of multiple heads- many times if one reason for war is going away or changing, the so-called allies are then making war on each other.  This solves no one's problems.  Always war is failing, because it is giving the right to solve the problems to he who is strong, not always to he who is right."

"Aleksei," Mi'ishaen sighed.  "Even I'm having a hard time following what you're saying, and I'm sober, rested and fed.  If this sot understood a tenth of what came out of your mouth just now, I'll be a demon's mother."

"Cram it!  You'd be a demon's mother even if Pelor pegged you!" Rafa huffed, insulted.

"Sir, mind what you say to a lady!" Terezio objected, completely surprised at the soldier's words and tone.

"Almost I am forgetting that frenzywater makes some angry," Aleksei mused, leaning back and resting his outspread arms on the side of the cart.  "It does not do this to me."

"You must have the constitution of a cold slab of stone," the elder mage commented from the front.  "Frenzywater is extremely dangerous stuff- it's said that some carelessly attended bottles may burst when hit by the sun just so- ah, here we are."

The cart arrived at a stone-built center where there were more robe-clad citizens than soldiers or even commoners.  There was a calm spirit of advantage there, as palpable as a heavy cloak or the heft of a weapon.  The faces weren't hardened, cold or snotty, but were instead warmed by a shared sense of belonging that was foreign to most of the riders on the cart.  At the horse's approach, a few of the privileged people briefly turned their attentions toward it, looking at each of the cart's riders with a guarded, but genuine cordiality.  A deep brown haired young woman who had been reading a fresh-looking tome looked up and smiled as well, but drew purposefully near to the cart.

"Battlemage Ranclyffe?" she asked in a feather-delicate voice that didn't seem to fit her well-fleshed features.  "Is this the male?"

"Yes, Eunice, just a moment-" the mage replied in a tight voice as he attempted to get himself down from the cart.  His age proclaimed itself in his stiff, ginger carriage, and after a few moments of watching, Aleksei simply untangled himself from Bahlzair's arms and hopped out of the cart.  Eunice was startled and moved back a few steps, which allowed Aleksei the room he needed to put his hands under Battlemage Ranclyffe's arms and lift him to the ground.  At this movement, the gathering in and near the cart gained a few lookers-on.

"Bah, man," the mage grumbled, patting and smoothing his robe once Aleksei let go of him.  "I was quite capable of getting down from there myself."

"If this is seeming like dishonor, then I am sorry," Aleksei responded, casting a brief glance at Eunice to check that he hadn't frightened her too badly.  Once he'd satisfied himself with the thought that the young female was just fine, he turned and held out his hands to help anyone who wanted to get out of the cart.  The veiled creature came first, delicately placing a sleek, ebony skinned hand into the waiting two toned hand.

"You never heard of ladies first?" Mi'ishaen grumbled, kicking Bahlzair in the backs of the knees.  Aleksei softened the collapse, winding up holding the dark Elf as though they two had been freshly married.

"Am I to truly assume that whomever is under all that lovely fabric is male?" the bemused mage asked.  "I wouldn't have thought you to be the one to complain about bad manners, my dear."

"Go on, tell him to cram it like you want to, and prove his point," Rafa laughed, pushing himself out of the cart onto still-unsteady legs.  Mi'ishaen reached out to take advantage of his terrible balance, but her arm was caught by Silveredge.

"You lot may as well stay on," Terezio counseled, holding up his hands as he moved to the rear of the cart.  "I've work to do with these three, but I have nothing to do with you."

"Why are you separating these from me?" Aleksei asked, puzzled.  "I am thinking you are saying that you will again test us all for illness."

"And you thought quite incorrectly, my good man," Terezio replied, free of venom.  "In fact, I'm rather concerned that the Tiefling will be nothing but a distraction, and I'd like to get down to business at last, since your convoy- what was left of it- was disgracefully late."  With a wave of his hand, the floating disc that had picked up everyone's things at the ship materialized.  "Take what things belong to you and this man, and let's be off."

And Aleksei simply shook his head, electing instead to stand absolutely still.

"Oh, dear," Eunice muttered.  "This will be some fun."

"You, ser, are a prisoner," Terezio reminded in a lowered, but serious tone as he drew near to the Dragonborn.  "Don't let my politeness fool you; you have no choice in what happens to you.  And these women are better off making their own way without having to deal with the specter of your record."

"I am not having a record," Aleksei replied.  "The commanding officer accusing me is dead.  So are his charges."

"That's where you are wrong, ser.  You are correct in that the two treason charges have been dropped, but the public indecency, assault and murder still stand.  By all rights, I can put you right back on a boat to Urmlaspyr, claim that I cannot work with you, and fold my hands while you hang."

"And to you, this will be best thing you are doing for me since you are seeing me," Aleksei shrugged.    "This male can do no harm to me; do as you will do."

"Well, of course he can't do you any harm right now, much to his shame," Terezio sighed.  "And I don't intend to kill you myself, if that's what you were inviting me to do.  You'll have to do better than that to agitate this old blood."  He waved a careless hand toward Aleksei, and a radiant flash of blue appeared around his wrists and ankles for a brief moment before disappearing.  Bahlzair hopped down out of the Dragonborn's arms at once; if the ankle that Mi'ishaen had nearly buried her fist into were still bothering him, there was no trace of pain in the movement.  Niku, who had stood up in the cart without jumping down ahead of Silveredge, snarled just once, but menacingly.  The mage began to move past Aleksei to speak with Eunice, but noticed that even Silveredge had put her body in the way of the Tiefling's sour-faced descent, and had leveled a solid stare at the veiled creature.

"Battlemages, I must remind you, are far from the squishier mages with whom you may have previously been acquainted.  Now, sit back down in the cart, and be on your way."

"Cram it," Mi'ishaen spat at last.  "We didn't come all this way to be shuffled off by the likes of you."

"Oh, there she... come, don't make things worse," Rafa affably suggested as he rubbed at his temples, which had begun to throb.  "If you just... if you stay quietly, they'll be alright.  They're... powerful.  They'll be fine."

Aleksei closed his eyes and said nothing, but Eunice's eyes suddenly went very wide.

"Perhaps your handmaidens may simply walk where you walk, until you have arrived at your destination?  Then our minds shall be at peace; we will depart quietly, and leave our lord in your care," Silveredge suggested.

"She's right," Eunice chimed in, reaching out a hand to Silveredge as though the battlemage had already given his stamp of approval to the plan.  "If I had a close friend going to jail, I'd ask the same, at least- they're all only Hu- erm, mortal."

"A waste of time and energy," the mage sighed.  "But not to be avoided without very certain violence, I see.  You, Eunice, have been holding back in class.  That's a very good use of the "detect" spell tree; don't do it again.  Now, apologize to-"

"Nyet," Aleksei interrupted.  "What she is doing is wise.  She and the Shadow Child maybe will learn from each other."

While Aleksei hadn't shouted, the lookers-on that had been passively enjoying the spectacle began quietly commenting to each other about his words, and soon, there was a larger interested group that guarded a comfortable, but still fairly obvious, listening distance.

"There is no such thing as the Shadow Children; that's a story the Raven Queen worshipers were forced to make up in order to convince the Shadar-kai to forsake Shar," the mage countered in a raised voice, pretending not to notice the gathering.  Realizing that they had basically been told to move along, those that had gathered moved in some separate directions- but not very far.  "Now, that is enough out of all of you."  Terezio gave a grunt of annoyance and turned on his heel, striding off without aiding Rafa at all.  "Follow me."

Eunice, confused, prepared to get under Rafa's arm.  Rafa, however, refused, finding himself at last able to move without feeling as though his brain were swimming in his head.  The veiled creature leaned on Aleksei for support as it limped along, now clearly pained.  Niku surged ahead of everyone to keep himself between the mage and his followers, and Mi'ishaen lagged behind, not even electing to join Silveredge's company.  The group moved along silently like this past four smaller buildings before arriving at a well-lived in, cottage-like abode, where Terezio stopped abruptly.

"Eunice, why did you think to force that to limp all the way here?" the mage groaned when he noticed the veiled creature.  "You were right near the study at the first."

"You said to follow you, so I did," Eunice countered.  "You didn't tell any of us to stay behind."

"Yes, but common sense would tell you-"

"Rezi, behave.  If she'd stayed behind, you'd have wondered why she didn't follow.  She's here, so you harp on her about staying behind."

The sharp, clear voice reminded Aleksei so much of Trizelle that it took no effort at all to credit the willowy, fair-skinned woman that opened the door to the home as the court mage's mother.  The looks loaned themselves to the thought as well; the fair skin that seemed as though it would burn if she thought to look at the sun, the piercing cat-eyed glare, and the thin, firmly pressed lips.  However, while Trizelle was rounder and moved with some stiffness after holding a position too long, her matron carried her advanced age more delicately, with long, bird-like limbs and a frame so slight that it seemed as though she had very recently been unwell.  She moved through the door and out into the open air with the ease and grace of a feral feline.

"If you hadn't guessed," she began with a smile that immediately set her apart from her daughter, "I am Battlemage Ranclyffe's wife- Drussandra.  It's quite the mouthful; Druce is fine."

"Lady Druce, at least," Battlemage Ranclyffe sighed, frowning slightly.  "Do remember that you're addressing commoners from Sembia, Dear."

"Untwist your knickers," Drussandra replied, offering her hand to Rafa first, then to Aleksei.  When Rafa winced at recovering from his slight bow, the woman refocused her attentions on him, ducking below him slightly to have a look at his face.  "You come right in this instant, young man.  Rezi, you said the Dragonborn was the ill one."

"He is, Drussandra; would you wait a mo-"

"And keep him where everyone can scorn him?  Come, boy, let's have you in- and the rest of you, of course."  And without another word, the woman hooked her arm around Rafa's waist and pulled him toward the doorway.  While her force wasn't much, Rafa moved along with her, not wanting to cross her wishes.

"My lady is kind," Silveredge answered automatically.

Battlemage Ranclyffe watched his wife usher Rafa in, but then moved to the doorway so that no one else could follow.  "No, you women are supposed to go to-"

"Where?" Drussandra asked, turning over her shoulder.  "They came with the male, correct?"

"Yes, but I don't need them; I'm testing him, not all of them," Terezio sighed in annoyance.  "They won't all fit in the lab.  We'd have to put them in the guest rooms."

"Lèse-majesté," Drussandra scoffed as she continued to move inside with Rafa.  "I could do with guests in those rooms before the furniture collapses into heaps of dry mold."

"Your handmaiden did tell Battlemage Ranclyffe that we would leave when we had seen where he would take Aleksei..." Silveredge began.

Inside, Drussandra settled Rafa into a comfortable couch in the front room near the extinguished hearth, then returned to the doorway, where she poked Terezio in the side with one well manicured finger until he moved.

"Aleksei?" the slender woman asked with a raised eyebrow.  "An interesting name."

"The Dragonborn," Terezio answered.

"Interesting.  And you are?" Drussandra asked, leaning in the doorway.

"Jyklihaimra- but Silveredge," the Shadar-kai smiled with a curtsey.  "And this is Mi'ishaen, and that inside is Rafael, and that-"

"Nonetheless, the Dragonborn and the Drow stay.  These two do not," Terezio finished huffily.  "Are you quite through?"

"No manners.  Take your subject.  I'll have a chat with the girls, at least, before you turn them out into the street like last night's piss pot," Drussandra sighed, standing up and crossing her slender arms.  "Good evening."

"I am much thinking of how you look like Gospozha Ranclyffe, but also you speak like her," Aleksei smiled.  "Are you also closely measuring your words, not wasting any?"

"Oh," Drussandra remarked, surprised.  "Well.  She listened.  That's a first.  Does she clean her room now, too?"

"Yes," Aleksei nodded.  "One could eat a meal straight from the floor, if this is what they wish."

"Well!  That's- that's amazing," the older woman grinned.  "And has she gotten a husband at all?"

"That's enough, Druce; how should he know that?" Battlemage Ranclyffe griped.  "Now talk to the women as you said you'd do and come inside, so that they can find a tavern to board in before all the acceptable rooms are taken for the night."

He moved past Drussandra and into the front room before he realized he'd made a mistake.  Upon hearing the entire group come in behind him, he simply moved to his large chair beside the cold hearth, put himself into it and put his forehead in his hand.  Mi'ishaen and Silveredge, tailed by Niku, came to a stop behind the couch where Rafa had laid down and fallen back to sleep.  Aleksei picked up the sleeping soldier's trunk, sat down and laid him on his lap, turning his body so that he was no longer on his back.  Bahlzair sat on the arm of the sofa and wrapped a loose, but possessive arm around Aleksei's shoulders.  Drussandra moved out of the front room for a few moments, then returned with her hands clasped together.  When she stood before Mi'ishaen and Silveredge again, she opened her hands and presented two tricrowns.

"Oh, come, did you have to rob me, too?" Terezio groaned, having picked up his head just long enough to note the gift.  "I know you don't like it, but-"

"Now, when you go, darlings, pick me up something nice, won't you?" Drussandra asked with a daring smirk.  Silveredge bit her lips, but Mi'ishaen nodded.

"I gotcha.  More where this came from, if I do?"

"Smart as a whip, but you could use a bit more discretion," Drussandra retorted, her smirk widening into a smile.  "Someone will certainly have a use for you."

"For goodness sake, Druce, put them out!  What'll you do, be a fence now?   Good night, ladies; there's a good pub just down the road.  Let Eunice show you, hmm?"

"Keep your wits about you, ladies," Drussandra counseled as the dark haired Human caught the Shadar-kai's arm at once.  "Hire a cart, if you can get it cheaply."

"Why should they worry about getting it cheaply when you're giving out coin as though it were easy to come by?" Terezio argued.

"Out of the two of us, you should know what those women are.  Either we put them up properly, or we encourage them to fall into baser habits, turning them out into the street without a copper like that.  In an unfamiliar land, no less.  We're fortunate that they both speak Common."

"Alright, Mother, you've done your duty, now," Terezio huffed.  "Eunice, away with you."

The assistant moved quickly, taking Silveredge along with her without much protest.  Niku darted behind them, leaving Mi'ishaen lagging.  When the door had closed behind them, Drussandra firmed her lips into a frown, then turned on her heel toward the kitchen.

"You are having many children?" Aleksei asked suddenly, looking up from Rafa.

"Two sons and one other daughter," Drussandra easily supplied before Terezio could even pick up his head again.  "Federico, Ludovico and Teresa.  The two boys are mages in the service of the Cormyrian crown, but Teresa just didn't want to be tied down that way.  I don't know what it is about my daughters."

"They are maybe finding it hard to be like their mother," Aleksei shrugged.  "I am much wanting to be like my father, but also it is hard for me, and I am making many mistakes."

"Oh- Aleksei, isn't it?  Ugh.  I could hope that you were wrong, but I fear you're not," Drussandra lamented.  "But you didn't come all this way to discuss my parenting tactics.  What precisely is the problem?"

"Brain worms," Terezio responded, almost unheard.

"I am not unwell," Aleksei confessed.  "I am not certain why Gospozha Ranclyffe is deciding to say that I am."

"News. news and more news," Drussandra laughed lightly.  "To discover that my stony, sour Trizzi has a heart and a brain after all these years is almost too much for this old woman.  It sounds to me as though she were giving you a good reason to get out of the country, that's all."

"She's smarter than that," Terezio sighed, finally sitting up all the way.  "The letter she sent was intentionally vague.  I tried some divination, but the girl's still solid as a blasted rock, so I'll have to do a full evaluation all over again in the attempt to figure out why she even sent him to me instead of one of her other, published colleagues."

"Rezi, she doesn't think any less of you just because she's published.  If there's one thing Trizzi has always hated about you, it's the way you sort the practitioners of magic into the super-elite magi and the so-called baser classes of wizards, warlocks, sorcerers and what-have-you.  Thank gods, she hasn't done it a day in her life.  And she, of all people, has all the reason to do so in the world."

"I am much wondering why she is pretending to be less than what she is," Aleksei piped up.  "She is allowing others to think that she is 'doting hag'- she is saying this to me before."

"She's quite the opposite- which is the reason she was a challenge as a child, you understand," Drussandra sighed, moving closer to Rafa to check his breathing.  "Rezi is a formidable battlemage, of course, and Feddi and Ludo are quite like him.  Tessa ran off to be a druid, or something, and I try not to judge her for it.  But Trizzi, well, she was another breed.  Even with Rezi's seed in play, there's no earthly reason why I gave birth to that.  She's been classified as an 'ultimate magus,' for... goodness... well, obviously more than six decades now... had to be registered as an 'unnatural magical threat' with the Alarphons- I suppose the equivalent of a magic-wielding policing department- since she was twelve years old.  She hadn't even gone into the upper form in school yet when they first banged on the door for her.  The boys were older, and actually teased her for it, but I think Tessa just couldn't stand to be in her shadow, after that."

Aleksei nodded slowly.  "You are not mage?"

"Pah, no," Drussandra laughed as she turned toward the kitchen again.  "Perish the thought.  I'm a seamstress and a cook, dear, and a lucky one at that.  Wait until Rezi tells you how we met- shall I set out five places for dinner, Rezi, or will they be taking dinner downstairs?"

"Downstairs, Druce; I'll have to at least pretend that whatever they might have is communicable until I've definitely proven otherwise," Terezio sighed.  "Sorry for the tale.  Get her talking about the family, and you'll never shut her up."

"It is as you are saying," Aleksei shrugged.  "She is mother.  You are maybe not telling her about Trizelle's son?"

And Terezio, for once, looked up with surprise in his face.

"Trizelle had children?"