Silveredge, who had again braided back the front portion of her hair so that it wouldn't fall into her face, sat facing the solid wall of her room- a small, sparsely decorated area that she shared with another female mercenary apprentice. The strongly built half-Elf was nearly a stranger to the Shadar-kai, as the two were rarely in their assigned living area at the same time. One morning, as Silveredge entered and prepared for rest, the other apprentice derisively asked precisely how she believed that she would make it in the Sunfires without ever coming to a single morning training. Silveredge genuinely replied that she'd been likewise concerned, since her questioner had never come to an evening one. The half-Elf was caught off guard by the Shadar-kai's sentiment, and with further discussion, the two discovered that the Sunfire Mercenaries not only ran two different training sessions, but in fact, two different operations. Since that day, the two passed by each other with the silent smiles of distant recognition, and every opportunity that could afford true conversation was happily seized. The interactions hadn't been often, but for the Shadar-kai's true purpose, the silent periods had been useful.
Niku had been poorly fed since he'd refused to mate, but was finally kept in his crate without any food at all since he'd managed to get by Howler to accompany Silveredge to the market two days before. He had by now learned not to whine or howl when Silveredge's scent caught his nose, but very recently discovered that any little whimper would be repaid with a merciless punch from Howler. Yet, if the dog trainer thought that Niku's current sullen silence meant that his vicious retraining schedule was having its desired effect on the hound, he was quite mistaken; it had instead forced a whine-less concentration on the difficult subject matter at hand.
Silveredge waited until some of the pain of Howler's most recent reward to Niku had subsided, then began the morose litany again.
"What if I am dead?"
Mi.
"Yes, but if she is dead?"
Lyo.
"And if he too is dead?"
Bahl.
"And what if you alone remain?"Niku shifted uncomfortably in his crate, which hissed on his fur and clacked under his claws. Howler, who by now was eating at the table with his more obedient hounds collected around him, looked over his shoulder.
"Tomorrow, Hammer. When you remember how to obey a command."
Niku picked his head up for a few moments, but laid it back on his forepaws without so much as a snarl. Howler turned his attentions back to his food before he allowed himself to register surprise at the lack of reaction, and the other dogs, somehow sensing that something wasn't right, followed him with questioning eyes.
"What if you alone remain, little brother?" Silveredge repeated gently, knowing that Niku's pause hadn't been due to outside interruption.
Wolf.
"Yes. Wait patiently under Elder Vhalan's left hand. Fear no one else. Do not leave him until the end of your days."
Niku shifted again, only able to still the whine that longed to break from him with the knowledge that Silveredge herself liked this conversation about as much as he did. He could not see her tears, but could smell their sorrow; could not comfort or warm her taut posture, but absolutely knew that her back and belly muscles must have been tight. The desire to destroy the trap that kept him from her burned like a live coal set between his ribs. Yet, he knew- knew with her knowledge- that he had to act counter to his instinct. She was doing the same, daily walking quietly in a place full of dangerous strangers with her obedient smiles and well-trained bows.
Howler turned over his shoulder again, at last unable to ignore the change in the scent that the caged hound was giving off. He got up, concerned, and squatted before Niku to check if he were sick. Weary-looking brown eyes met his gaze, then returned to some unknown spot on the floor. The hound master sniffed again, looking over the tawny coat, and behind him, he could hear the rest of his dogs beginning to make confused and concerned whines.
"Bloody mutt," he huffed, frustrated. "Come on."
Opening the lock with some difficulty, Howler allowed the door to swing wide. Niku heaved a sigh, then stretched out so that the length of his body was no longer crammed into the cage. This done, he laid his head back down on his paws and stared out again. Howler lifted his head up and sighed.
Mordren leaned in the doorway with crossed arms, watching Silveredge's back round and hollow with each passing breath. He could tell that she'd been sitting in the same spot for some time, with her upper body held straight up as though she were wearing a tight corset or bodice. He breathed out quietly, focusing on the left side of her back for a few moments. In the darkness of the doorway's shadow, his naturally green eyes shifted until they were first turquoise, then aquamarine, then a radiant, otherworldly blue.
Speaking to the familiar, then, he mused to himself immediately, as the silvery telepathic trail immediately flew from Silveredge's back, past Mordren's leather-clad feet and down the hall beyond him. Interesting, given that you don't know anything about training familiars.
He himself had no familiars, as he found that he was too impatient to train any. Instead, the divination master allowed himself to dabble in enchantment- a pass time that proved unfortunate for everyone around him, since he discovered he was even better at misleading and indirectly controlling people's souls and minds than he was at laying all their secrets bare. Silveredge was a unique challenge in that she seemed to be a natural abjurer- one that had been subconsciously protecting herself and others for so long that it seemed to be more of a habit than an actual desire. Even at the moment, the Shadar-kai was sitting in what appeared to be a hazy grey pool of arcane energy- before she had attempted to contact Niku, she'd warded herself from evil. Mordren, unfortunately, wasn't being particularly evil at the moment- although he considered the fact that she'd warded herself against him that way an immense compliment.
Careful to make his footfalls light, the robed mage moved behind the kneeling female. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to imagine a gentle tendril of pure magic energy to spring from his chest. The energy reached out, glanced across Silveredge's ward, then eased through it, on its way to the left side of her back. It stretched around her upper body, reached up and over her shoulders, delicately caressed the right side of her neck, sunk through her periwinkle skin and slowly wound itself around her rigid spine.
Silveredge stiffened at first, wholly unused to Mordren's adept use of enchanting magic. Mordren felt her realize with a nearly imperceptible alarm that she could not keep him from doing precisely what he intended to do. Although he did not visually note it, the mage knew he had interrupted whatever information had been passing between Silveredge and Niku.
The fair-skinned Human male moved toward her until his legs were nearly touching her back. In his mind, his energy was encouraging Silveredge to her feet, and it was no surprise to him when the very real and natural Shadar-kai stood. Within her spirit, cold and hard as an undiscovered pearl, lay the seed of distrust. Mordren chafed slightly at it, but dominated his own impatience at once. He moved closer toward her, until his breath passed softly and sweetly near her right ear. Without a word, he placed his hands on the small of her taut back. It didn't take magic to sense that she consciously decided to allow her body to soften- just as she must have been trained to do, years ago.
There was only one thing that surprised Mordren.
As he began to knead her back like the pliable dough she had allowed it to become, a flash of a horribly burned and disfigured version of it flickered on the inside of his closed eyes. His hold on his arcane detection spell held, but just barely. The sudden sight had been so grotesque that for a moment, he stopped doing what he was doing, prompting Silveredge to turn her head over her right shoulder to check on him. Mordren noted that she dismissed her spells, including the one that undoubtedly linked her to Niku, and forced her spirit into a learned compliance.
And that's all her willpower against domination spells, he thought briefly. To remain in a state so calm that there's nothing to dominate. Shouldn't work, technically, but somehow, for her, it does.
"Am I disturbing your orisons?" Mordren asked in a hush, pushing the strange vision to the corner of his head for the moment.
"My lord can never disturb the handmaiden," Silveredge replied, turning her head straight again.
That's not quite true, is it?
Mordren smiled wickedly behind her, putting his cheek as close to her own as he could without touching it. "Are you telling me there is something I cannot do?"
Silveredge, who immediately realized her mistake, closed her platinum eyes. "The handmaiden hopes my lord will forgive the belief. Of course it is within his power to do all that he wishes."
And that's not true either, Mordren thought smilingly to himself. My pretty little liar, how long will it take me to push you out of this shadow of submission, into the real thing?
"Did you pray for my soul?"
"My lord does not believe in gods; the handmaiden thought it may be offensive to offer prayers on his behalf," Silveredge replied carefully. She felt Mordren's charming magic, very real indeed, sliding up her spine even as his hands ventured down past her hips. Tears that she could not understand began to sting the inside corners of her eyes.
Behind her, Mordren sensed the single, thin crack in the pearl veneer of Silveredge's resistance. While he was pleased by his progress, he got the feeling that it had much more to do with the hideous image he'd seen than his actual work.
"My handmaiden would be hard pressed to offend me," he replied soothingly, pulling her back against his body. The chill of her frame was notable against his warmth. "Unless she will reject me."
Behind her eyelids, Silveredge's eyes felt as though they were wholly on fire. Her voice caught in her throat, and she struggled to keep these traces of unexplainable emotion under firm control.
"My lord should never be rejected," came the thin answer at last.
How carefully crafted, Mordren thought, bringing his hands up to rest on Silveredge's hips as his magic stretched itself inside of her ribs and around her lungs.
"Yet, you do. You contest me, you fight me; I feel it," the mage cooed. "Will you submit?"
And again came the dart of the disfigured back across Mordren's mind, much too vivid to be dismissed. The burns were deep, cracking, black river beds cut across the delicate blue skin, the scourge marks oozed light green pus. So powerful was the experience this time that the Human mage caught the acrid stench of salted vinegar and seared flesh in his nose and throat. It was more than a vision, much more.
It was a memory.
Mordren pulled his right hand away from Silveredge's hip and slid the thumb of it up the nape of her neck, making sure that it pushed directly through the slave piercing as he did so. Silveredge bowed her head immediately, like a dog who had learned to heel when its collar had been tugged.
"Submit."
Silveredge could say nothing. Although the touch was gentle, Mordren may as well have been strangling her. She slowly descended from her standing position to her knees. The Human mage moved down with her, although he sat up on his knees so that he would retain a superior position.
"It's alright," he said soothingly. "You fight well- very well, in fact. You've been at this a long time- it's just that I've trained longer, better and harder than you."
No response.
Mordren got up slowly, disengaging his magic as gently as he had introduced it. Even in the semi-darkness of the imminent morning, he saw Silveredge's spine relax into a weary bend that was wholly unlike her.
"That woman- the mage you first saw with Bann? Is my wife."
Still no response. It was as if Silveredge could only hold herself upright by actually holding her breath.
"You'll meet her, soon," the mage smiled as he turned away.
As soon as he left, Silveredge allowed herself to flop onto her side and hug herself. The cry that had longed to escape her lungs only expressed itself in silent puffs of air.
Down in Howler's den, without any warning, Niku began whining as though he'd been whipped.
And in the hallway, leaning on the outside of Silveredge's door, Mordren knew that the war with her will wasn't over.
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