3:52 Verdicts.

The sun, now at its highest afternoon point, hadn't thought to rise when most of the members of the Sunfire Mercenaries were called.  Sent back to the manse from various jobs, pulled out of training, or summoned out of homes, every single member of the group had been given a carefully worded summary of why Bann and Howler had been called to the Pillars, and then given small slips of voting paper.  Those who were unable to leave wherever they were had been sent discreet messengers, who had been given instructions not to leave until they had received an answer.

Although everyone was familiar with the practice, having read the company's charter, the vote had somehow been a complete surprise to most.  Most of the voting papers came quickly, but the last few dribbled in.

Kronmyr's crimson eyes flitted over the small bits of paper.  Beyond the table, Howler slept fitfully on a palette of blankets that would normally lie under his dogs. The dogs themselves had been hastily crated along with a small litter of new puppies, and the biggest of those made a pitiful, hungry whine. There was no response from the dog master, but from a shadowy corner on the far right side of Kronmyr came a slight stirring, then the sounding of a worn voice.

"How is he?"

Mordren's wife, who was attending the sleeping Howler, narrowed her eyes. "He is exactly the same as he was the last time you asked."

"Mmmn," Bann groaned quietly. "Forgive me, I-"

"For what?" Kronmyr charged testily. "Give the man an actual answer, you soulless bitch."

"Soulless, am I?" the wizard woman hissed, sounding very much like an angry cat. "Are the Drow so very well known for their Human kindness?"

"Look, I've not survived twice your lifetime's worth of matrons' beatings just to listen to you, you child-eating spawn of Asmodeus," the Drow shot back. "Take your miserable sack of dry bones out of here, and let your apprentices do your work, like usual."

"How dare you!" the woman shrieked, now made absolutely furious. Howler groaned and shifted, sweat beading up on his brow.  "Never mind that I've been up half the night with this-"

"Hush, hush now," Bann pleaded, laying his head on his arm, which rested atop his knee. "We're not doing him any good, fighting like this. I'm sorry for my impatience, Magister Der Lang.  And Myr... just... just don't worry about it, alright? I take no offense. We're all tired."

"She can fuck off and all," the dark Elf muttered, still bristling.

"Kronmyr," Bann breathed, pulling one hand down his face. "You remember she saved your life not ten days gone, don't you?"

The fighter merely grunted in response, and the silence left behind afterward could have smothered someone to death.

The atmosphere remained tense even when Mordren entered the room with two small ingredient pouches. He noticed that Bann had decided to lean his head back on the window sill instead of back down on his arm, but had drifted off to sleep again anyway. Kronmyr, who hardly needed sleep irrespective of his condition, still sorted the small bits of marked paper.

"Comment est-il?" the mage asked his wife quietly, crossing the room toward her as he spoke.

"Il va mourir, et je ne peux pas dire pourquoi. Je l'ai tout essayé. Aidez-moi, mon amour," the slender woman admitted, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around herself as though she were cold. "Je ne sais pas pourquoi un coup de couteau devrait être mortelle."

"Je pesais que je ne sais," Mordren smiled brightly, sitting next to his mate. "Aller acheter des sangsues et d'autres herbes du vendeur de rue."

"Allez-vous essayer à saigner un poison hors de lui?" the woman asked, beginning to slide into a tone normally reserved for the likes of Kronmyr and new mage initiates.

Mordren merely raised an unaffected eyebrow at his wife, who frowned, but left without another word.

One of Kronmyr's proteges entered the room with a message, just narrowly missing the exiting mage.  Surprised into a mild confusion, he at first began heading straight for the master with whom he was most comfortable. Upon receiving a waved hand from the dark Elf, the young male Human turned to edge toward the dozing figure in the corner.

"Sir Kylsohn?" he asked very quietly, stepping toward the master mercenary carefully.  "Sir?  Kylsohn?"  Since the man being addressed did not move, the messenger firmed his lips and decided to take one final step closer.  "Are you-"

The nearly inaudible groan from Bann answered his question.

"You're tired, Bann," Mordren stated flatly, as though he, and not his wife, had said the same thing more than once. "You and Myr-"

"You're just as house-less as your she-creature," Kronmyr growled, just barely turning his head so that he could peer at Mordren over his shoulder.

"...should both take your rest, and let others help you," Mordren finished, unabashed at the red eyed glare and the frustrated insult that had come with it. "Leave the message with me, boy, and follow Master Ivonne."

The young fighter- a wiry, self-confident Human- glanced over at Kronmyr for a brief moment. The dark Elf, having turned back to his counting after hearing the belittling epithet, stopped his work again to hold out his hand.  The fighter smirked as he wholly ignored Mordren and handed the bit of paper to Kronmyr.

"But do see to his pet wyvern, eh?" the dark Elf asked, practically addressing the fighter's back as he moved to leave the room.  "Folks getting hurt, these days."

The fighter offered an affirmative grunt, but nothing more.  Behind him, Mordren made a small production of taking the reagents he'd bought out of the bag, staring at Kronmyr as he did.

"Well, take it, if you want it so badly," the dark Elf crabbed, handing the paper back behind himself.  "Not like it's for you; your own mother probably wouldn't write you."

"Lover's quarrels," Bann breathed, leaning his head back on the side of the window again.  "I suppose I should thank you for the show of concern."

"Or what's passing for it," Kronmyr huffed.

"Thank you, Kronmyr," Mordren said pointedly, having placed much more focus on the message as soon as it hit the palm of his hand.  He read it twice, then looked up at the weary Human man in the window.  "This is from Garimond.  Wants to know if you know anything about a sort of market within the guard."

"Yes," Bann replied, lifting his head and raising an eyebrow.  "We used to auction off the confiscated goods from the executed ones- a little side game.  He rose through the ranks long before I did; one would think he'd already know the answer to such a question."

"Perhaps not this question," the mage frowned.  "I don't think he's talking about reclamation auctions here.  I think he's talking black market.  Refusing to return the belongings of the innocent, selling them off to each other instead- maybe even selling them to folks without the seal."

Bann turned his head slightly as he looked at Mordren, as though the latter had just lapsed back into the dialect of Elven he was so fond of using with his wife.

"No," he finally said when he could check his disbelief.  "I don't know anything about that.  Why does he ask?"

"The girl that had been planted for the Raibeart woman took your advice and made a complaint for her symbol and prayer book.  Guards said they were robbed of them, but Garimond found them.  Says the circumstances interest him enough to make further inquiries." Mordren shrugged and reached his arm out as Bann finally moved from the window toward him.  "You ask me, he's got better things to do than track down a two copper carving and a pitiful collection of bland, useless poetry."

"Robbed?" Bann repeated, taking the message and stepping back toward the window with his gaze pinned to it.  "The guards claimed someone robbed them- of holy items, no less- and got away with it?"

"With the way he conveniently left out the circumstantial details, I would say that the fact that the prison guards were robbed is not the most interesting bit of the information available," Mordren snorted, returning to Howler's side.  "I should perhaps cast a scry or two."

"Leave that third eye closed," Bann frowned.  "He might-"

"Sir Kylsohn?" a gentle female voice asked.

Bann turned around and dusted himself off a bit without moving any closer toward the table or the door.  "Who is it who needs him?"

A female Gnome, modestly dressed in long breeches and a comfortable-looking, albeit high-necked, peasant shirt that seemed to have been made for a boy, stepped into the doorway and gave a tight, polite bow.

"I'm to proclaim the judgement of the Pillars to him, if he's to be found here," she announced calmly.  "Should I assume that you are he?"

"Yes, my dear," Bann replied, standing at ease with his hands behind his back as though he'd returned to service.  "At your leisure."

" 'In the case of the Sunfire Mercenaries versus the sovereign Crown of Cormyr, bearing in mind the total illegality of Lord Rancelair Illance's access to the records of the honorably discharged Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn as well as those of the honorably deceased Officer Garett Thom; and further bearing in mind Lord Rancelair Illance's clear, premeditated intent to murder Magister Mordren Der Lang, Ser Kronmyr Tuinre, and the honorably discharged Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn via paid proxies; and further bearing in mind that Lord Rancelair Illance was, due to the hiring of these proxies, the brokering of citizens to slavers or malicious magisters, and the knowing alliance with Shadovar, complicit in acts of high treason against the sovereign state of Cormyr, the Crown has rescinded all high treason charges against the Sunfire Mercenaries due to treasonous and lethal coercion.

In the case of the honorably discharged Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn versus the sovereign Crown of Cormyr, the Crown has found Swordmajor Kylsohn exemption of fault for high treason, due to the treasonous and lethal coercion of Lord Rancelair Illance.

In the case of the honorably discharged Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn versus Lord Rancelair Illance, the Court has found Sir Kylsohn fully innocent of slander.

In the case of the honorably discharged Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn versus the Purple Dragons of Cormyr, the Court has found Swordmajor Kylsohn guilty of insubordination by way of direct disobedience to an order.  The Court has also, by way of that disobedience, found Swordmajor Kylsohn guilty of aiding and abetting both a murderer and the murders committed.  However, bearing in mind that Officer Garett Thom was ordered killed prior to any reasonably tractable sign of lycanthropy, and bearing in mind that said lycanthropy was not properly recognized until Officer Thom was witnessed in the act of murder after Swordmajor Kylsohn was already honorably discharged from his post by personal petition, and further bearing in mind that the victim of the murder was complicit in acts of high treason against the sovereign state of Cormyr, Oversword Julian Garimond has rescinded all charges against both the honorably discharged Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn and Officer Garett Thom.  The Court has ordered that Officer Garett Thom be relisted as honorably fallen, that Howler Lykan Gan be recorded as an immigrant with an active petition for citizenship in Cormyr pending his presentation to the War Wizards for proper testing, diagnosis, and treatment.  The remaining family members of Officer Garrett Thom shall receive the remaining pension due to families fully duty-bereft of relations, and shall have all rights to bring case against the war wizard who failed to properly test, diagnose, and treat the honorably fallen Officer Garett Thom. 

In the case of the honorably discharged Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn versus Miss Mi'ishaen Lucien-Azaroth, the Court has found Miss Lucien-Azaroth guilty of destruction of property, and has therefore seized from her goods in the value of 150 lions, to be sold for its proper value immediately.  Payment shall be rendered to the Sunfire Mercenaries as soon as all goods have been sold for the proper value.'

Here's the money- now, according to the note here, there is to be a retrial of the Tiefling's manipulation, slaver, and treason cases.  Would you like me to return when it has come to the Court's hearing, or would it be alright to simply bring you the results of the retrial?"

Bann, who had closed his eyes, tilted his head just slightly to his right, then straightened it.  Opening his eyes, he stepped past the far side of the table to get to the Gnome.

"Just the results are fine; she's nothing more to do with us than the chandeliers.  And here's a lion for your trouble."

"Thanks!" the Gnome smiled gratefully, opening her hand again to receive the coin.

"Those are terrible bruises on your fingers," Bann noted with raised eyebrows.  "I hope you'll consider taking better care of yourself."

No flicker of consideration even crossed over the short woman's face; it was as though the mercenary before her never spoke a word.  "Hey, does Rasha or Silveredge still work here?"

"What have you to do with her?" Mordren asked without looking up from the herbs that he was busy crushing into a paste.

"She's inactive," Bann replied, repressing the urge to look back at the mage.  "Although, to think of it, she may want to hear about the manipulation and slaver retrials- yes, come back to get her when they've started."

The Gnome shrugged in compliance, as though the request were no big deal.  "Well, do you know where she is?  Where she lives now, if not here?"

"She'll be back," the mercenary shrugged with a smile.  "You may as well leave your message with us, rather than cheating yourself out of other message commissions by running all over the city trying to find her."

The Gnome nodded, then pulled a second piece of paper from the pack by her side.  " 'In the case of Ceubel Silveredge pas-Naja versus the sovereign Crown of Cormyr, the Crown has granted full exemption of fault to Miss pas-Naja due to coercion.  In the case of Ceubel Silveredge pas-Naja versus Dame Hophni, the Court has found Miss pas-Naja innocent of the murder of Blade Andrej Hophni.  In the case of Ceubel Silveredge pas-Naja versus Dame Shesua, the Court has found Miss pas-Naja innocent of the murder of Swordcaptain Akrias Shesua.'  You guys sure you don't know where she is?  I'm not actually-"

"She will be told," Mordren replied without any sort of feeling to his tone.

The Gnome took a half step back as though she'd been pushed, then turned and left the room without another word.

"I'll put a few words down for Coalwater," Bann nodded, turning toward the window so that he stared out at the lazy mid-afternoon streets.  "Exemption of fault.  It's unreal- like the end of a night terror."

"That woman wasn't kidding," Mordren answered, placing two of the fingers that had been working in the bowl underneath Howler's nose.  It wrinkled momentarily, and the mage nodded.  "When she made an appeal to us, on behalf of how Cormyrean they all were?  Those were perhaps the most honest words out of anyone's mouth that day."

"Dortana," Bann remembered.  "Yes.  Wonder how long it took her to convince Yulian to talk to we Humans instead of just punching them into agreement."

"He's- more of a wrestler, but docile, as I remember him.  I grew up down the street from him," Mordren shrugged.  "Well, I grew up in a house, and he grew up in a terrible shanty down at the end of the street.  The guards kept pulling it down whenever they got a chance, and he, his sister, and his father would spend about a quarter day every time they did, fixing the damage.  They never moved, never complained or backed down about it, but no one would sell them a proper house.  Boys up the lane always throwing rocks at he and his sister, to see if they'd bounce off, grown adults calling his father Lizardface or Scaly-drawers as though it were his name- I imagine that sort of treatment baked Yulian's scales a bit harder than they had been when I knew him.  But he was docile."

"You think he recognized you?" Bann asked, turning to look over his left shoulder at Mordren.

"Can't have," the mage replied simply.  "We've both changed."

Bann was going to argue that he had recognized Yulian, but decided against it.  It wasn't entirely uncommon for Mordren to know someone without being known himself.

A chestnut brown haired Human girl who was only slightly taller than the rudely departed Gnome entered the room with a toffee colored dog who was clearly too strong for her to control.  He trotted next to her out of sheer desire alone, because it was obvious that if he ever pulled to the end of the branded strap that the girl held, he'd likely take her arm with it.

"Hello?" the girl said uncertainly when she met Bann's eyes.

The dog, immediately identifiable to both Bann and Mordren as Hammer, padded to the full length of the strap, which the girl let go.  Without any noise, he dropped his nose to the floor to come and sniff at Howler.  Mordren, more out of force of habit than any fragment of concern, pulled himself and the mixture he was working on out of the way, and before he could think to stop the large puppy, whose presence brought the wondering sniffing sounds of the rest of the dogs in the room, the creature had laid his full weight on top of the dog master and began licking his face.

"Get- stop- Kronmyr, get this creature away," Mordren finally managed, completely disgusted.

"Huh?" the dark Elf grunted without even looking up.  "Ugh... Hammer, c'mere, boy-"

"Niku," the girl corrected confidently.  "Please be nice to Ser Howler; he's not feeling well, remember?  Remember how she said he wasn't feeling well?"

And the dog, clearly more properly addressed as Niku, stood up and took a single side step away from Howler before plopping down and licking his face again.

"Miss Silveredge asked us to please bring this to Ser Mordren, but I don't know who he is," the little girl continued importantly, having lost all sense of fear or shyness.

"There he is," Kronmyr said, sticking a thumb out in Mordren's direction before shifting his full mental focus back to the small slips of paper before him at the table again.

"Whatever it is, put it on the table," Mordren ordered immediately, clearly annoyed.

"Okay," the girl replied, fishing in the pockets of her small apron to produce yet another small piece of paper.  "But it looks like all the others.  How will you tell it's hers?"

"Fear not," Bann laughed.  "Did she tell you precisely what to do with it?"

"Yes," came the nearly incredulous reply.  "She told me to give it to Ser Mordren, but he wants me to put it on the table, so now someone needs to be able to tell the difference between hers and everybody else's."

At her unmistakable annoyance, Kronmyr looked up.  "It'll be alright; she intended him to put it wherever he thinks it ought to be."

"But it's hers," the girl protested.

"No one can tell whose anyone's is," Bann explained calmly.  "It's supposed to be a secret vote."

The little girl blinked and frowned.  "But Ser Mordren will know, if he has to put it somewhere for her.  He'll know that he put her paper somewhere, and it won't be a secret anymore.  It'll be cheating."

"She ought to have come herself," Mordren breathed quietly.

"I wrote her that she was inactive until she returned of her own free will," Bann reasoned in a near whisper.  "We could have gone up for coercion ourselves, considering how we got her here- I didn't think she would want to have anything more to do with us."

"It's blank," Kronmyr noted, almost as much for Bann as the girl next to him.  "See how all the others have the full, half, or new moon drawn on them somehow?  It might look like all the others at first, but the fact that it's blank already tells us it's hers.  She likely intended Ser Mordren to vote for her, so just-"

"No," the girl declared finally.  "I'll go back and ask her to draw on it, like she was supposed to.  She maybe just forgot, or something.  It's hers; she has to do something with it herself.  Ser Mordren doesn't get to say for her; that's not fair."

"A sense of fairness with which the lady herself doesn't agree," Mordren frowned, speaking a bit more loudly.

"Quiet, you demon-coddling childeater," Kronmyr hissed over his shoulder.

"Myr!" Bann exclaimed, mortified that the dark Elf had said such a thing in front of an actual Human child.

"Give... it to... Niku."

For a moment, it seemed as though time stopped.  No one could speak, and all eyes focused on the dog master, who hadn't been breathing properly, let alone talking, for two days.  After a few amazed seconds- which seemed more like eons, for Bann- Howler breathed deeply and tried speaking again.

"Amadelle?"

"Yes, Ser Howler?" the girl replied readily, her eyes glowing with a near other-worldly happiness.

"He... will know."

"May I please give you a hug after?"

A hum arose from the dog master, and Bann found he wasn't sure whether it meant he was agreeing or not.

"Okay, c'mere, Niku, please," Amadelle asked, kneeling down on the floor.  Niku picked his head up and looked at the piece of paper for a second, then calmly trotted over to the little girl to gingerly take it in his teeth.  Kronmyr shoved back from the table to accommodate the body of the creature.

"That pile's for confidence," he explained, feeling silly for talking to a dog.  "That one over there is for unconcerned, and that one is for no confidence."

Niku picked himself up so that he could sniff at all three piles carefully.  After what seemed like a very long time to both Bann and Mordren, he leaned his head down and placed the blank paper down on the confidence pile.

"For the sake of argument," Kronmyr sighed, closing his eyes and crossing his arms, "which pile was unconcerned?"

And Niku, who had padded away from the table toward Amadelle, sat down and barked twice.

"No, come back over here and point it out," the dark Elf stated.

Niku whined at first, but got back up and padded back toward the table.  Lifting himself up again, he sniffed at all three piles carefully, then pushed at the small hill of unconcerned vote papers with his nose.

"But you're telling me- you know what?  Thank you," Kronmyr nodded.  "You've done what you came to do.  Tell Miss Silveredge thank you, and that she has a message here at home.  Do you want a sweet?"

"No," Amadelle said immediately.  "Mommy says not to have any sweets anywhere but home, unless she's right next to me.  Ser Howler, may I hug you now?"

"Mmm," came the hummed response again.

Taking it as assent, the young girl walked over and lay her head on Howler's stomach, throwing her arms around as much of him as she could from there.  Unable to watch the scene any longer, Kronmyr pulled his chair back toward the table and began working at counting the votes again.

"Miss Silveredge says you'll be alright.  I asked her please to tell me before I left, because nobody likes being sick, but it's easier, when you know you're going to get better.  When you do feel well, we'll come and play, all of us.  Miss Silveredge says you like most to play at night, but that sometimes you come out in the day too, so we will wait for that.  I can't come out at night; I'm supposed to be in bed."

"Mmm," Howler repeated, his reply less like a low groan and more like an actual answer.

Niku padded over and sniffed at both Amadelle and Howler, then began poking Amadelle in the ribs with his nose.

"Okay," the girl replied, as though the dog had spoken.  "Don't forget us, Ser Howler."

There was a long, strange silence as Amadelle and Niku simply left the room, and the building.  Mordren looked down at Howler, frowned very slightly, and left the room with his bowl still in hand.  Bann, for his part, was absolutely rooted to the ground.

"And that's it," Kronmyr nodded, putting the last tick mark on the paper upon which he'd been keeping count.  "Two no-confidence, fifteen unconcerned, and fourty two confidence, across both company charters."

"I hope you don't go around telling everyone that we have two company charters; we ought to get brought up just for that," Bann breathed, the weight of the judgement he'd heard finally settling in his bones.  "And you don't have to mess with the results."

"I'm not," the dark Elf replied.  "It was practically a landslide; I could have stopped counting some time ago.  I just wanted to count the no-confidence votes, actually."

"Don't team up with Mordren about them, okay?" Bann said offhandedly, returning to the window.  "If they don't want to work with me, there are other ways of dealing with it."

Mordren returned with a different bowl and sat next to Howler.  He stuck his thumb into the bowl, swirled it around for a few seconds, then unceremoniously jammed his thumb into Howler's mouth.  Precisely thirty seconds later, Howler's eyes opened and fully focused.

"Don't bite it off, honorably deceased Officer Garett Thom," the mage smiled.  "Now, Bann, do you want the good news, the bad news, or the really bad news?"

"Mordren," Bann scoffed quietly, finally breaking his at-ease stance and pulling a hand up and over his head so that his slightly-touseled hair looked a bit better.

"The bad news is that either Lord Illance or somebody who's offended on his behalf is almost definitely still after us.  The really bad news is that said somebody is probably also wearing the Cormyrean colors or crest in some form- there are very few other good reasons for Howler to be shot at, in court, in plain daylight, without any kind of real repercussions.  The good news is that there were absolutely no natural werewolf lords responsible for Lykan Gan at all."  The mage paused, pulled his thumb out of Howler's mouth and patted the somewhat bewildered dog master on the cheek.  "No, my dear sirs, this is a spell.  Locked in either by a permanency spell or other highly illegal spellwork.  If it hadn't been- rather, if you had been a completely natural werewolf- that single silver-tipped arrow would have killed you.  But it can't.  Because if the spell were broken, you would be fully Human again, and the only person for whom that is actually really, really bad news is the war wizard who should have been able to diagnose that years ago.  For whatever reason, the honorably retired Swordmajor Bann Kylsohn and now honorably deceased Officer Garett Thom may in fact have been set up."

3:51 Elemental truth.

"...and therefore release you from service to us until such time as you should, of your own volition, wish to return...," Druce read to herself as she leaned gingerly on the banister in front of the now oft-used guest room.  Well, that's wise of them, she thought.  I think with everything they've been through these past few days, it's completely understandable to cut ties with anything and anyone that vaguely-

And at that moment, Eunice began climbing the stairs.  Seeing Druce calmly contemplating the Sunfire's letter to Silveredge as though it had been addressed to her while standing outside the partially opened door to the guest room, Terezio's apprentice prepared to see why the older Human woman was not about the business of learning warding magic.

"Don't tell me you don't remember," Druce said with a start when she realized Eunice's presence.  "She's done this for as long as she's been here; it's obviously a sacred ritual for her.  Just wait."

"I don't see why she should waste your time with her... worship," Eunice frowned, "or why it's permitted-"

"Eunice, if there had been any stripe or flavor of Shar worship in this house, your tutor himself would have brought the entire place down to destroy it; now, don't you make me slap your darling little impudent face," Druce smiled sweetly.  "Just wait, and-"

From inside the room came four unintelligible, but sweetly sounded, song lines.  Although quietly and reverently voiced, the delicate soprano seemed somehow piercing, as a needle or a snake fang might be.

"It's wickedness," Eunice whispered fearfully, drawing closer to Druce than either woman was expecting.  "Don't you feel your arms prickling?  I don't think that's even Common, whatever she's saying."

"Get a hold of yourself, woman," Druce spat, pulling herself away.  "Act in accordance with your age, if not your knowledge."

A long sustained note, like the cry of a young or frail mourner, seeped through the half open door.  Druce closed her eyes, much to Eunice's horror, and clutched her hands to her heart to begin a prayer to Lliira.

"Lady Druce, I thought you feared Saint Cuthbert and Pelor, as Battlemage Ranclyffe does!" the apprentice whispered fiercely, holding her own arms closely to herself for an entirely different reason.

Druce finished her prayer, touched her right hand to her lips first, then her left breast, and finally opened her eyes with a sigh.  "Have you bothered to find the Ranclyffe family shrine space?" she asked patiently.  "And what sort of worshiper of any god are you, anyhow, to interrupt an obvious prayer like that?  Now come along, if you're coming."

With that, the older woman moved past the astonished apprentice and opened the carved wooden guest room door all the way.  Immediately, a flash of red tattoo and fur dashed toward her.  For a moment, Druce was concerned that she would be knocked flat by the powerful creature, but as nimbly as a hare, the large puppy dodged off to one side of her and ran all the way around her.  He sat back on his haunches for a few moments at a time as he barked, sniffed at her, and panted, his stump of a tail furiously moving behind him.  It was, all in all, a great show, considering that he knew exactly who Druce was- it was hard not to recognize the woman whose faint scent had joined his charge's on every plate of food he'd gotten in the house so far.

"Oh, dear; you gave me a fright," Druce smiled, steadily regaining her confidence that she wouldn't be harmed.  "You know, there was a small child, a little girl, who came by to visit you.  You and your lady-friend were both still asleep, so we turned her away."

"The handmaiden is sorry to hear that," came a calm, clear voice from a far corner of the room.  A silver haired woman who was still in the process of braiding some of the hair at the front of her head moved out of the shadows there, which receded considerably in response, as though they had been made of dark water.  "If she returns, we will go and play with her."

The idea seemed to please the dog greatly, and he hopped around the room for a while to show it.  The young blue-skinned woman finished her long strap braid, knelt down, and opened her arms to the creature, who wasted no time in slamming nearly every pound of his power into her waiting arms.  The woman, judging by her low, careful positioning, had clearly expected the charge, and was rewarded by only having been moved three or four inches back toward the wall, and the curtained windows there.  Druce took the opportunity to realize that the curtains were still drawn as though it were night, then saw out of the corner of her eye that Eunice had noticed them as well.

Another reason to suspect her, Druce frowned.

After a few moments of quiet speech that neither of the Human women present could understand, the Shadar-kai arose from the floor.  The dog, still sparking with energy, padded off to the makeshift bed that had been created in a large wicker basket, immediately positioning himself so that he could watch whatever might come through the doorway.

"Now, Lady Drussandra, I give you again the challenge of your soul," the Shadar-kai smiled, moving back to the corner from which she'd emerged briefly.  The shadows there again deepened and lengthened as though the young woman had somehow submerged herself in dark waters.   Druce stepped carefully to the small table that sat between the two windows and sat down.

"And I receive it gladly, Dedicant Sheeklihemree... did I get it right?"

"It is of no concern," Silveredge smiled genuinely as she busied herself the shadows.  "The handmaiden answers your intention, no matter the robes in which it presents itself."

"I should still like to get it right," Druce chuckled lightly.  "While Rezi and I were expecting Federico, he received orders for Immersea.  The registrar stationed us thinking that she'd put me with my family to help me through the pain and concern, but didn't realize she'd sent us to Rezi's family, not mine.  I wound up staying with Petricio, one of Rezi's two uncles, because his wife was alive and willing to help me.  Anyhow, back home in Minroe, I was called either Sandra or Sandy, but my town was small enough that you wouldn't mistake one girl for another no matter what she'd called herself that morning.  In the comparatively huge Immersea, there were already plenty of Sandras and Sandys, one of which was Rezi's unmarried elder cousin.  You can imagine how pleased she was to be distinguished from me by being called 'the Aldermaiden.'  Then, two months later, because Drussandra was nowhere near as well-known a name as Cassandra, the Dragon Requisition Office decided this little lack-brain from Minroe had to be either mistaken or lying.  The head req-officer demanded that I have my mother and midwife send a written solemn oath, and absolutely refused to put in a request until she had received it.  My mother, rest her soul, was illiterate, but the midwife, rest her soul, wasn't, and she was furious that the Dragons would refuse a pregnant woman food.  So she wrote out three identical copies of the oath- one for the official Dragon records, one for me to keep, and one for the Ranclyffe family- then put a small cut on the first finger of my mother's left hand and pressed her blood to the papers.  The req-officer was embarrassed, shocked, and incredibly penitent, so she doubled my food rations.  She also started calling me 'Druce,' and I never corrected her.  By the time Rezi was moved to Wheloon, I had learned to introduce myself that way."

Silveredge returned to Druce with two bowls- one full of sand and water, and the other completely clean and dry.

"I remember my mother telling me that her good friend claimed that I looked like her child, instead of my father's.  My mother loved this, and even in pain on the birthing floor, told her good friend to name me.  Unfortunately, neither she, nor my elder sister, nor any of the other women in the room could write down, let alone pronounce, what my mother's good friend said, and she was not able to write any of our languages.  So when it came time to present me, my mother did her best to say exactly what her friend said, and Jyklihaimra is the result.  The handmaiden is often told that the pronunciation is deplorable, but can offer no idea of what her mother's good friend truly intended.  The meaning, which the elders asked for at once, is something like 'Charmed mage,' but degenerated, over time, into Silverhag.  With a bit more time, I simply learned to answer to whatever it was that others decided I should be called; one title is as good as another, so long as the intention is understood."

Silveredge continued moving as she spoke, retrieving a worn and battered robe from the corner.  Druce, as she listened, fished in her pockets, and produced a pair of shears that belonged to her sewing kit.

"I suppose that makes some sense," the older Human woman frowned.  "But all the same, I should like to get it right.  There's something- comforting, I think- about hearing the name that you actually should be called.   It feels as though the person speaking took time to remember it, and speak it correctly.  That's it- the consideration of it.  That's what I mean.  The person speaking should be considerate; should know you, and know what you're called.   Your name is special, like you."

"The handmaiden doesn't desire to be special," Silveredge replied quietly, sitting on the other side of the table.  "Simplicity is sufficient."

"I don't know that you can do very much about the rather vast space between yourself and simplicity, dear," Druce smiled warmly.  "I'd say, if nature sees fit to make you shine like a star, you oughtn't pretend you're a common rock."

"Wait- what is this going to do?" Eunice interrupted, unable to keep her peace any longer.

"Hmm?  I'm supposed to get the sand out of the water," Druce replied, turning her body and the chair so that she could fully face both bowls.  "I've been at it for too long now, and I don't seem to quite be... getting it."

The apprentice wrinkled her brow and looked to the Shadar-kai, who had focused on snipping at the robe in her lap.  It seemed to be the absolute opposite of what needed to be done to the tattered thing.

"Miss, what do you mean by this, having Lady Druce to do menial work?  This isn't spell work at all- aren't you supposed to be-"

"Aren't you supposed to be in training?" Druce huffed, mildly annoyed at the interference.  "Go on, get to whatever it is you're supposed to be doing."

"But Battlemage Ranclyffe sent me to find out how you were progressing," Eunice argued.  "I was to tell him what spells you might be working on, so that he might help you properly factor and execute them, if need be."

Druce looked up from the bowls and put her arms on the table.  "Eunice, I am getting the sand out of the water.  Go and ask Rezi to remember how desperately he wants me to keep out of his playroom.  Right now, I need him to stay out of mine."

"Oh," the younger Human woman said with a strangely offended tone.  She blinked and looked about herself, vainly trying to think of something that might keep her from having to leave right away.  She instead met the calm, platinum gaze of the Shadar-kai, which sent chills down her spine instantly.  Unable to think of anything at all, she turned and left without pardoning her exit or closing the door.

"Don't mind her, dear," Druce said as she returned her focus to the bowls before her.  "She's not at her best with others.  One would think someone would have the sense to put her with a homey, sister-aged magic worker, or perhaps a cheery, fatherly male one.  Even a chatty aldermaiden with a cat or two would have done, but no, they apprentice her to Rezi.  The College makes me wonder, at times."

"My lord Ranclyffe is very cheery when he is with you," Silveredge noted quietly.  "Sunlight touches his face then; I have seen it."

Druce laughed gently.  "Yes, well, that's not always the case.  In fact, it was quite the opposite, when first we met.  I was just a nosy little cook and pot washer, back then, and had gotten myself into his study room- well!  The glares and tongue lashing I got, you'd have thought he was my father.  But the next night, I simply picked his study room lock again, and was sitting right there, proudly reading his notebooks, when he arrived to practice his incantations and experimentations and whatnot.  As though I could understand a word!  But he was handsome to look at, willing to brave all for what he thought was good, and very intelligent.  All I had to do was convince him that I was just as smart as he, and twice as stubborn."

"My lady is wise, to have chosen for herself a good and honest challenge," came the quiet, but clearly pleased reply.  "May you contend beautifully against each other for the rest of your days."

"And what about your challenge, dear, hmm?" Druce said at once, looking over the bowls toward Silveredge, who was still focused on the robe in her lap.  "I do believe I had heard a stray word or two about Young Ser Raibeart- and his case should clear, I think, at the Pillars."

"My lady is kind," the Shadar-kai answered.  There was no further reply, but something about the way the words were spoken made Druce realize that she wasn't the one to hear whatever else had to be said about the matter.  She looked down at the bowls, but decided to take up a different tack.

"It's a shame, you know, about the young woman you came here with.  It's very easy to hang around the wrong sort of people, doing as she does. I would know."

A couple of beats of silence passed before Druce decided to completely cant the playing field up toward the silent woman.

"That's how I landed myself in service to the War College in the first place, getting caught at stealing from their alchemy gardens."

Predictably, the Shadar-kai stopped working at the robe and looked up.  Druce caught the platinum gaze and nodded.

"I could tell because of her hands," she admitted with a smile.  "Lovely and delicate, perfect for fooling a lock into opening for someone who hasn't the proper key.  You're very similar to her, that way, and I found myself wondering if both of you are good with needles as well."

Silveredge smiled with no hint of negative emotion, but the puppy, who was laying with his head on his paws in the basket, did all the emoting for her with one very quiet whine.

"I'm very sorry, my dear," Druce said honestly, wishing she could hug the suddenly frail-seeming woman before her.  "Perhaps- who knows.  Perhaps there's some sort of mistake, and the Dragons are wrong.  It wouldn't be the first time."

"My lady is very kind," the light blue-hued woman replied.  "It must be that her god or goddess teaches of mercy, and second chances."

Druce deftly took the change of subject.  "In a manner of speaking, yes, they both do.  In name, Rezi and I are followers of Lathander and Pelor, but- well.  We have our secrets."

The two women smiled at each other for a while longer, then turned back to their respective tasks.  Below and just beyond them, the hound gave another sad or worried whine.  Druce found that the fact that she could not tell which problem it was concerned her; it was obvious that the woman behind her and the dog were very close.

Síochána, the Shadar-kai thought calmly.

The dog sighed and shifted, but fell otherwise quiet.

After a few silent minutes, Druce began to dig her fingers into the sand at the bottom of the bowl.  The sand, which had sat in the bowl under the water all night, was hard, cold, and difficult to shift.  She frowned, pulling her hand back out of the water and wondering why her tutor had not given her an instrument with which to work.

A familiar tread began its slow, heavy progress up the stairs, underscored by a lighter set of footfalls.  Near the bed, the dog got up and over two steps to the door before abruptly stopping and returning to the basket as though the Shadar-kai had given an actual, spoken command.  Druce, unconcerned, didn't even look up, although Silveredge certainly did, and was rewarded by the sight of the very same bespectacled seer who had given a rather stony welcome in what now seemed like a strange and distant past.

"A good morning to you, Miss..." Terezio began cautiously.  "I am told you are... working out crafts of some sort."

Druce suddenly took a sharp intake of breath and put her hands over her mouth.  Eunice and Terezio both looked at her immediately, and Silveredge felt waves of concern ripple from them both.

After a few moments of silence, Terezio dared to speak.  "Are you-"

"Shhh," Druce hissed, waving her left hand at her husband briefly before putting it back over her mouth.  Silveredge looked back down at the work in her lap, her face left carefully bare of expression.

Terezio opened his mouth to speak again, then stopped himself, tilting his head very slightly as though he'd just heard something very surprising.  Eunice took a half step forward, only to be stopped by the cautioning hand of her mentor.

"If I just-"  Druce picked up the bowl of sand and water completely, then slowly and carefully poured the water into the other bowl.  "There."

"But there is a little water yet in the sand," Silveredge noted quietly.  "And there is a little sand in the water."

"Well, the sand will settle and the water will dry," Druce proclaimed firmly, sitting back from the table.

There was a short silence during which Silveredge stopped cutting the stitches out of the robe and actually looked up.

"Is the water good, or evil?" she asked.

Druce's face clouded for a moment, but then suddenly beamed with understanding.

Terezio took a step back and crossed his arms, intrigued.  Having already felt where the lesson would go, he found himself strangely pleased.  Eunice, however, was absolutely dumbfounded at the question, and found she couldn't even think of the words she needed to object to it.

Druce folded her hands in her lap and breathed deeply before she spoke.

"Water is water."

"And Drussandra," Silveredge smiled, looking back down to the robe, "Is Drussandra."

Terezio very quietly took his pink-cheeked apprentice by her shoulders, turned her around, and walked back out of the room.