3:39 Written on your heart.

The brown-haired, thin-faced assistant looked even paler when the mist of recent effort graced her brow.  She was doing an admirable job of controlling the heaving of her chest, but the rising and falling of her bosom was still eye-catching.

Beautiful, isn't it?

Dresan grit his teeth.  Since the first ironically polite intrusion into his spirit, Graz'zt had been carefully pushing his way farther and farther into the pure-blooded Tiefling's waking mind- which, terrifyingly enough for Dresan- caused thoughts and opinions so uncomfortably close to his own that he had trouble telling what he was actually thinking at any given time.

"Are you certain I can do nothing but bring you water?" the pure-blood Tiefling asked again, deciding against coming any closer to her.

Eunice nodded, getting some stray strands of hair stuck to her forehead in the process.

"If you like, I can bring the food in for you... make sure that his ankle is still straight?  It's reasonable, to fear Drow.  They are dangerous creatures-"

Just a hair more dangerous than she considers me, came the grating thought.

"It's fine, I... I'll be fine at it, in another few..." The young woman took a few more moments to finally get her breathing fully under her control.  "Thank you, though."

I'm wasting my time being kind to her, when she fears me just as much as she fears the monster within.

"I'll go now," Dresan shot suddenly, turning his back on his grandfather's assistant to descend the stairs.

"Did you- do you, by any chance, know when Lady Druce might return?"

'So that I might hide in her skirts?' the thought played out in a mocking sing-song.  There was no way for Dresan to tell whether it had been organic to his own mind, or whether Graz'zt was egging him on again.  He froze, pressing his eyes completely shut, his fingers so tightly wrapped around the banister just before him that his fingertips whitened rapidly.

"She is at market," he forced himself to say in an amicable tone.  "I know not when she will return from there."

"Oh, I forgot," Eunice replied in a strangely bouncy tone.  "No matter; I'll just leave these here for now-"

Fear so thick it sinks into the flesh, makes the bones itch.  She reeks of it, to the highest heavens, and to the lowest hells.

"-and wash this-"

"Give me-"

And as Dresan turned around to take hold of the cup, Eunice moved forward- the two ended up within inches of each other.  The young woman's gaze met the middle aged man's, and for a moment, Dresan felt the same surge of infernal energy as he'd felt when he confronted his mother, days before.

I could crush her- destroy her, this minute.  Obliterate her weak mind, and that abominable terror along with it.  Utterly tear her spirit to shreds- show her what it is to have true power.

Eunice smiled winningly, like a teenager who'd just seen the first person upon whom her delight rested.  It was not an ignorant grin, but instead betrayed a piercing awareness of exactly what had gone through his rapidly darkening mind.

"Thank you so much, my Lord Ranclyffe," she said in a breathy voice.  "I-"

"Hawke," Dresan corrected, reaching forward to pluck the cup out of the younger woman's hands with a touch of guilt.  The throbbing sensation within him would not abate, even though his mind suddenly argued against it.  "Dresan Hawke, I- I took my wife's name."

"How sweet!" Eunice cried genuinely, clasping her hands in front of her chest as though the thought of a man taking his wife's name was just too much for her heart to bear while remaining within her.

Dresan clung to the thought of his wife, trying to muster within himself a tangible awareness that the woman to whom he now spoke was young enough to be a child to him.

"Come, Eunice-dear, let us bring this creature his food, and then be on your way.  I'll explain to Battlemage Ranclyffe that I let you depart to enjoy the outdoors, of which, seeing not for himself the good, he thoughtlessly deprives you."

Now who is afraid?

Eunice turned around, retrieved the food tray from the floor, and stood up to look back at Dresan over her shoulder.  "Shall we go, my lord?"

And Dresan, without verbally replying, simply nodded and moved past her to open the door to the scene of the supposedly near-violent incident.

The curtains were opened, allowing early afternoon sunshine to pour into the room.  The bedclothes were whole and neatly folded, looking for all the world as though the last person to have touched them was Drussandra herself.  The table and chair were precisely where they were supposed to be, and sitting calmly in the chair was the supposed culprit himself, who turned piercing crimson eyes toward the incoming male mage.

"Whoreson."

Dresan caught his breath, nearly dropping the cup as he did so.  The single word, unspoken, unbidden, and certainly not original to his own mind, seemed to be pressed like a searing hot poker branded into his lungs.  His left lung, to be perfectly precise.

"My lord?" Eunice asked, genuine concern glimmering in her tone.  For all her prior reticence, she rushed around Dresan to put the tray down and look over it to him.

"Fine, Eunice, fine," the middle aged mage smiled tightly, looking down at Bahlzair's blank face.

"That's right.  Lie to a divination student.  Surely that will work."

Dresan winced, desperately trying not to be caught off guard again.  But the dark Elf's face twisted into a wicked smirk, and his eyes flashed with the sort of sanguine enjoyment one might expect to see  in the faces of attendees at a post-combat coliseum.

Eunice looked from Dresan to Bahlzair, then took a deep breath and let go of the tray before her.

"I've left the bandages outside," she commented briskly as she moved behind Dresan and back through the door.  "Just one moment, and I'll have them back."

"Both monsters in one cage." 

Dresan groaned to himself as he heard the door lock shut behind him.  Crossing to the window on the other side of the room, he looked out to casually check the streets for either his mother, or his mother's mother.

"You're doing that," he said to Bahlzair acidly, tapping the frame of the window with his empty hand as he spoke.  "How?  What spell is it?"

"Wrong question."

After recovering from the amazing sensation that the words were being branded onto his left lung, Dresan turned furious eyes on the Drow behind him.  "And how do you propose I do it?  Leap from the window?"

"Would silence his voice forever, wouldn't it?"

"I can hardly solve the 'problem' of your patron haunting me by killing myself," Dresan breathed, too furious to wait for his body to cooperate.

"Don't pretend you haven't thought of it," Bahlzair scoffed, rising from the chair to walk slowly toward Dresan.  "But since you are a coward, you live."

"Which of us is the bigger coward, then?" the pure-blood Tiefling demanded, his infernal rage skyrocketing, unchecked by his better sense.  "Impertinent spiderspit- I should destroy you- no, punish you.  Slowly.  Mercilessly.  According to the custom of your own, wicked, cursed, hideous-"

"Hideous?  What else do you find distasteful, disgusting, or frightening?  That, perhaps?," Bahlzair replied, pointing to the shadow that Dresan cast.

There appeared the image of a menacing shadow creature; magnificent, backward-curling horns crowned its head, and a flicking, spiked tail sprouted from its back.  Where Dresan had Human-seeming, fleshy hands, the shadow creature had cornugon-like claws, and where the middle aged mage had feet, the creature sported unmistakable hooves.  Deep within himself, Dresan had to admit that he was immensely pleased by the image- and as he did, the sensation of having had his lungs branded with hot irons faded.

"I... must question your... definition of frightening," the middle age mage mused at last, conscious of the fact that nearly an entire minute had gone by.

The dark Elf stood immediately behind Dresan, who turned slightly over his shoulder to notice the male creature's closeness.  His spine straightened and stiffened when he felt a feather-light, adoring finger trail its way from the middle of his upper arm down toward the top of his wrist.

"Good," came the oddly soothing thought.  It was as though instead of mercilessly searing through Dresan's chest, the words warmed it.  "The truest shows of love and loyalty are found in the show of fearless power, not in mincing, mewling obeisance.  You cannot deny this thought- it was your own, long before you set foot here.  Consider this: did you pair yourself with a weak-willed, common woman, or with a headstrong warrior?  Now, Eunice is much more than Terezio is allowing her to be.  She can be set free, but she must recognize herself- as you have.  Think of it- would it not have been better for you if someone had led you to your gifts sooner than you found them on your own?  Why would you withhold the hand of guidance from someone, when you know how it feels to be without help?  To be feared, despised all your life; a natural predator caged in by trembling prey?"

Dresan allowed a long, slow breath to escape him.  He felt his heart pounding mercilessly in his chest, feeling as though it would soon burst past his lungs, through his ribs and flesh, and out into the chilly air.  Oddly enough, the rest of his body relaxed, as though it were used to strange dark Elves venturing the touch of an eager, but careful paramour.

"Hold your hand a while; let me understand you," he replied at last, his voice unwilling to break a whisper.  "What is it you ask of me, concerning this woman?"

Bahlzair stopped distracting the pure-blood Tiefling with his touch, but did not back up at all.  This time, when the warm words manifested themselves on Dresan's heart, it was as though they were being slowly written there.  "Keep yourself in her presence, and you will see for yourself who taught your mother to treat you the way she did."

This expressed, Bahlzair ran his finger along Dresan's arm one last time, then at last backed away from him.  After a few moments of thought, the middle aged mage turned all the way around.

"By what spell do you inscribe words by fire into the hearts of your listeners?" he asked, looking intently into Bahlzair's crimson eyes.  The glimmer of humor there didn't surprise him as much as he felt it should have.

"It is not the action of my will, but of yours," came the reply.  "You might rather ask what it is that allows you to feel them."

Dresan made no answer, but returned to looking out of the window, so many thoughts and feelings swirling within him that he had little opportunity to tell from where they all came.

3:38 Do no harm.

A young half-Elven woman climbed the stone steps that led up from the cell she'd just locked closed, then turned to her right to move down the narrow, but well-lit hall.  About half-way between the first level of cells and the lobby-like receiving area, the Ornrion, accompanied by a visibly pregnant Human woman, a weary eyed young Human man, and a sharp faced female mage- whose oddly drawn visage almost confused the half-Elf into mistaking her for an old Elf of some sort- blocked her further forward movement.

Although freshly appointed to jail duty, the female guard was well familiar with both Susanna Raibeart and Ornrion Vannus.  She'd never seen the mage before, although her reputation preceded her- mostly because of her father.   At the sight of the archer, however, a quiver went directly through her belly.  The whispers shared between the more experienced jail guards claimed that his heart was so pure that the god Lathander himself provided divine guidance for each arrow.  When she'd heard the rumors, she'd thought them jokes, but one look at the archer made her believe everything immediately.  For a moment, she could only stare past Vannus, the mage, and Susanna to him.  Noticing her gaze, he seemed to blush slightly, and the blood in his cheeks made him seem a bit less tired than he had a few moments before.

"And?" Vannus asked with faint annoyance, lifting his amber brown eyes up to the darker brown eyes of the muscular female soldier who was actually taller than he.

"No movement," the woman admitted, snapping to proper attention at once.  "He's just as you left him, and I suppose she's climbed into his arms, because I can't see her at all."

"And the plate?" the ornrion pressed, making his tone a bit more serious.

"I..." The soldier wilted slightly, although she still stood at attention.  "I did ask, because the plate was still sitting there, covered... like she never touched it since I left it, and I... I didn't get a response from either of them.  I don't know what else to do.  She's already so thin... she could-"

"Worry about things like that, and this place will break you," the ornrion said frankly, his tone severe enough to be a reprimand instead of a simple piece of advice.  Turning his attentions to the young man and Susanna, he spoke again.   "Master Ranclyffe, is it?"

"By title," Trizelle replied curtly without bothering to actually look at the person speaking to her.  She was far too focused on a single, solid piece of stone in the wall beyond him, it seemed.

"I'd like to walk with you, if I may," the pregnant woman began softly, resting a hand on the wizened woman's arm.  "I'd like to see her again."

Trizelle directed a charged gaze at the woman, but soon nodded.  It seemed everyone was surprised when she briefly laid a tenuous hand on top of Susanna's hand.

"Don't, Suze," Iordyn said just as the two women began to move toward the cell together.  "That Dragonborn is-"

"-completely docile," Urmlaspyr's court mage sighed in a tone whose exasperation no one could mistake.

"With all due respect, Master," Vannus noted, "your talents are not here published abroad."

"Should they be?" Trizelle asked, although it was quite clear that the question had not really been a question at all.

"You should have kept your test subject and his pets in your own country," the ornrion said sweetly, lavishing a smile on the woman who had not once yet looked at him.

Without another word, the mage simply let go of Susanna, stepped around both soldiers, and moved down toward the cell.  Vannus, just as annoyed with her as she was with him, crossed his arms.

"Should I-" the half-Elf began timidly.

"No," the ornrion replied firmly, pursing his lips.

"Lord Vannus, I thought you said that was Battlemage Ranclyffe's daughter," Susanna finally whispered when the older woman was out of sight.  "He sent her in his place, did he not?"

"I can't imagine why," came the solid retort.  "Further, I can't imagine why Garimond-"

"This was her country once, my lord," the former acolyte smiled, thinking she would find some humor in the situation.

"Once," Vannus repeated acridly.  "No longer.  A master wizard in Urmlaspyr she may be, but here, she is nothing but a treasonous witch- she left Cormyr behind of her own free will, you know."

"Yes, the oversword told us that," Iordyn answered absently, having caught the half-Elf guard looking at him strangely again.

"My Lord Vannus, please be considerate," Susanna whispered, coming closer to the ornrion.  "My purpose was to know her spirit; that is by order of the Oversword.  She is a formidable expert on all things touching demonology, but- when I took her hand, looked into her face- Mother Chauntea said nothing."

"I have no care for her spiritual health, Miss Cheluais," replied the ornrion in a calmer tone.  "I am interested, however, to see how she will be let in without a guard."

"She is not the only one who's concerned," Iordyn piped up, a hand venturing to the halved iron arrowhead whose pieces now graced a leather cord hung on his neck.  "That which one studies has a way of sneaking through to the soul, and Lathander is as silent as Chauntea.  Though he be mad, I believe the Dragonborn was wise to tell us to listen to such silences."

"You, of all people, should fear that creature, Ser Raibeart," Vannus sighed.  "Especially with your sister in tow."

"How can I fear one who now gently cradles one who is as young and delicate as I?" Susanna soothed quietly.  "Further, Master Ranclyffe does not fear him one whit.  Mayhap I will hear more of her spirit when it is in concert with the male she so intently studies."

For a moment, all the armed people in the hallway of the prison looked at the one creature that did not belong anywhere near stone walls, metal bars, and rows and rows full of tried and untried criminals.

"You have more faith in your goddess than can be thought wise," Vannus finally said.  "Let your brother go with you, as we planned.  And if the hag does any cross thing, then let her be put out.  This is not her country any longer, and she would do well to remember that."

"Yes, my lord," Susanna replied quietly, as though she herself had been chastised.

After offering a stiff bow, Iordyn took his sister's flushed, swollen hand and guided her gently past the female guard and down the cut stone steps.  When the two arrived at the cell in question, the barred door stood strangely open, as though someone with the keys had already come by.  Iordyn was about to turn to check for passing guards, but was instead convinced to continue into the cell by his sister's sudden movement forward.

At first, the only creature that could be noticed was the Dragonborn.  The bigness of him, even sitting on the stone ground as he was, still made Iordyn's heart beat a bit faster.  His bare back was turned to the door, but the accommodating rounding of his spine was a clue that he still held Silveredge in his lap or arms.  The court mage, sitting on a low, battered wooden stool less than a foot away from his right side, held a good length of platinum silver hair in her lap, and was braiding it.

"There is prayer here," Susanna furtively whispered to Iordyn.  "I cannot tell from who, but holy words are being spoken."

Iordyn immediately took hold of the split arrowhead.  "Let me add to it," he whispered back.

When Trizelle had finished braiding, she pulled a string of some sort from one of the various ingredient pouches at her waist, then tied the hair off.

"No infestations," she said firmly.  "Piercing's clean.  Blood?"

"Blue," the Dragonborn replied in a murmur.

"Is she bleeding anywhere?" the mage clarified, putting her hands into her sleeves.  Iordyn at that moment noticed how cold it was in the cell, and peeked over at his sister, who seemed only slightly less pink in her cheeks.

"No," came the quiet reply.

Susanna slowly moved forward slightly ahead of her brother, toward the left side of the Dragonborn.  He, hearing her without seeing her, ducked his head and turned it slightly, as if to hide the sight of his eyeless socket from her.  Unafraid, but curious, she moved forward close enough to look around his arm to the resting Shadar-kai.  The uncovered plate of food sat in front of him, and seemed to have been poked at.

"Be careful," Iordyn urged, suddenly moving to put himself between the Dragonborn and his sister.

"There is more harm from you to me than from me to you," the scaled male scoffed, turning his head straight forward.  The beam of sunlight that pushed its way through the high, small stone window at the back of the cell pooled in his dry, empty eye socket, making the left side of his face look ghoulish.  The same sunlight made the periwinkle blue skinned young woman in his arms look saintly, however, and the sight impressed both Iordyn and his sister.

"Temper, Lyosha," Master Ranclyffe said sternly, as though she were correcting her own child.

Susanna watched the brief flash of anger be rapidly replaced with a weighty sorrow, but before she could respond, the young woman who had previously had her eyes closed opened them.  The former acolyte felt a wall- an invisible, but still impenetrable wall- being willed into being between them.  Iordyn noted the change in his sister's attitude toward the situation before her at once.

"Right- you'll have to go, Voyonov," he said, completely mistaking the reaction.

Beyond the bulk of the Dragonborn, the mage scoffed, nearly too quietly to be heard.

"Oh, no, Iordi, I-" Susanna sighed deeply, more upset with herself than anything else.  "I don't mean to disturb anyone-"

"The handmaiden is not disturbed," the Shadar-kai breathed, shifting around in Aleksei's arms.

"Oh?" Susanna smiled, feeling herself suddenly very tired.  "Is she used to being fed, instead of eating for herself?"

The Shadar-kai smiled, and although it seemed faded, Susanna found it a welcome change.  There was an effort made to sit up, and the Dragonborn sat up straighter so that there was room enough to do so.

"The handmaiden was physically reminded to feed herself; she was not thinking of it."

Iordyn watched as both his sister and Master Ranclyffe made note of the woman's choice of words.  He felt uncomfortable looking at any of the women in the room at all, even though he was related to one of them.  When Trizelle held her grim-faced silence, Susanna decided to speak up.

"You must be thinking of your figure instead," Susanna joked with a faint smile gracing her own face.  "Any man would do well to praise it."

"Not so, my lady," the Shadar-kai replied, finally managing first to scoot to the edge of the Dragonborn's lap, then to get to the floor and kneel before Susanna and Iordyn.  "It should be your own that is more highly praised.  The blessings of your gods follows you."

"And may yours be with you," Susanna breathed, the beginning of understanding dawning upon her.

"Come here," Master Ranclyffe commanded, standing up.

Susanna was going to protest, but her dutiful brother took her by the arm and began to usher her toward the chair without a second thought.

"What is it you are coming into prison to find?" the Dragonborn asked, paternal concern heavy in his accented words.

"The woman who saved my life, and that of my baby," Susanna replied as she rested herself on the stool that Trizelle had so recently vacated.  It was as cold as if it had stood empty for a half hour.  "May I call you Silveredge?  I'm told that this is your name, although you respond to others."

"Whatsoever my lady will call me, to that will I answer," Silveredge replied without hesitation.  "Truly, your gods have saved you."

"Your humility becomes you, but your words betray you," Susanna said.  "It is neither Lathander nor Chauntea who stretches their hands to me through you- yet, some deity does."

"The handmaiden is confounded," Silveredge said, turning her head very slightly to one side.  "Surely it was the will of your gods that you be saved, yet I would not be able to tell one's direction from the other."

"Do you say, then, that it is not the will of your patron deity that I and my baby be saved alive?" Susanna charged immediately.  "Is he or she not possessed of the desire to protect living things?"

"The handmaiden is not sure," Silveredge answered as she righted her head and shifted from foot to foot.  "Those who were directly protected by my patron did not live."

Susanna rested her folded hands on her belly with a smile.  "Then, does the handmaiden not call her patron a protector, or does she not live?"

Silveredge nodded as though Susanna had asked her a yes or no question, then replied with a strangely wounded smile.

"If I fall, mistress, then I fall."

The silence that followed, full of unspoken certainty, terrified Iordyn.  It infuriated him that Master Ranclyffe, who was supposed to be testing for any sort of mental manipulation, seemed to be doing absolutely nothing.

"Will you take my hand, gentle handmaiden?" Susanna asked after thinking for a few quiet minutes.

"That which you truly ask is beyond me," Silveredge replied.  "I have not seen the first beloved in many days, and though the Nameless Goddess delights in weaving our fates, she does not give the knowledge of them to me."

"Well, there's that," Susanna breathed, sitting back upon the stool more firmly.  "It seems to me, Madam Ranclyffe, that at times, this young woman does call upon the power of her goddess, but at others, the wellspring of power drawn upon is her own.  Will you agree?"

She noted that the woman has done nothing as well, Iordyn thought, satisfied.

"No," the older woman replied frankly.  "Arcane abjuration may mirror its divine counterpart."

"But this Nameless Goddess-"

"Is the Raven Queen," Master Ranclyffe finished briskly.  "There is a tight-knit unit of her followers in the Urmlaspyr catacombs that have made themselves wholly responsible for the burial grounds of the entire city.  It may, by this, be postulated that their goddess is concerned about the protection of the dead."

For a split second, Susanna stared at Urmlaspyr's court mage blankly, wondering why she had not simply volunteered this information before.  Trizelle, almost as if in response, raised an eyebrow at the pregnant woman as if to wonder why a student of divine magic had been wholly ignorant of the existence of a goddess.

"Perhaps I should tell you that the first beloved- that Mi'ishaen- is being sought more for information than for punishment," Iordyn finally piped up, looking helplessly from Master Ranclyffe to his sister-in-law before focusing on Silveredge.  "If I promised you, on my life, that no harm would come to her, would you tell me where she was?"

"My lord should rather value his life more highly," Silveredge replied with another faint smile, as though Iordyn had told a bad joke.  "The handmaiden does not lie when she says it has been many days since last she has seen the first beloved."

"You saved my life, dear woman," Susanna urged.  "I beg you, if you can care for me, care for my people.  Is there anything you can do to help us find her?"

Silveredge spent a few quiet moments without responding at all, staring at Susanna as though she had not understood the question.  Iordyn prepared to urge a response, but his sister, sensing that something was indeed happening within the Shadar-kai, picked up her hand slightly to stop him.  Behind them both, Master Ranclyffe picked her head up a fraction of an inch, then turned her attentions to Aleksei.

"What information is being sought?  Is it anything the handmaiden might give?" she asked Iordyn at last, turning her gaze to him.

Iordyn tilted his head slightly, not having thought of anticipating such a reaction.

"It is thought, dear handmaiden, that the first beloved may have something to do with those who apparently want to harm me," Susanna interjected.  "There was a rune-covered silver knife-"

"The Rooftop Reaver," Master Ranclyffe smiled strangely, "has abandoned Urmlaspyr's graveyards to warn Cormites of death or danger."

"The first beloved would not have a rune-covered knife, since she does no magic."  Silveredge thought for a few moments, then shifted so that she could address Master Ranclyffe more directly.  "Is it thought, then, that Bahlzair was in the market?"

"Maybe people are thinking this," Aleksei huffed. "Also, they are thinking that Mishka is helping Sembia to kidnap for slavers."

And inexplicably, Master Ranclyffe nodded, then crossed her arms.  Susanna expected another comment about the Dragonborn's temper, and was not gratified.

"What?" Silveredge cried, turning her head sharply over her shoulder to glare straight into Aleksei's single-eyed gaze.  "She's never been to Sembia; unless Urmlaspyr itself is still considered part of it.  How could she be kidnapping people for a country to which she has no tie?"

"Ah," Susanna breathed quietly.

"Wait, the Oversword said he told you that Mi'ishaen might have been kidnapped herself," Iordyn argued.  "How have you come-"

"There is no one worrying for whether Mishka is safe or not," Aleksei rumbled angrily.  "Why are you waiting for Rasha to lie, when all the time you are doing this to me, and now to her?"

"What's happened?" Silveredge asked, worried.  "She may be kidnapped?"

"They are looking for her still for the death of the bird that I wish I am leaving stuck in the tree," Aleksei replied sharply.  "Rafa is saying that Sembia is paying lot of attention to us as we are coming, maybe thinking that we are good for selling-"

"Or, perhaps they are interested in reclaiming an entirely natural, extremely talented, Shadar-kai mage who publicly refuses to respect Netheril," Master Ranclyffe noted very quietly, watching both the Shadar-kai and the Dragonborn closely as she spoke.

"-and now that there are people missing from their streets, they are very much thinking that we are responsible for them.  I and Bahlzair are never moving from old mage's house, all the time since we are coming to this country.  You, they are able to find, because you are not hiding since you are coming here."  Aleksei took a moment to look at the older mage with a sigh.  "Because of what Gospozha Ranclyffe is saying... perhaps it is good that you are here, instead of still being where anyone can find you.  But this loud searching for Mishka is telling her to keep hiding, and she is good at it.  So they are saying to me that maybe slavers are taking her, but they are thinking maybe she is helping them to take people from the streets, to make them slaves for their enemies."

Silveredge put both hands over her mouth, overwhelmed.  "No," she managed from between her hands after a few seconds.  "She wouldn't do that- she would never do that."

"You are right," Aleksei nodded, getting up to gather the Shadar-kai in his arms.  "There are many things she might steal, but someone's freedom- never."

"Well, would you have thought her a murderer, or did that surprise you too?" Iordyn sighed, frustrated.

"If something is endangering something she wants or cares for, she won't hesitate to kill," Silveredge admitted matter-of-factly.  "That I have seen, with my own two eyes.  She would not ask for anyone's pardon, and so... and so neither shall I."

"Interesting," Master Ranclyffe noted, raising an eyebrow.

Aleksei scooted closer to Silveredge and convinced her to return to his lap by carefully putting his hands to her waist.  Once even a hint of control touched the Shadar-kai's frame, she obediently shifted backward into his waiting embrace.

"Can you tell me, then, why she has deserted your side?" Susanna asked gently.  "Is violence the only way she might show her affection?"

There was a wounded pause, and the pregnant woman momentarily looked back to the stony face of the older mage, which offered no peace or help whatsoever.

"She does not know how to show affection," Silveredge whispered in a wavering voice.

"Courage, Rasha," Aleksei encouraged, snuggling against Silveredge's shoulder.  "You will arrive at mountain peak together, even if from different sides."

"Oh," Susanna whispered, looking at Aleksei as though she'd never seen him before.

"I believe you've done all you came here to do, Mrs. Raibeart," Master Ranclyffe said with a trace of some sort of sentiment in her voice.  As though she'd been conjured, the pregnant woman moved to get up from the stool.

"Wait, I- please, Ser Voyonov," Iordyn began, moving closer toward the Dragonborn.  "I didn't mean to seem as though I... look, I do care, and... and I'm very sorry... for how I've been toward you, and... about her.  I've been wrong.  I see that I've harmed you, like you said, and... I'm sorry for that."

The Dragonborn heaved a sigh so deep that it seemed to Iordyn as though his entire frame expanded and shrunk with it.

"My heart is calm, Ser Raibeart.  I am also sorry for making you to feel disrespect.  Please also to say your words to Mishka, when you find her; she will not thank you, but she will be, maybe, little less fierce of an enemy for you."

Iordyn nodded, then extended his hand to his sister.

"Thank you," Susanna said comfortingly, reaching out a hand to the still-upset Silveredge.

The Shadar-kai gave an openly sorrowful platinum-eyed gaze to the former acolyte, then sat up straight and encased the puffy, pink Human hand in both of her own.  In instants, the women were hugging each other.  Iordyn placed a hand on his sister-in-law's shoulder after a few quiet moments, and Aleksei reached his arms up to guide Silveredge back down to his lap.

The archer said nothing until they were half-way down the hallway back to Ornrion Vannus, and the light and air of the outside world.

"What did she say?  When the Shadar-kai took your hand?"

Susanna shook her head, tears still standing in her eyes.  "I couldn't hear anything."

Something about the way she said it, along with the tears that Susanna wasn't allowing to fall, forced silence upon the rest of Iordyn's questions.



Meanwhile, Master Ranclyffe perched herself gingerly upon the now warm stool, watching as Silveredge quietly sniffled in Aleksei's arms.

"What do you call this daughter, Lyosha?"

"This is Rasha, the chain daughter," Aleksei replied.  "Also she is very good at hiding, and also dancing.  All these are good, yes?  She is very good."

An unintelligible mumble came from Silveredge's buried face, and Trizelle assumed that it had been a thank-you for the compliments.  After observing for a few moments, Urmlaspyr's court mage walked over, gingerly touched the Shadar-kai's shoulder, then left the cell.

"Do not leave her here alone."

Aleksei sighed at this command, which had nearly echoed down to him as Trizelle left.

"It is my word that is placing you here," he said sadly.  "I am very much sorry for this."

Silveredge moved herself so that she could wrap her arms around as much of Aleksei as she could.  "Courage," she managed, trying to smile although she was still sniffing.  "I have a lot to think about, and this is as close to the catacombs in Urmlaspyr as I think I will get."



Ornrion Vannus leaned in the hallway in front of the receiving room, arms crossed and head lowered.  When Master Ranclyffe came up the hallway, he turned his gaze up from the floor toward her.

"And?" he asked simply.

Trizelle looked at him and raised an eyebrow.  "Yes."

" 'Yes' ?" the ornrion echoed, surprised.

"The slave ring," Urmlaspyr's court mage replied flatly.

Ornrion Vannus turned all the way around to fix Master Ranclyffe with a solid stare.  "Slave rings only communicate the will of the master."

"Incorrect," Master Ranclyffe sighed as she walked past him toward the outdoors.  "Further, no one asked about active manipulation."

"This is obstruction of justice," Vannus noted simply, without turning around to acknowledge the fact that she'd gone past him.

"Prove it," the woman spat acridly.  "Then convince the Council to allow you to detain and try me."

"If you are as winsome and docile over there as you have been since you've been here, I'm sure they'll be hard pressed to lose you," Vannus shot back, standing straight.

"I personally sent for Cormite assistance three separate times, telling the Oversword that Semmites were stealing people out of the streets with the help of armed Semmite sympathizers within the Urmlaspyr guard.  Until recently, Cormyr suffered me one properly trained soldier, and a handful of useless grunts."

"So you are exacting punishment now, Master Trizelle Ranclyffe, by purposefully obscuring the answer that your father would have freely given?"

Trizelle stared resolutely out of one of the stone windows for a few moments.

"The laws of Cormyr require transparency and compliance of all registered mages," the ornrion stated gruffly.

"I am not a Cormite mage," Trizelle said, without a hint of emotion.  "I am not Cormite at all."

Vannus leaned back on the wall, deflated.  "That's... right."

"The subject is, in fact, being compelled by a force that she cannot control."

"Thank you," the ornrion offered half-heartedly, waving a permissive hand at the mage.

"The Council sends the king, his lords, and all officials here warm and pleasant greetings, against my better judgement, and thanks you for the soldiers you have recently dispatched to us, which I know you had no intention of actually sending.  Feel free to carry all this information to your betters."

And the ornrion stared up at the cold, stone ceiling as Master Ranclyffe walked out into the courtyard.

3:37 Blessed be the ties.

Howler's smoky brown eyes looked through the wooden slats to the slowly panting animal within.  Their gazes rested upon each other, and the certainty that had long weighted the animal's bones stole coldly through the observer's heart.

"Please," the little girl repeated in a tiny, pitiable voice.  "Can you please try?"

The dogmaster turned to her, fixed his gaze on her earnest coppery eyes, then released a slow sigh.  Although he knew the only thing that could really be done for the old sire as he breathed his last weary gasps into the chill morning air would be to make him comfortable as he passed away, he decided against denying the young child her request again.  He opened the crate and moved away from the girl, but didn't get all the way past her before she reached out a hopeful hand to him.

She knew nothing of the monster whose hand she wanted to hold, nothing of the creature that could savagely tear the flesh from her bones, nothing of the reason his natural birth name had been suddenly traded for a bitter moniker.

Howler heaved a deep, slow sigh, then made another decision- one at which the creature inside him, these days just barely under his rapidly-eroding control, snarled its discontent.

"Come," he breathed quietly, taking her flower petal soft hand in his own.  "Let's see if the old sire can do something for his pup."

Although Howler himself had no apprentices, Kronmyr's trainees usually stepped in to help the man who single-handedly kept the Sunfire breeding business afloat.  So as a spare short swordsman nudged his sparring partner into carrying the open crate into the Sunfire manse, they left in the yard behind them four young male dogs, a two year old bitch, and one three year old sire, all safely tied by their marked lead straps to various stakes around the sparring circle.  Three of the young male dogs, all of mixed descent, bounced and played with each other aimlessly while their toffee brown, pure bred pointer sire sniffed at the completely disinterested cur bitch.  The last young male dog, honey brown with dark ears and nose, simply laid down as he had when he was inside, looking as though he would soon fall asleep.

This was all well and good, until another one of Kronmyr's trainees brought a new dog into the yard.  She was even smaller than the cur, and was white with brown blotches.  The martial trainee, not knowing- or really caring, actually- what it meant when four of the five males became suddenly interested in sniffing the newcomer, simply tied the thing to the same stake as the disinterested male, who didn't move a muscle.  When he saw that the female sniffed him very briefly, then laid peacefully on his side, he walked away satisfied that a rather off-putting job had been well-done.

As soon as the trainee had gone inside, the smaller dog found herself surrounded by three of the other young males, who all suddenly went the entire length of their straps to get near her.  She flattened her ears against her head and snarled, giving a few of them some snaps, which only seemed to make them all the more eager to get at her.  Only a few moments of this activity passed before the sire, who'd been slowly sniffing the air, rose and lifted a bark of his own.  The three pups, all his, backed away from the smaller dog as the older, more experienced dog startled the white and brown dog into standing up and bouncing away from her previous position.

As soon as she left his side, the previously disinterested dog lifted his head sharply, fixing the sire with a glare that could be nothing other than a bare challenge of his dominance.

The small female dog emitted a nervous whine mere seconds before the sire expertly mounted her.  He was too large for her to contest, and even though she twisted her body, nearly sitting all the way down in the attempt to get out from under him, he quite nearly managed to push himself all the way down to the knot.

The larger dog bounded up, ripping the stake that he had shared with the small female straight up out of the ground as though it had only been buried an inch deep.  With a savage snarl, he lunged at the sire, slamming his chest straight into the side of his target and forcing him to the ground behind the smaller dog.  That dog, for her part, began screaming sharp yelps of protest into the air as the three younger dogs strained at their stakes in the attempt to get at her.  The stake slammed back down to the ground quite near to her backside, and absolutely terrified, she shrieked her way all the way around the Sunfire's courtyard, dragging it behind her.

The pointer, who was in the peak of his ability, still genuinely struggled to wrestle with the mixed breed pup that was bodily larger than he.  Although the fight between the dogs lasted less than five minutes, they had both suffered slashes and bites before a red-faced, wiry young man tore into the yard.

"Ria, come over here!" he called instantly, trying to determine which way to run in order to physically catch her.  "Niku?  Niku, stop it!  I said stop!  Hey, help out here, some help!"

It took Howler some time, with the large, golden yellow dog cradled in his arms, to get outside to answer the calls.  A tell-tale smell hit him as soon as he entered the yard, and it took everything in his power to properly direct his sharp rise in raging energy.

"Sit!" he hollered.  So forceful was he that out of the corner of his eye, he watched the little girl, who'd run out of the building after him, wither at his tone.  It was less effective, however, on the dog that he still called Hammer, who still towered and bristled, even when the sire broke away from the fight to obey the command.  The smaller white and brown dog, for her part, darted between the sire and Hammer, and ran in two very tight circles next to him before he simply reached a heavy paw out and snatched her to himself.  He made no move to mount, but stood over her while breathing out a low, intense growl.

"Valeria, you come here, now," the young man commanded in a more even tone.  The small dog dashed out from between her protector's legs to sit at her master's, and Hammer immediately laid right down as though the fight had never happened.

"That's yours?" Howler managed through a tight jaw and clenched teeth.

"Yes," the young man replied, not tearing his eyes away from the tears in Hammer's tawny coat.

"She start putting out yellow stains in the bed, huh?"

The man turned to him with a confused look.  "Last week, yes," he replied quietly.

The ignorance of the Human male cried out to Howler at once.  Within him, the creature bayed for punishment, and for a moment, the dogmaster really wanted to dole it out in full measure.

But the dying dog in his arms began sniffing the air himself, his trained nose having caught a familiar scent.

"He's moving!" the little girl cried at once.  It was impossible to tell whether the trembling in her voice was excitement or the knowledge that this sign of life was merely a spark in a rapidly cooling hearth.

"Hammer, come," Howler said quietly, sitting down and resting the weighty old dog in his lap as best he could.

"Is that his name?" the young Human male finally asked, looking back at the commander's intended target.  "Silveredge- Rasha to you, apparently- she always called him 'Niku.' "

The little girl, still some distance behind, one-upped both males without hesitation.  "Niku, will you please come over here like Ser Howler asked you to, please?"

The young dog offered a whine that started high and dropped to a lower pitch, but obediently got up and padded over toward the girl.  His progress was interrupted by the dying dog, however, who attempted to get up and block his forward progress.  Seemingly just as aware of his eminent demise as everyone else, Niku turned and promptly butted his head against the head of the other dog.

When he backed up again, the two dogs looked at each other.  Although the standing dog was taller and leaner than his elder, the coloring left no question about their relationship to each other.  The two dark brown muzzles suddenly moved toward each other again as though there were magnets in the noses.

"By Lathander," the young Human breathed,  "They're from the same cloth cut."

After a few more seconds of exploration, Niku got as close to the ground as he could, crawling forward so that he could get underneath the large, deep brown paw of the dying dog.  That dog, for his part, shifted in Howler's lap to position himself as close to the approaching puppy as he could.

"Is Krumiri Niku's daddy?" the little girl asked timidly.

"Must be," the young Human supplied instantly.

"His sire," Howler corrected, the irritation that the creature within him knew should have come along with the note somehow absent.  "Thu- um- Krumiri is... Niku's... sire.  He was the smallest in his litter.  I lost the bitch to get him.  Dunno who it hurt more, me or... Krumiri."

"About how old is Niku, then?" the young Human asked, coming close to Howler and the dogs.  His own dog, curious, followed at his heels.

"He's getting on a year," the dogmaster sighed.  "You'd think he was older, to look at his size.  This guy, he's thirteen now, but he was the only male of his kind that I had left nearby, so I bred him one last time."

"Why would you bread him?" the little girl piped up.  "You wouldn't eat him, would you?"

"No," Howler replied, surprised at the question.  "I mean I let him-"

"No, no, don't explain that to a girl of her age," the young male hurriedly interjected.  "Her parents must do such things, not you or I."

"Well, obviously your parents need to explain it to you, too, since your bit- your girl dog, then- is in heat," Howler finally managed, awkwardly aware of how inconsiderate he'd just been.  "Whole mess out here could've been avoided, you know, if you'd just penned her up 'til she were past it."

And the male just looked at the dogmaster, speechless.

"What?" came the gruff question at once,  "You didn't think she was already past it, did you?"

"It...uh...is the first time it's ever happened to her, since I've had her, so..."

The way he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck and pulling his mouth up into a guilty-looking frown, was telling.  Howler desperately wanted to put his face in his hands, but didn't want to disturb the dog lying in his arms in order to do so.

"Okay, your dog's about as old as this pup," he finally conceded.  "No wonder she's so skittish about the mount.  You, uh...you want to get her in a crate.  She'll remember this, you know.  If you want puppies... she's gonna have problems.  Unless you really take care with her from here on out."

"What about Niku?" asked the little girl insistently.  "Is he going to remember this, too?"

"Every moment of it," Howler replied.  "Although how he will remember it- I'm not sure.  He, uh...he isn't fond of hanging around girls- how's that, boy?"

"Iordyn," the young male supplied, not in the least offended.  "Iordyn Raibeart of Marsember."

"I'm Amadelle- maybe if you played with them more?" the little girl suggested, finally stepping forward to sit between both dogs.  Both responded to her presence- Niku shifted so that his sire's paw rested upon the little girl's leg instead of the back of his neck, and the sire made the slightest move of his head.  "You have to be nice to everybody, Niku, like your daddy."

And at that moment, Iordyn noticed that something in Howler's eyes changed.

"So Krumiri- he came from this place, ser?" the young male asked.  "I ask in the name of the Crown- I'm made a deputy by the Purple Dragons here, by carriage of penance."

"Howler," the dogmaster sighed wearily.  "And yes, he was my fighter, once.  Called Thunder, for the power of his bark.  Was loyal to a fault.  Never left my side- until he got too weak in the jaws to latch on to what he wanted to bring down."

"And then he came to live with my mommy and daddy, and Mommy called him Krumiri, because he is just the color of her favorite-favorite biscuits in the whole world ever, and then I got born after, and he likes me a lot, and he always follows me everywhere I go to keep me safe!" the little girl explained happily, as though she were telling the end of a fairy story.  Her exuberance, as though it had been a force of nature, pierced through the animal that Howler was to the Human that he had once been.

"Krumiri, huh?  Mommy must be from somewhere else," Iordyn smirked quietly to Howler.  "He was loyal, you said- obedient, too?"

Howler nodded, feeling the dog's breathing grow even more shallow.

"Were there any non-verbal commands?"

And the dogmaster nodded again, although it was a smaller movement than before.  Iordyn knelt down and worked his hand under the girl's free hand, and the child held his tightly without any kind of question.

"We're going to have to say goodbye to Krumiri soon, little buttercup," the young man said in a tone so low and warming that Howler was instantly grateful for it.  "How soon, Ser. Howler?"

"Any minute," Howler murmured. watching Niku turn slightly so the he could nudge and lick his sire's paws.

Amadelle put both arms around Krumiri's neck, and at first, Niku simply moved over to accommodate.  About thirty seconds later, however, he lifted Krumiri's paw and carefully, with his nose, moved it so that it rested on her shoulder.

"I love you forever and ever and ever," the girl said, so buried in the toffee colored neck of the passing dog that both men had to strain to hear her.  Niku shifted uncomfortably, and Iordyn ventured to rub his hand down the large puppy's back.

"She'll be okay, big guy," he soothed.  "She's just sad now, alright?  Huh, boy?  You remember Silveredge being really sad sometime?"

Valeria, still left behind where Iordyn was, offered a single, thin whine of sympathy, if at nothing else than Iordyn's own perceived distress.

"That's it," Howler whispered after a few moments.  "Gone."

Predictably, the little girl shuddered for a few seconds, then outright sobbed.  Although she was well-fleshed, it still seemed that such emotion should crack her frame straight down the spine.

Howler closed his eyes completely, as if doing so would make everything go away.

"It's hard to say goodbye," Iordyn began, scooting close enough to hug Amadelle himself.  "But Krumiri wouldn't want you to be so sad, would he?  You miss him, of course, but wouldn't he want you to be happy that he gets to rest now?  He has worked for so long, for- how many years, Ser Howler?"

The dogmaster blinked for a few seconds before answering, as though a bright light had suddenly been pointed at his eyes.  "Eh...thirteen or fourteen.  Getting on fourteen years.  Close to."

Niku laid all the way down for a few moments, and Valeria hopped to her feet, dancing a bit from side to side.  Howler, out of the corner of his eye, noted how nervous she seemed, and wondered if she were always that high strung.  Just as he was deciding to shift so that the girl would let the dog's neck go, Niku got up, turned slightly, and scooted toward her while still lying on his belly.  Once within reach of her, he began poking his nose into her thigh, hip, and ribs.

"Huh?" the girl said, looking down.  Waist-length brown ringlets tumbled down around her, making a thick curtain that neither man's eyes could pierce.

Niku, noticing that he had Amadelle's attention, began pawing at her knees.

Howler was just about to tell the puppy to leave the child alone, until she turned around and sat on her behind.  Niku inched forward on his belly, continuing to paw at her feet, until he was within easier reach of her.  When he was, he simply sat up and put a paw onto the girl's shoulder.

The girl and Howler both continued to look at Niku, but Iordyn looked at Howler.

Without another word, the girl surged forward and hugged Niku.  The large puppy absorbed the impact of having her rush into his chest like that, then comfortingly laid his head on her shoulder.

"You didn't teach him to do that," Iordyn said to Howler quietly.

Howler shook his head.  "I doubt his last owner would have, either.  Not the one we sold him to, anyway.  That woman- Silveredge, you called her.  Maybe she did this.  She's a witch, but- but maybe not all bad."

"How do you know she's a witch?" Iordyn probed, trying to make sure that his tone was still respectful of the sorrowing child.

"Hammer never cried," Howler replied, turning his full attention to the young man.  "He bayed at the moon, sent up barks when playing or trying to learn to hunt, but he never, never cried.  Not like he did in this yard when they took that woman away.  He drew her blood like he'd gone mad, but then cried like he hated to hurt her.  Now he sits in his crate- won't eat, barely laps at his water.  It's madness- I've handled dogs for years, and never seen anything like it."

"So then this is a lot of response you're seeing out of him," Iordyn reasoned, almost as much to himself as to the intended hearer.  Niku had sat back and begun rubbing his head against the child, licking her freckled face once in a while.  When he discovered that there was a spot near her throat that made her giggle, he made sure to focus on it.

"I'd say he's not a fighter anymore, except he just proved that wrong," Howler offered.  "I've half a mind to let the child have him, but that he's too young and strong to be wasted that way."

"Do you think he's wasted- or, rather, that he might have been wasted- with Silveredge?"

"No, I- I guess I don't," the dogmaster puzzled.  "Myr said the woman turned him around so that he had to fight like he was down in his home to train her at all, so- she's a fighting witch.  I guess that's what he's on to, now, looking for another witch woman to protect."

"So a familiar, then," Iordyn nodded, patting Niku solidly before rising.  "Niku's become a familiar for a fighting witch."

"She done something wrong?"

"Not her, no," Iordyn counseled, hearing a strange strain of concern that didn't seem to fit in the dogmaster's throat.  "She's managed to be the only person who might know where... where my accomplice is."

Howler frowned for a few moments.

"You mean that Tiefling she came here for, when she came at first.  You'd let her go, if you found the Tiefling, right?"

"Immediately," Iordyn said, patting his legs.  Valeria bounded over to him without hesitation.  "Silveredge's only fault is that she is knowingly or unknowingly aiding and abetting a suspected slave trader."

Howler frowned again, and Iordyn finally realized that the scowl was indicative of thought, not displeasure.  Meanwhile, Amadelle and Niku had come to true playing terms.  She'd sat up on her knees to pat and hug him, but since she wasn't strong enough to keep the dog from toppling her over, she soon fell backward against Iordyn, who immediately squatted to keep her from hitting the ground.

"Say, you're a big guy," he reminded Niku gently.  "She's much smaller, hmm?"

And as though he'd been yelled at, the puppy laid down and put his head on his paws, his stump of a tail held still behind him.  Amadelle, who also thought she was in trouble, sat back on her behind, crossed her legs, and folded her hands in her lap.

"Slave trader, huh?" the dogmaster asked gravely.

"That's right," Iordyn nodded.

"She tracks, doesn't she?"

"Valeria?  Oh, very well, yes."

Howler looked down at Amadelle, who had reached out and begun patting the deceased dog as though he would feel it.

"Who did you come with, your mother or your father?" Iordyn asked, peeking around Amadelle's other shoulder.

"Nobody came with me but the servants, and they were all told to just sit at the door," Amadelle replied frankly.  "Daddy said that Krumiri was going to die, and that I should let him, but then he told the servants to take him to Ser Howler, because I cried and cried."

Iordyn sat straight up again, surprised.

"Leave him with me," Howler said quietly.  "I'll take care of him.  Then Niku and I are going to find the reason why the fighter witch is penned up.  When we come back, you can come visit him."

Both Niku and Iordyn looked at Howler as though he'd lost his mind.

"You heard me, Niku," the dogmaster said, with more strength in his voice.  "Do you want your woman freed or not?"

Niku rubbed his nose on his forelegs for a few seconds, then stood up.

Iordyn turned his head with a slight, appreciative nod.  "Looks like a 'yes' to me, Ser Howler."

"I'll visit all the-all the time, to keep you company," Amadelle promised Niku in all seriousness.  "I'd be very sad, if my daddy died."

Howler got up, and Amadelle immediately got to her own feet.  Unsurprisingly, Niku moved to put himself between Howler and the little girl.

Because you know, Howler thought, frowning down at the dog.  Soon, you'll see for yourself.

3:36 Close to the Edge.

Keep-go-ing-keep-go-ing-keep-go-ing-keep-go-ing

With one syllable per foot fall, the dark-leather clad rogue ran, and ran, and ran.  The pain that had begun at the leading edge of her right shoulder blade hammered miserably across her back, but it still took Mi'ishaen until sundown to decide to pay attention to it.

It was less of a decision, and more of a sudden descent.
It wasn't graceful, either. Instead, it was an embarrassing, agonizing, slam-and-slide act onto a green-and-white patched tree.  She bitterly counted herself lucky that no one was around to witness it.  Looking up at the sky, with its tawny, crimson and radiant yellow streaks, the Tiefling panted her weariness out into the still air.

Those....guards.....are.......pitiful.

She had torn far past the city limits, she knew, since she'd literally leaped over the walls behind some guards' backs without much thinking about what the ground might feel like when she connected with it from that height.  As beautiful as she made it look, turning like an experienced dancer in the air, the descent from the proud edifice had been worse than the drop from the rooftop, sending a jolt of agony through her right shoulder and nearly into her lungs themselves.  Only at that point had she realized that there was an arrow sticking out of her upper body somehow, firmly stuck all the way into her armor.  She pulled it out instinctively, both stunned and terrified by the thing- so much so that she didn't waste time thinking about what damage that could have done.  Instead, she kept running, past the outer guard, past the tell-tale shifting from open space to more densely wooded area, into some strange mix of woodland and swampland  for which she couldn't find words.  The ground underneath her was damp, as though it had freshly rained, and the mud felt good through the hole in the armor.

Cool, she thought.  It feels cool.

Her mind danced from her escape- successful, mostly- to the operation itself- botched, mostly- and, funny enough, to the rest of the group.  Her thoughts stuck there momentarily, like a skiff on a sandbar, dwelling first on Bahlzair, then Aleksei, and finally, Silveredge.

Edge, she smiled.  She knew she was smiling, somehow, even though it seemed... different.  Strange.  Distant.  She chalked it up to being tired.  Who leaps across ten rooftops, dives off a city wall, and then runs, breakneck, for at least five miles without winding up tired?

Or was it ten miles?

Distance and time suddenly seemed much more relative than they had just a few minutes ago... at least she thought it might be mere minutes ago...

But it seemed fitting to have time gyrate around her like a satin dress might hiss and play between a dancer's ankles, immediately after running for her life due to impersonating a murderer.

Impersonating Bahlzair, she smiled again, somehow proud of the fact that she personally knew the creature whose murders had been so spectacularly upsetting that his style was selected to strike fear into the hearts of crown-sanctioned, seasoned mercenaries.

I wonder if he will think I'm talking to him, Mi'ishaen thought distractedly, remembering Aleksei's words.  I wonder what he thinks I'm saying... what he'll do... if he'll take offense... or... something.

Mi'ishaen breathed more evenly, more deeply, more calmly....and...

...suddenly found herself running again.  While the sky still shone with the red and orange streaks of sunset, the ground had changed, was more clay than soil, and had turned slightly reddish, betraying its high iron content.  The air no longer hung heavy with the smell of saltwater, but instead burned with spices, smoky scented oils and roasting meats.  Just as Mi'ishaen noticed the change of the ground upon which she was running, it changed again, sporting actual cobblestones.  Actual buildings began to fly by her as she ran- recognizable, as though she had passed them before.

This is- it's Kragal- I... I'm home.

Strange as it was, the knowledge of where she was put an incredible energy in every footfall.  Instead of becoming more and more weary, her excitement and power grew and grew, until she felt as light and rambunctious as she had years before.  Everything was just as it had been- every street, every street seller, and every gate.  One humble side gate was manned with heavily armored guards standing at as rigid an attention as though it had been a main one, and Mi'ishaen recognized one of the younger ones.

"Good morning, Enerys!"

"Good morning, Isha!" the guard called back.  It was against protocol to do so, and he received a hideous look from the nearby commander, but Mi'ishaen felt herself glowing.

Looming in the distance beyond the scene stood the huge, intricately carved iron main gates.  Shaped to look like majestic trees, they reached artful arms outward as though the cold metal limbs might swing in the breeze.  The actual main posts of the gates, which were held in place only by their own weight, stretched up and met at prayerful hand-like points at their apex.  As Mi'ishaen continued to stare at this impressive vista, Enerys returned his attentions to her and smiled.  Mi'ishaen realized that she was shorter than he- far shorter- although at her current age, she should have been looking him straight in the face.

What am I, seven again?

She wanted to laugh at the idea, and the piercing, shrieking sound that echoed in her ears was starkly prepubescent.  Encouraged by what wasn't at all the laughter he might have intended, Enerys jogged the few steps that separated them, got to one knee, and began tickling her.  Mi'ishaen writhed and hooted, completely broken free of the rogue who would have punished an offender of her personal space with either a blade or a well placed knee.  The commander walked over to actually talk to Enerys about leaving his post, and as the grim-faced Tiefling approached, the small frame that was pretending to be Mi'ishaen's body pitched forward and began to run again.

"Bye, Nery!"

With that, the city walls flew by, the market was torn through, stalls were dodged around and people were either blown by or ducked under.  Soon she was in the residential district, navigating between people's children, pets, wells, and drying lines.

Oooh!  The baker.  The baker's purse!

And with an impish smile, she turned on her heel and headed back for the market.

She remembered with relish the stall that she'd once hopped over- thereby thoroughly annoying the weaver who worked it- the kids whose card game she'd disturbed, and finally the trundling baker, who never had the good sense to get anything better than a common, single strap purse.  It was so well worn that it should have been retired as an heirloom long ago, and the over-wise, child-sized Mi'ishaen knew precisely which weary string to pull.  In no time, her hands were heavy with a purse that she had never before managed to snatch.  Suddenly, the girl that she was smashed into the woman that she'd grown to be, both forms of her laughing genuinely at the seized quarry.  She whirled around a corner, excited to count out her gain, and was spotted by a portly, fair skinned creature who would have passed for a Human woman, if it weren't for the stubby satyr-like horns at the sides of her head.  Mi'ishaen realized her mistake at once, and wrapped her fingers more tightly around the old purse, preparing to take off running again.

I guess I practically ran everywhere I went... or... is it run every where I go...?

It didn't take long for the chubby apothecary to put her voice loudly into the streets.  "Isha?  Isha!  Mi'ishaen Lucien-Azaroth, you get in this apothecary this instant!  Ide- hey, Ide!  Would you go get your sister?!"

"Shall do, Madam Iti'idre," the dutiful elder brother replied.  To Mi'ishaen's ears, he was twelve- just one year away from being cut down by the War of Ruin.

"Isha, Madam Iti'idre is looking for you!"

But he didn't sound like a dearly departed war veteran, at the moment.  At the moment, he sounded like a playful elder brother, about to bodily tackle his rough-and-tumble, persistently mischievous, and truant little sister.

Mi'ishaen pulled herself mercilessly along the cobblestone streets, pushing her way through market-bound citizens, darting around the sides of shops, and sliding her way down alleys like the professional that she had become.  Surprisingly enough, it seemed that the pursuing elder brother had learned a few things of his own, thundering toward her with an untiring tread that could only have been learned from years of hard quick-marching.  It wasn't even consistent with his actual army experience, which couldn't possibly have lasted long enough to put such discipline into his body.  Mi'ishaen was just distracted enough to turn down an alley that she knew dead ended because of three houses that sat back-to-back-to-back.

"Ha, gotcha!" called Iaden from the top of the alley.

No, you don't, Mi'ishaen thought. With all the knowledge of twenty seven years crammed into a body that had yet to endure the two extra decades, the pint-sized rogue ran four steps up the wall, clutched the purse and the extra fabric in her skirts tightly, and somersaulted over her pursuer.  Iaden, who had charged forward until he was just three steps behind her, wore her surprise at her success on his young face.

"Where did you learn to do that?" he cried after her, turning around to face her.

Mi'ishaen stared at him, the reality of the fact that she could have told him where she had actually learned to "walk the wall" belying the equally real fact that her seven year old self could not have possibly learned it yet.  Time seemed as though it had stopped completely, just as confused as she.

But then Iaden smiled.  "It was great!  I gotta try- soon as I catch you!"

And Mi'ishaen turned to run again.

"Wait- you got it!  The purse- you finally got it!" he exulted, nearly as happy about it as she.  "By the Hells!  I've only told you how a million times."

Mi'ishaen blinked as she stopped dead in her tracks, then turned back to look up at him.

I have to look up at him.  Look at him!  He taught me how to snatch purses?

And the thought returned to her as though it had been her own-

Yes, I did.  Didn't think you'd be using it to keep clothes on your body and food in your belly.  I ought to have taught you how to really throw a good punch, but those acrobatics- Papa would be outright ecstatic.  That somersault- it's better than his, actually.  I'll tell him.

Mi'ishaen allowed the purse to fall out of her hands, and it disappeared into the cobblestones of the street, somehow.  In the distance, a strange jewelry seller walked slowly, with what seemed to be one very long, thin, and delicate silvery chain slung across her arms, wrapped around her waist, and even dragging behind her on the cobblestoned ground.  The artful way in which she moved struck the rogue as familiar, but the periwinkle skin and silvery hair of the creature seemed not quite right, somehow.

What is happening? she asked, turning her face upward to Iaden's.  She found that he'd aged much in an instant, growing taller, more muscular.  His hair, like hers, fell thick and unchecked down to his shoulders, which, along with the rest of his body, were now encased in a dark set of heavy armor adorned with thorn-like spikes.

Don't tell me you don't recognize, Iaden replied with a bitter scoff.  Go, Isha.  Go back.  You don't belong here.

Mi'ishaen turned to look up at him again, and found that she did not have as far to look.  His rich, red-streaked brown eyes looked her up and down as he sighed deeply.


Don't.  Don't stay here with us; I can feel you thinking about it.

Why can't I stay? Mi'ishaen spat angrily.  I'm already here, so- 

You're smart enough to know why I'm here, Iaden said very quietly, as though the admission were embarrassing to him.  Why Mami, and Papa, and all of us are here.  But you can still leave, so- so do it.  Get out.

Well, what if I don't want to go, what then? Mi'ishaen shot back, grieved as she had not been in years.

And as if she would answer, the jewelry seller appeared again, seeming to have somehow teleported from the distance that she'd been to a mere twenty yards from Iaden.  This time, she looked up and seemed to notice the Tiefling rogue.  The jewelry that ran from her neck, down her arms, encircled her waist and dragged behind her glimmered as brilliantly as her hair, but her eyes were strangely and terrifyingly black.

Hey!  Mi'ishaen cried at once, somehow struck by the change in the woman's appearance.  Scat!  You don't-

If she doesn't belong here either, Iaden urged, maybe she can show you the way out.  Follow her.  Let her take you from this place.  

I thought I- but I don't, Mi'ishaen frowned.  She doesn't look- I don't know that woman.  I'm not going anywhere with her.

Vor Kragal fell into the Hells not long after you left her, Iaden replied in a flat tone worthy of an exasperated elder brother.  All of these peddlers, all the guards, all these people- none of us should look right.  Not to someone who still draws natural breath.  Go.  Home.

But I AM home! Mi'ishaen hollered, frustrated.  There is no place closer to home than-

Than this? Iaden charged viciously.  Than this graveyard, this open and obvious sepulcher?  Seyashen walks with the dead because he has to, not because he wants to spend quality family time with his father and sister.  How dare you now, you who despised his abilities and his message, not knowing whether to believe in them or not, willingly put yourself in a position that he had to be nearly sent mad to accept?  

Little sister stared at big brother, unable to make any kind of answer.  A pained compassion came over Iaden's face slowly, and he opened his armor-clad arms.

It... will be cold.  For obvious reasons.

Mi'ishaen suddenly rushed forward and hugged Iaden with all her might, and he folded himself around her for a few moments before pushing her away by the shoulders. 

This hurts me too, you know.  I thought I'd never get to say goodbye, and now that I can, I...

When Mi'ishaen looked up, tears standing in her eyes, Iaden stepped back, then let his sister go entirely.  A small throbbing began under the back of Mi'ishaen's right shoulder, going unnoticed for the moment.

Yasha sent me- and he didn't have to ask twice.  I'm going to go tell him that you're okay.  Don't make a liar out of me.

Still unable to speak, the dutiful little sister nodded.

The dark-eyed jewelry peddler, a midnight black, bodiced peasant dress swirling from her upper body down to the ground, appeared again immediately behind Iaden.   She reached out her arms, Iaden stood back and knelt down as though he were in the presence of royalty.  The silver color that had been in her hair seemed to run down from it like a river, creating a strange pool at her feet and leaving her hair as raven black as her eyes.  Mi'ishaen looked up into the abyss of those dark eyes, and found that the woman-like being was smiling.

"What do you think of this one, heart of my beloved's heart?" she asked, plucking the single chain up from one arm to hold it out.  Mi'ishaen noticed that the chain held multiple loops where small charms should be.

It's...uh... pretty, Mi'ishaen managed, finding her throat dry.  The pain under her shoulder grew noticeably, and she shifted uncomfortably.

"It could do with some embellishment, I think," the seller replied.  "Something worthy of my beloved, who wants nothing in her world more than it.  Your eye is skilled at appraisal, so give me your opinion; shall I set gold into the charms, or rubies?"

Rubies, Mi'ishaen answered at once.  Gold would raise the market value, but it would only really be useful to her if she should choose to sell it... which it sounds like she wouldn't do... if it's all she wants in the whole world....yeah.  Rubies.

"You speak of utility instead of beauty; yet you speak truly," the jewelry seller smiled, revealing a pair of wing charms with rubies set deeply where the wings might have attached to an avian creature's back.  "Come with me, First Beloved, and set the stones."

I don't know how to make jewelry, Mi'ishaen balked, concerned instantly by the creature's use of Silveredge's words.  Who are you, anyway?

The seller smiled and moved forward to gather her into chilly, delicate-seeming arms.  As soon as the arms neared the Tiefling, the light blue of their skin faded into alabaster whiteness.

"Do not fear me," came the gentle reply.

I don't, Mi'ishaen shot back, looking from the seller to her still-kneeling brother.  I just want to know who you are.

"A guide."

And as if to demonstrate her point, the seller turned around and pointed toward the horizon, where a very familiar Shadar-kai knelt.  Her head bowed, allowing all her glimmering silver hair to fall like a sheet of ice around her, and her hands were folded in her lap.  The seller drew close to Mi'ishaen, and as her pale hands touched the back of Mi'ishaen's right shoulder, the Tiefling squeezed her eyes shut and groaned in pain.  Her back arched involuntarily, and was greeted with the sensation of slick earth that squished through her armor.


In what felt like a mere second later, Mi'ishaen opened her eyes to a dawn-stained sky that peeked gingerly through the treetops as though it wasn't sure that it should be looking down at her.  The Tiefling sat up with a start, looking around herself at the tell-tale signs of her arrival to the place.  Splotches of old blood, especially the wide one in the place from which she'd just sat up, preached loudly to her of how close she had come to meeting her end.

"I met Iaden," she said to herself aloud, trying to convince herself of the reality of the situation.  "I met him, and talked to him, and..."

She rolled her right shoulder, and although it was stiff, the agony that had brought her to the ground before had faded into a dull throbbing.  She found that her right hand was closed into a fist, and opened it.

There lay a very small, smooth ruby, like a pool of blood in the flesh of her hand.  It reminded her at once of the blackness of the seller's eyes.

A guide.

"Okay, Seyashen," she sighed, biting the backs of her lips.  "Okay, you win.  You're getting your damned letter now, because this is worth writing about."

3:35 The family business.

"He said he sensed something 'not right' about him," Terezio finished, looking down at the juice in his cup as he swirled it.

Dresan looked uncomfortably from his new-found grandparents to his unmoved mother, who seemed to be closely inspecting her beautifully carved wooden fork before putting it back into the half-cold food left on her dinner plate.

"Not right how?" the middle-aged mage finally asked as he tore his eyes away.  "Did the man sense any enchantment, any compulsion?"

"No," Terezio said in a disapproving tone, looking up from his juice.  "The battlemage said it was as though a spell was absent.  That something magical should have been there, and it wasn't.  You really must listen more carefully."

Dresan rolled his eyes immediately, nearly out of force of habit.

"Did your mother teach you to do that?" Druce chirped sharply.  "It's very rude-  Trizelle, why did you allow him to learn that?"

The grey haired female pursed her lips and continued to look down at her utensil without uttering a single word in reply.

"Trizelle, your mother spoke to you," Terezio warned, the eyes behind his spectacles narrowing.

Although Trizelle still didn't bother to look up, she did finally speak.  "Did she exhibit unusual behavior?"

"What?" chorused three of the four other diners at the table.

"Silveredge," Urmlaspyr's court mage said flatly.  "Unusual behavior?"

The retired battlemage recovered himself first, but still spoke with a note of surprise.  "The Oversword noted that it seemed as though the Sunfire mage had enslaved her again.  Her answers weren't always to the point, even when she'd been asked direct questions of identification."

"Unusual?" Trizelle repeated for a third time, finally looking up at her father with a weary gaze.

You really must listen more carefully, Dresan thought bitterly.

"I believe I can say the same to you," a powerful something said inside the Tiefling's mind.  The message was so strong that Dresan's head throbbed momentarily in response.  Self-conscious and concerned that he may slip into a fit of possession at the dinner table, he began to study his own fork.

Terezio raised an eyebrow at his daughter's disenchanted look, then answered.  "A soldier close to her said that she spoke directly to the dog after he scratched her up.  As though he would understand her."

Trizelle broke gaze with her father, looking back down at her plate.  "Aleksei?"

And the Dragonborn, who had remained painfully silent for most of the meal, looked up from the table to Dresan, then to Trizelle before answering.  "This is strange for Niku, but not for Rasha."

" 'Niku' is mangled Elven," Dresan noted quietly enough to be speaking to himself.  "Funny that none of my compatriots ever spoke of her."

"They wouldn't," Trizelle replied simply in a similarly quiet voice.  Without any emotive note or shade of feeling on her face, her son was unable to tell whether her words had been a comment on the competence of his companions or on the nature of the Shadar-kai herself.

"That's not nice, to trade secrets at the table," Druce pronounced firmly, setting her utensil down completely.  "Now, really, Triz, I know I didn't raise you to do such things; I don't know why you permitted your son to learn them."

"I raised my son with no help from you, or anyone," Trizelle finally replied, looking her mother straight into the eyes.  "Perhaps some delicate or polite qualities were overlooked in the process."

"There were a few useful details omitted as well," the powerful something soothed inside Dresan's head.  The recipient of the message bit his lips, trying to ignore whatever-it-was until he could get a chance to speak to his mother about it.

A few moments of intensely uncomfortable silence passed between the diners.

"How old is Niku, Aleksei?" Dresan asked when he had released his hold on his lips, fidgeting slightly in his seat.

Aleksei shook his head.  "I am not sure.  He is big, but he comes and goes only when Rasha is asking, or when he himself is wanting to do so."

"So he doesn't recognize commands, then?" Dresan wondered.  "Would the Sunfire sell him untrained?"

"You think he's a familiar," Terezio suggested, locking eyes with the middle-aged mage even though he was speaking to his daughter.

"Yes," Trizelle noted.  "Silveredge has raw talent."

"If he's too young to recognize standard commands, he's too young to be a familiar," Terezio volleyed sharply, still staring at Dresan as though it had been his idea.

"And if she hasn't been trained in how to command a familiar- if she asks him to do what she needs instead of commanding him- she can't possibly have full control over him," Dresan noted.

"Loyalty," Trizelle replied without losing a moment.  "Strengthens focus."

"Enough to bind a puppy bred for fighting to a weak, inexperienced mage?" Terezio wondered aloud.

"Positively," Trizelle answered, finally looking straight at her son.  Dresan, somehow strangely encouraged, focused on following her train of thought.

"If the dog had been a familiar, the bonding magic would have been sensed," the retired battlemage grunted.

"If he is a familiar, he would try to protect her-" Dresan began, interested in his mother's look.  Her eyes seemed to be opened, somehow- "vulnerable" was the only adjective that seemed to fit, and he wondered if that was his own idea.

"-but she protected him, instead," Trizelle finished.

"So the 'missing' spell-"

"-was instead a magic aura."

Mother and son, in that strange moment, realized each other as if for the first time.  Trizelle broke the spell first, looking back down at her fork as though it were the most interesting thing in the room.  The open, vulnerable quality in her gaze disappeared, and Dresan felt somehow different for having experienced it.

Closer to her?  More understanding of her?

"No.  More power over her."

Dresan drained the wine in his cup completely, drawing Trizelle's faint attention and a stare from Druce.

"Not possible," Terezio muttered grumpily, shaking his head.  "The battlemage should have been able to perceive the glamer-work immediately."

"There is the blood abjuration theory," Dresan suddenly said, as though the theory had just explained itself to him.

"No," Trizelle said, shaking her head.  "Shadow Child."

"Blood abjuration," the old man cut in sharply, as though his daughter hadn't spoken at all.  "The battlemage did say-"

Dresan, who had set his fork down, began figuring the factors aloud.  "I remember- 'If self-inflicted physical damage can be made inversely proportional to incoming damage, be it physical or magical in nature, there should be a point at which the incoming damage can be reduced lower than the lowest species standard damage threshold,' right?"

"But if the target of the physical damage is capable of transmutating their own blood into a magical focus, she needs only to select the spell best able to counteract the incoming damage," Trizelle replied.

"But only one being has been known to successfully transmutate self-inflicted damage into usable magica of any kind-"

"The Raven Queen," Trizelle injected with an impenetrable mask of dispassion on her face.

"-by the misguided 'benevolence' of Nerull himself, and at the cost of hundreds of trapped souls.  I... don't know if there are... mortal... blood abjurers-"

"That is because the only mortal practitioners of blood abjuration," Trizelle counseled in a tone that Dresan immediately recognized as her teaching voice, "are all 'Shadow Children,' or Shadar-kai who, by means still not fully researched, are naturally capable of transmuting their own physical or mental damage into potential arcane or divine energy."

"The Shadow Child 'theory' is a political and religious pacifier," Terezio interjected.  "It's meant to keep the rabble from clamoring for a genocidal-"

"No, the ability to transmute damage into potential magical energy is a testable trait," Dresan mused slowly.    "Although it... is... notably... a.... bloodline trait."

"You're welcome," the deep ethereal voice soothed.  "You have a few... bloodline traits, let us say... yourself.  Your ability to commune with me this easily is one of them."

Aleksei closed his eyes, feeling the maddening pain burning through his self-control.  Whispers, unintelligible to the spirit that was trying to deafen itself to them by strength of will alone, skittered like mice through his mind.  On the other side of both his lids, Trizelle had stolen a glance at him, then looked over to her son.

"You're saying that the Shado- the Shadar-kai, rather- incited her own familiar to attack her with the intention of temporarily covering up the familiar bond," Terezio remarked, looking from his grandson to his daughter with irritation printed plainly on his face.

"Yes," Trizelle stated flatly, having gone on to other matters in her mind.

Her mother, sitting immediately across the table from her, had the irritating desire to kick her daughter in the shins.  The distant, empty stare was even worse than the unreasonable staring at the fork, yet it was just as normal now for Trizelle as it had been decades ago.

"First of all, the dog is too young," Terezio snapped bitterly.  "Second, not only is the Shadar-kai too inexperienced to hide a familiar bond from a trained Cormite battlemage, she is too inexperienced to have any sort of familiar at all.  Now, I tell you again, Trizelle, there are no such things as-"

"And how do you explain the 'missing' spell?" Urmlaspyr's court mage said calmly.

"There wasn't a 'missing' spell," the retired battlemage snorted, annoyed at the idea that he could be talked down to at all, let alone by a child of his.  "The creature had a gal-ralan, as most of her kind do.  When the dog attacked her, the gal-ralan absorbed the damage, creating a slight energy vacuum.  I explained that to the boy, and-"

"Neither an implement's absorption nor a practitioner's transmutation of physical damage would result in an energy vacuum of any kind," Trizelle replied.

"And what happened to Thultanthar, then?" Terezio demanded.  "Did it just float into the Plane of Shadow on its own?"

"It was magically shifted into the Plane of Shadow via the strongest teleportation spell documented to date," Trizelle responded without missing a beat.  "For the past decade, there have been yearly HCC conferences held in Myth Drannor on whether or not that spell should be recast for testing; would you like to attend one?"

"HCC?" Druce piped up.  "What's that?  I've never heard-"

"The Human Conjuration Council, dear, and it's because no one from here is affiliated- for good reason, may I add," Terezio answered without taking his eyes away from his daughter.  "Human only in name, it's got Elans, Gnomes- Shadovar themselves-"

"Shadar-kai, Battlemage Ranclyffe," Trizelle reminded immediately.  "Not every-"

"Well, I fail to see the difference, then, Master Ranclyffe!" Terezio rumbled, allowing his fork to thunk down to his half-finished dinner plate.

"Now, Rezi-" Druce began comfortingly.

"Bloodlines," Trizelle shot back.  "This has been tested as well, although some findings are rumored to be lost to the collapse of the Turathi Empire.  Only the Human bloodline Shadar-kai of Thultanthar are true Shadovar.  Not the Human bloodlines through the unwilling, hapless people that were dragged along for the ride from nearby countries, not the Elven bloodlines, and certainly not the actual natives to the Plane of Shadow.  A mere ten percent of the estimated Shadar-kai population, probably even less than that, can truly be called Shadovar."

"Why you are studying anything that could have been found in the Turathi Empire is beyond me, Trizelle," Terezio sighed wearily.  "When did you become an expert on the origin of extraplanar races?"

"I'm not an expert," Trizelle replied quietly.  "I had the opportunity to do extensive testing on a subject that could not reject any of my methodologies- or any of those of my more... sanguine... colleague."

"A mage with a focus more singularly vicious than yours?" Terezio hissed.  "Color me amazed."

"Rezi!" Druce fussed, crossing her arms.  "The first time our daughter comes back since Shade, and this is how you talk to her?  Why can't we simply be a family?  Why can't we forget the spells and the studies and the experimentation or the methodologies involved for just one hour- just one!- and enjoy each other's company?"

And everyone looked at Druce, dumbfounded.

"Sometimes I wish you all were as idiot about magic as I," she added, shifting her chair back to get up from the table.

"Dru- Maman, s'il vous plait ne vas pas," Terezio said suddenly, laying his hand upon her own.  "I apologize.  I brought the subject up and... I don't know what I... well, yes I do.  Trizelle, it... it's hard to admit you're wrong, at my age, but... I'm wrong.  I've been wrong for... well, for longer than this boy has been alive, obviously... it... is my fault that you've been alone all these years.  And... I don't know if it's appropriate to say, but... you don't look like a Tiefling, Dresan.  You look like... like your grandmother, actually, around the eyes, although that hawkish nose is... definitely mine."


Dresan turned to his mother, whose face had not melted in the least.  He was about to be astounded at the impenetrability of her heart when he heard-

"He's named after you... Maman."

Druce put her hands to her face, too moved to speak.  Terezio sat back in his chair and began to cross his arms, then thought better of the motion.  He rested them on the table instead, softly drumming his fingers as though he were waiting for something.  Dresan, for his part, was just as struck as his grandmother, since this information was new to him, as well.  Yet the similarity between Dresan and Drussandra jumped out at him immediately, looming so large that he felt stupid for not noticing it before.

Even before he'd been a knowing part of the family, he had been part of the family, ancestral name and all.  He wondered if Trizelle had ever before planned to tell him anything about it, or whether she intended to take the knowledge to the grave with her.

And then he shivered at the thought of putting his mother in a grave.

Knowing her, she'd sit right back up, he thought, macabre humor his only way to rally back from such a thought.

"She might," the voice echoed in his mind.  "Better learn a few tricks to keep her where she belongs, when the time comes."

"That is enough," Dresan thought at last, squeezing his eyes shut.  "Away from me, whoever you are."

The voice laughed.

"Ah, you were much better off ignoring me," it soothed.  "You've invited me in by speaking to me, so now, I think I'll stay.  You may call me Graz'zt, by the way.  You can thank my benefactors, Aleksei and Bahlzair, for my ability to hang around.  If you'd like to thank them in a tangible manner, I can tell you the perfect ways to bring them to their knees before you- and you'd like that.  I know you would."

"You know nothing about me," Dresan stubbornly insisted.

"Oh, you are just as much a part of my family as you are of this one," Graz'zt said gleefully.  "You see, I'm your father.  You'll find that I, in fact, know a great deal about you.  But even still, I do very much look forward to knowing you."