"Did a slaver kill Shesua, yes or no?" she breathed, trying to keep herself as patient as possible.
"No," the Tiefling before her said firmly.
Behind her, the cleric closed his blood red eyes and nodded, relieved to at last be giving an affirmative answer.
"Do you know who killed Shesua, yes or no?"
"No."
And the cleric, puzzled, raised one dark crimson hand and slowly tipped it from side to side.
"Were you present when Shesua died, yes or no?" the half-Elf asked, just as mystified as the cleric.
"Yes," the Tiefling sighed, bored to the point of frustration herself.
After receiving a solid nod from the robed man who sat just behind the Tiefling's interrogation chair, the half-Elf continued. "Do you know how he met his end, yes or-"
"Yes," came the aggravated reply. "There was a clean, even slit that ran from one side of his neck to the other."
The cleric nodded first, then shrugged.
"Slices like that need knives, don't they?"
"Or swords, or daggers,or any fucking thing with a clean edge," the bound female Tiefling complained. "A child with a good kitchen knife could make a cut like that."
"Slices like that need knives, don't they?"
"Or swords, or daggers,or any fucking thing with a clean edge," the bound female Tiefling complained. "A child with a good kitchen knife could make a cut like that."
"But it needs a blade wielder of some skill, doesn't it, to make a clean, even cut mid-battle?" the half-Elf asked urgently, not even looking to the cleric before she spoke. "What blade toter would have been so good that they could kill a seasoned fighter with a single, clean, lethal cut, without contest, in the middle of an assault?"
"Either Aleksei or Bahlzair- and I've told you that before," the Tiefling complained. "I don't know which one; I was hanging upside down and backwards from a tree while it happened. For all I know, those two could have been playing cards or dancing a waltz while the asshole killed himself."
The cleric shook his head with a miserable look, bringing his elbow up to the arm of the chair in which he was sitting so that he could put his forehead in his hand.
"Yes, you have told me that before, but you are lying," the half-Elf finally growled, walking over to the Tiefling and dealing her a solid slap as she spoke the last word. Quickly, she snatched the woman's chin and forced her to look at her. "We don't have to release you to the Pillars for proper judgement. There's no law forcing us to do that. We can just lock the door and walk away. You'd never see sunlight again. We don't even have to feed, bathe, or clothe you. You could just die here. Alone."
The Tiefling said nothing, opting instead to spit.
The cleric, who understood both women's reactions, rolled his eyes.
The half-Elf closed her eyes for a few moments, slowly removing her hand from the Tiefling's face. Deliberately, she wiped the spit off her face, pulled the front of the Tiefling's thin prisoner's tunic forward, and wiped the spit on her chest.
"Enjoy it," she whispered with a smile that was nearly genuine. "That's all the water you're going to get today." Righting herself, she turned and motioned to the cleric to follow her back out of the cell, taking the torch with her as she left. The cell, whose barred door was slammed shut moments after, melted into utter darkness.
"I think that's as much as we're ever going to get out of her," the cleric counseled, frantically scampering behind the half-Elf in the nearly vain attempt to keep up with her anger-fueled strides.
"Good," came the sharp retort. "Great, in fact. Let the demonspawn swing."
The cleric, struck to the heart, stopped in the hallway for a few moments. He watched as the guard continued to move up the hallway, and watched his shadow stretch into the darkness of the hall behind him. Turning around, he lifted his right hand and looked at the ring that adorned it- sealed with a pair of hands clasping a bloody cord. He closed his eyes and breathed on it, and it began to glow, shedding a pure, ethereal light in a halo around him. This done, he moved back down toward the darkness of the Tiefling's single cell.
The half-Elf made it all the way to Ornrion Vannus before she even noticed the cleric was gone. Unfortunately, her commander noticed his absence first.
"Why would you leave a priest in a cell with a dangerous prisoner?" he demanded at once.
"He's not in the cell; I closed and locked that," the half-Elf protested. "He must have gone to relieve himself, or to pray in solitude. I know I'd have to talk to a higher power of some sort, after weighing that bitch's words."
Vannus frowned, but knew the half-Elf might have been right. It was unusual to have one of the tender-hearted clerics attempt to meditate or re-focus their divine energies in the deepest and darkest of the prisons, but that was all that was remarkable about it. Beyond the pair, there was a sound of shuffling footsteps, and of chains. Some murmuring arose as well- likely something about needing a torch, since after the first few feet into this part of the dungeon, there were none mounted on the walls.
"Did you at least get anything for your efforts?" Vannus asked as he momentarily cast his gaze up the hallway.
"No," the half-Elf sighed. "She's saying the same thing consistently, but she is consistently lying. I- I just... I honestly can't take it anymore. If Garimond will take my advice, he would just hang her and call the matter closed."
"You and I are of a mind," Vannus agreed. "I know not how that stripling bow-toter has managed to warp the commander to his will, but he alone, against the word of saner men, keeps this one demon cuckolded bitch alive. It's all I can do not to run her through myself."
"I know how you feel," the half-Elf admitted. "I struck her face, at last, and wished, just wished I could choke her."
Vannus laughed- a simple, puffing sound that didn't at all denote levity. "Well, that's you off the interrogation chain. At this rate, Garimond will have to-"
"I intend to."
Vannus pressed his eyes shut, and could not help but put a hand to one temple as if in pain. In the halo of his torchlight, Garimond looked from one of his guards to the other, then nodded his head to someone that neither of them could yet see. Shambling forward in chains came Iordyn, who had to wait until Vannus moved to the other side of the hallway to be able to follow the commanding officer two paces down the narrow hallway.
"Take hold of his arm, Vannus, and let us return. DiRisa, you're dismissed from this investigation; go up to my office and get the details of Battlemage Ranclyffe's work with the Shadar-kai."
And just as the guards began to stir to follow orders, the cleric returned from the lower cell, his ring dimming as he reached the light thrown by the two physical torches.
"Ah, Brother," Garimond breathed, relieved. "Your absence disturbed me mightily. What happened to you?"
"I have played your hand fully," the cleric smiled sadly, shaking his head. "Forgive me."
"I doubt you can have done as you say, but confess," Garimond encouraged.
"I revealed to the Tiefling that Sembia may be stealing those people from us who dare to raise their voices against any kind of Cormyrean aid in the rebuilding of their national economics," came the quiet reply. "I thought... since we are of like race... and since she has such a clear distaste for the loss of freedom, of autonomy and self-control... but she just laughed, saying that one death is as good as any other."
Iordyn sighed deeply and bit his lips before he spoke. "We were warned by Ser Voyonov that there may be such a response."
"Well, he was right. Her bitterness has so firmly taken hold that I believe she will walk straight to the gallows proudly, with a smile of triumph on her face," the cleric lamented. "There is no mercy for any of us in her spirit anywhere."
"Why should there be?" Iordyn scoffed quietly. The half-Elf, who heard him, felt a small, but genuine pang of regret at his words.
"Indeed," Garimond mused to Iordyn's comment as much as to the cleric's. "Yet, you have not left me without recourse, Brother. Come with me. Vannus, set at liberty the Dragonborn, and send word back to High Captain Sakoda that Bahlzair is indeed the Rooftop Reaver, by his own admission- albeit translated by an interpreter. Further, undo Iordyn's bonds; they were merely for Dame Hophni's appeasement."
"Both the Drow and the Dragonborn confessed to-"
Garimond closed his eyes and put his arm against Iordyn so that he would move. As soon as the archer had, the elder officer came nose to nose with his subordinate.
"The Dragonborn, though he be guilty enough for all his company, can confess only to not being able to stop the Drow. That is more Shesua's fault than his own, and likely why the man is dead at all. The Drow is not only proud of the work of his hands, but enjoys taking credit for others' kills." With that said, he turned around and moved back past Iordyn, who looked to Vannus expectantly. "Whatsoever Sakoda will have me do with that unrepentant murderer in order to divine what truly is his handiwork and what is mere boasting, I will do it- within reason, anyway. Ser Raibeart, Brother Oriian, let us go together."
The cleric hustled down the hallway after Garimond, not wanting to be left in the darkness outside of the torchlight. Vannus waved his hand at the half-Elf as he turned his back on the departing duo, and the female guard quickly undid Iordyn's cuffs.
"Thank you," the archer said genuinely. But before the guard could say anything funny or caring, as she'd wanted to do, he too was gone after the oversword. The ornrion, who noticed his guard's awkwardness, smirked as he began moving off.
"Have eyes for the bowman, do you?" he asked after he was certain that the half-Elf was in hearing range while Iordyn was not.
"He's interesting," the woman admitted. "An initiate in some mystic archer's order, I hear."
"That's right," Vannus agreed as the two began to climb the steps toward Garimond's office. "Order of the Bow, said to be guided by Lathander himself- if you believe that sort of thing. I don't personally- it leads to some interesting conflicts of belief. That rumor, for example, saying that Hophni must have deserved to die? Sacrilegious."
"I can't be sure," the guard mused. "I, for one, can almost believe it. Young Ser Raibeart doesn't seem to me to have a murderer's heart."
"He doesn't; he doesn't even have the heart for honest battle. That Tiefling, however, has bloodlust written all over her."
The two walked the rest of the way to the ornrion's office in silence. Upon arrival, they saw that the door stood open, and inside, Battlemage Ranclyffe was chatting calmly with a stocky Human male guard.
"...other guy said the leatherface was ornery, but that's shit," the younger man sighed, shaking his head. "It's true he wouldn't cooperate at all with me until I told him how the spiderspit and the Shade witch were, but he was butter after that. He told me their names, too, and made me use them, instead of their races."
"Interesting," Ranclyffe noted, pushing at his spectacles. "What did he bid you call the dark Elf, if you remember?"
"The proper given name, just as it was given to me on the docket," the guard replied, looking up and out of the door to his compatriots. "It's amazing how he can say it, seeing as he butchers Common. Hey, how's by you, Frizzy-Di-Rizzi? Get anything out of Madam Horns?"
"Nothing but a gob of spit," the half-Elf smirked at the oblivious Human. "Sent up by the boss. His turn, now."
"It's a shame," the young guard frowned. "I got a cousin who acts up just like that. Not a farmer'll let him turn slop out for pigs. At least he's Human, though. It's gotta be rougher for her."
There was an uncomfortable silence during which the half-Elf realized that the soldier actually pitied the female creature who had spit in her face.
"Your cousin's probably not a remorseless killer," she huffed at last, moving to lean on the wall just inside the door.
"Interestingly enough, neither is 'Mishka,' " Battlemage Ranclyffe breathed, looking up at DiRisa with a face full of practiced calm. " 'Rasha' confirms that, though I hear the woman herself will not."
"Ser Voyonov says so too," the guard piped up.
"And if they are all part of some Shadovar coterie?" Vannus demanded angrily. "Were you not by when the drunkard witnessed that Semmite slavers tried to kill good Cormyreans at every turn? What happened, once all save that useless drunk were dead? Sudden peace. What of that?"
"What of it?" the battlemage asked, shrugging loosely. "Although Ser Voyonov freed himself, which he claims to have been able to do at any time after his original chains were sliced through, he was escorted to me along with two full-bodied allies. Those two women were still able to fight his one, single captor, so neither 'Rasha' nor 'Mishka' could have intended to cause or aid his escape. Young Ser Raibeart and former Blade Unessmus both made it to Suzail as well; they would not likely have done so if either the women or Ser Voyonov himself were intending to sell them for profit or to trade them for their own lives. Bahlzair is no one's friend or ally. Even Shadovar themselves would regret any attempt to recruit him."
"Alright, Lord Wisdom," Vannus fired back. "Why is Shesua and nearly his entire company dead? Why was their blood spilled?"
"I think the Semmites had two intentions, but both failed," came the quiet response.
Down in the Tiefling's cell, Brother Oriian, Oversword Garimond, and Iordyn sat silently in a wide triangle around the captive. Her red eyes moved suspiciously from the bowman to the oversword, who was noticeably the calmest of the three. Finally, after a full three minutes of silence, she spoke.
"What do you want?"
"Your permission," Garimond replied. "I would like you to allow Rasha to speak to me freely."
"If you want to talk to her, talk."
The crimson eyed cleric inclined his head, very slowly giving his agreement to the Tiefling's words.
"I received a complaint from the Sunfire Mercenaries," the oversword noted as he raised an eyebrow at the cleric. "They lost a chandelier to a rogue Tiefling mercenary."
"A whole chandelier just up and gone?" the female Tiefling scoffed. "That's a thief I'd like to meet."
"Well played, but that's what the brother behind you is for," Garimond smiled as he glanced back at the cleric, who had woefully shook his head. "Later that same day, I hear, a certain female Shadar-kai swelled the ranks of the Sunfire, coming into the tutelage of their master mage. In their roster, she is listed as Rasha bat-Ceubel, just as it is written in the visitors' book of the Coalwater Mercenaries. However, for Coalwater, the name appears just under a Fireblade Mishka Azarovna Luzkaya, which is interesting for two reasons."
"You must have all day to talk to me," the Tiefling groaned. "Sooner or later, there'll be a real crime, and you'll be down here playing pat-a-cake with me, your pet priests, and your tin guards."
The cleric's face darkened with effort for a few moments as he stared out at something that wasn't apparent to either of the other men in the room. Iordyn tried not to shift in his chair.
"You are attempting, I believe, to make me think that you have so long traveled with Ser Stonecrusher Aleksei Petrovich Voyonov that you have taken up his native naming customs," Garimond continued. "But not only does his 'first wife' not bear the name Voyonova, as she should, the 'second wife' did not deviate far enough from native Shadowfell naming customs to occlude the fact that she is Shadar-kai at all."
"Aleksei named us both," the Tiefling shrugged. "Ask him all the naming questions you want."
"But he didn't name you; you re-named yourself," Garimond charged. "When I read that strange entry to him, he only recognized and admitted to the given name- Mishka. He said it was his 'little pet name' for you, as your parents, whose names he did not know, had not had time to give you one. Interestingly enough, the name you gave yourself would be just as foreign to anyone who didn't know who they were looking for; most would mistake you for an Arkhosian Dragonborn. You took this name for yourself because you are hiding. Who from?"
The Tiefling blinked at him as though she didn't understand the question, and behind her, the cleric looked astonished.
"Well, let's come back to that one when you have recovered," the oversword counseled in a genuinely comfortable voice. "Rasha, for whatever reason, enrolled herself with the Sunfire Mercenaries instead of joining the Coalwater Mercenaries with you. Suddenly, the Coalwater Mercenaries go quiet, and a careless Sunfire Mercenary was seen crossing the Semmite border. Now, I cannot help but realize that Rasha is Shadar-kai, and although the name she used with the Sunfire is not quite hers, it is not so far departed from her people's naming customs that one would not know what she was when one read it. She's not hiding, is she?"
The Tiefling shrugged, and the cleric behind her first raised his eyebrows at the reaction, then gave a single, solid nod.
"Oh, Mishka, you don't know, do you? Don't know what that woman is really doing, how she's doing it, or what she's doing it for- she's a mage, isn't she? A worker of magicks. Tricky, tricky people, that lot. The Sunfire master mage, one Mordren? Just got married recently- to another mage, as is normal for that kind. They stick together, don't they? Leaving us artless fools to wonder just what they plan and ponder with their scrolls and spell books."
The cleric looked at Garimond miserably, and Iordyn fought not to look at the oversword at all. The Tiefling to whom he was speaking, however, glared daggers into his eyes.
"Perhaps she even left her name the way she did because she might want someone to be able to identify her as a Shadar-kai," the oversword mulled. "Perhaps someone was supposed to overlook you, but find her."
"I thought this was a murder investigation," the Tiefling shot back. "She didn't kill anyone."
"Oh, yes she did, and she wrote about it with her own hand, since Unessmus could not," Garimond reminded pleasantly. "Ser Raibeart said she was quick to offer her services, and also let me know that he, who can read and write perfectly well, was never asked to help the former Blade to proof the document for content or technical error. Meaning she could have written anything she wanted in that letter without any check from anyone because... well... like Ser Voyonov, you can't read, can you?"
"What does that have to do with anything?" the captive complained.
"Alright, let's go back," the oversword soothed, nodding and leaning back in his chair. "You put Blade Hophni in the way of Ser Raibeart's arrow, and you have no repentance for it, am I right?"
"Right."
"And you will say that even though the words will put your neck in a noose right next to Ser Raibeart?"
"Yes," the Tiefling answered, clearly annoyed. "If you're going to hang me, do it and be done."
The cleric sighed, but nodded.
" 'She will not hesitate to kill,' Rasha said. Isn't that right, Ser Raibeart?"
Iordyn's eyes went wide, and he turned to Garimond as though he'd never seen him before.
"She said, 'I have seen that with my own two eyes. She would not ask for anyone's pardon.' She put your neck in the noose for you, just in case you would not do it yourself." Garimond crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. "Mages. You never know with them, do you?"
There was a terrible silence during which the cleric put his hands over his face. Iordyn ground his teeth and looked away from the oversword, opting instead to study the halo of light that tried vainly to stretch from the wall toward the captive. It could only manage to truly light half her face.
"She told you more truth than your mother ever did," the Tiefling said at last. "If either of those idiots were in front of me to kill again, I would do it. I would put my daggers to their necks and slice them as smoothly as a fine aristocrat would sign his name, and it would be so beautiful that you would stand still and watch me, even in the middle of a brawl."
Garimond didn't even look at the cleric, who suddenly looked up in shock. Iordyn stared at the captive with frozen, horrified amazement, unable to make any one of the myriad of words that sparked in his mind come out of his mouth.
"The Sunfire Mercenaries have lodged a complaint against Rasha for mental manipulation," the oversword breathed. "Their leadership was compelled, as the complaint states, to act outside of natural custom. Compelled to suddenly open trade with Sembia- about which Brother Oriian spoke to you for some time. Again will I tell you that Rasha bears quite a resemblance to the people who have that land on the end of their strap."
"And I will tell you that I have no strap," the captive snapped back viciously. "You are looking at the reason why you know anything about the Sunfire tie to that country at all, and it takes coin, not any flattering words or ridiculous spells, to make me move. Now, any more questions?"
"Just the first one," Garimond shrugged. "May I please have permission to freely speak and work with Rasha?"
"You're cute, really cute, to work all the way around back to that," the Tiefling snorted. "She controls those mercenaries no more than she controls me. Go, take counsel with yourselves; I'll still be here when you get back."
"There is the little matter of the master ring," Garimond prompted. "Had you any intentions of acquiring it?"
"You bet I do," the Tiefling shot back immediately. "I want it, and I've been wanting it since the moment I found out about it."
Iordyn jumped up out of his chair at once, but stopped himself from completely leaving the room. Garimond finally looked toward the cleric, but he had merely closed his eyes and nodded.
"Thank you, Mishka- or Mi'ishaen?"
"Whichever you can dare to let fall from your mouth, you cold-blood. I hide from no one; I am more proud to be a fire-blood, poison-mind, ash-for-a-soul Tiefling than any man-jack here is to be Human, you got that?"
"I am not Human," the cleric objected at once. "Yo también nací como un hijo de Turath, hermanita querida."
"There was only one man who could call me sister, and he is dead," Mi'ishaen whispered fiercely. "I am none of yours, I thank m'lord so very, very kindly."
Garimond rose, took the torch from its sconce, and opened his hand to the cleric, who also got up. Quietly and without any dramatic attempts, the three men filed one by one out of the narrow door. The oversword pulled the heavy barred door shut behind him, locked it, and began moving up the hallway. Moving without speaking to one another, it only took them a few minutes to get back to Garimond's office, where they found all four inhabitants speaking to each other.
"...and then became a dedicant of that place," Battlemage Ranclyffe stated with a strange note of wistfulness. "It was good for her, obviously. Outside of the teachings of that coven, she has no words, not a single one, for what she can do; either she is a fabulous, untraceable liar, or that Sunfire mage was as useless to her as any common playacting magician would have been."
"It is done," Garimond announced quietly when Ranclyffe had finished. "The Tiefling goes to the Pillars as a Semmite sympathizer."
"What testimony did she give that made you think her a friend of Sembia?" the battlemage contended immediately. "The Shadar-kai said, truthfully, that she had never been there."
"And when asked the same question, the Tiefling agreed, but lied when she was doing it," DiRisa replied. "So she has been there; she just hasn't told her compatriot that she has."
"There's quite a bit those two have between each other, which was to my advantage," the oversword frowned. "It is my belief that the Tiefling's eventual aim was the betrayal of both Shadar-kai and Dragonborn to Sembia, with the help of the Drow."
"Well, you were near it, man," Vannus said to the older mage, whose lips thinned in response. "It was your theory, wasn't it, that both of those were the Semmite marks?"
"Then we are in agreement," Garimond nodded. "That a Turathi Tiefling might protect an Arkhosian Dragonborn is preposterous, but when one realizes that the woman considered him cargo, Shesua and Hophni's death make sudden sense. By her own admission, it is still her intention to find the master ring to the Shadar-kai's slave piercing, so it is obvious what she thinks of her."
In the darkness, Silveredge leaned her head on the cold, solid wood door.
"I still don't understand."
"They think I'm selling people as slaves, or helping to do that, for their collective arch-enemy."
"But I told them you would never do a thing like that."
"You also told them I would kill without remorse."
Silveredge picked her head up off the door and looked at it as though she could see Mi'ishaen through it. The tone the Tiefling had used had been flat, and the Shadar-kai could not be sure of whether she were upset or not.
"I didn't say anything about doing so to help slavers," she said at last. "I know how much you hate slavery. And so does Aleksei."
"That I would kill and not repent it is all they wanted to hear from you," Mi'ishaen replied. "I'm just glad they haven't decided to burn you."
"What good is that?" came the near heart-broken whisper. "They'll kill you instead."
"You're not the type to get yourself out of cages," the Tiefling laughed. "But I am. Have a little faith, won't you?"
"Mi?"
And inside the pitch black cell, the Tiefling shifted in the uncomfortable chair. "Edge?"
"Can I tell you something? In case- in case I don't get to, later on?"
Mi'ishaen turned her head so that she was facing the door.
"You'll get to. Just wait, and tell me to my face when you see me again. Now get out of here before somebody hears you."
"I wish I could stay."
"What's the point of staying here when going out is so much better?" Mi'ishaen cheered. "Go on outside and check if it's raining for me. If it's raining, I'll have to rob some one of these guards so that I can afford an overcoat. Leather armor doesn't do well, in the rain."
"May I get you a present?"
"Sure... but tell me what it is first, so that I don't steal it from somewhere else, and then wind up with two."
"I'll get you a good... one of whatever it is," Silveredge smiled as she rose from the floor. "It'll be so much better quality than whatever you steal that you'll have to fence the hot one for profit. But then we can go have a nice dinner again, like we did before we left Urmlaspyr."
"I like the way you think, beautiful," Mi'ishaen encouraged. "Now, go on; is it raining, or not?"
Silveredge smiled without speaking, touching the door of the cell lightly, as though she could reach through it and touch her favorite Tiefling's face. She turned and listened for a few moments before she began her ascent up the stairs toward light, knowing she would have to be careful once the complete darkness contracted into mere shadows. Even with this caution, it wasn't long before she made her way out of the lower dungeon, through the halls, and out into the open air. Evening had fallen, crisp and clear with a wealth of stars, but there were no rain clouds to be seen.
"Quick, Rasha," a familiar male voice said from somewhere. "There's a bloody huge, half-blind, half-green version of me that I really, really don't want to fall on the wrong side of, and he's actively looking for you."
"That's Aleksei," Silveredge replied, careful not to try to find Greyscale as she moved forward. "He lets us call him Lyosha; he means no harm."
"Meaning no harm while walking afoul of our confidentiality rules will still get a mark put on him. C'mon."
And Silveredge, who permitted Greyscale to reach out from the other side of a building's wall and take hold of her hand without contest, found that she could only think of the fact that Mi'ishaen had actively stood between herself and a very possible assassination.
And that, she thought with a distant smile, is her affection.
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