The air on the College grounds was chilly, and still, just as it had been on the other side of the empty wooden check in stalls. Dew rested peacefully on the grass all around, and there was no light by which any of the various sundials could decide whether it might be even close to the seventh hour of the day. A few painstakingly crafted moondials sat outside of the main illusion lecture hall, which itself glimmered in the very early dawn as though it itself had been made of something more costly or beautiful than bleached clay and stone.
Garimond climbed the three steps up to the entrance of the place and tried the door, which was predictably locked. Not as predictable was the door's sudden opening, and the collection of illusion apprentices whose eyes were heavy with sleep, but made glossy by worry. One of them, unremarkable in all but his pale, freckled face, recognized Garimond more quickly than the others, and ushered him inside.
"She's this way," he said in a whisper that still betrayed an adolescent voice. "Keymun and Tanner are taking dictation, but the rest of us were evacuated from that entire wing of the hall almost immediately."
"How long ago was the evacuation done?" Garimond inquired, feeling some annoyance at not being notified about any such action. Evacuations and sequesters were his job, or the job of some Purple Dragon, whether they were magic-related or not.
"Two hours, perhaps?" the young man answered vacantly. "It was too early for me to really look at the hall's hourglass when I went by it. Keymun would know, or would at least know who to ask- usually there's a rotation, but I don't think anyone thought to take over, when all this started."
"Keymun's transcribing and turning the hall's hourglass?" Garimond asked, completely aware that this would be received as an even stupider question than the last.
"It's not much more than a cantrip," the student replied, trying his best not to talk down to someone so much older and more important than he. "Any one of us could sustain it while taking a multi-school practical exam."
Garimond didn't bother to mention that since he didn't know what a multi-school practical exam required, he had no way of truly understanding the difficulty or ease of sustaining the timely turning of the hall's giant hourglass while performing one.
The two passed a pair of Purple Dragons, who saluted Garimond as soon as they saw him.
"At ease, men. And you- stay a while," the oversword instructed the young mage, who stopped in his tracks as though he had been petrified.
"Report, officers- who stationed you here, and when?"
The officers looked at each other and elected who was to speak within seconds. Since their helmets completely covered their faces, Garimond only realized that he was speaking to a female guard when she spoke.
"Firstsword Cimaretto, maybe... about two hours ago? Could have been less... I'm not sure anymore... I was doing the last leg of my rounds when I heard an... I guess a.... a kind of squishing sound? Maybe more like slurping- like someone was eating hot noodles very loudly. And it was huge; just for a second, but monstrously loud. I mean, to me. It- I don't know how to describe it- but I knew it was impossible to have a sound like that be normal. I know it's the illusion sector, but... I mean, even with magic... I was suspicious. I'd been outside, so I came in to investigate, and... I didn't report back to base when I was supposed to; I was still in here. Cimaretto is my direct CO, so..."
"No, he already knew about it, somehow, because he was mid-sentence when he just all of the sudden got quiet- you know, that dangerous quiet right before he starts doing things really fast without saying anything? He shot out of the barracks, temper on fire, and snatched me up, hand high off the ground, like I didn't weigh anything," the other officer finished, their firm, calm voice hovering somewhere between an identifiable masculine or feminine tone. "Quick marched me over here and posted me, and sent Jules down when he got up there. Burins might still be at the booth, for all I know; he can't leave, because at this hour, we only ever post the one guard. I can't counter illusion spells to save my life, literally, and Jules isn't supposed to still be on duty at all."
"Burins's stall is empty, so don't worry about him. Let me see the situation, and I'll determine whether or not I will release you two of Cimaretto's commands," Garimond mused. "Now, how long ago was this?"
"I'd say I've been here about an hour," the second officer finished after stealing a glance at the first. "Jules was here when I got here, though."
"You were here longer than that," Jules piped up weakly. "But I didn't look at the glass, so I can't say exactly."
"A giant hourglass in the center of the hall, always turned regularly by magic, and no one looks at it," Garimond joked bitterly. "I'll return. Come, good sir, let us continue."
The officers both snapped salutes and remained at attention until Garimond had passed between them. The student mage led Garimond to the top of the stairs and to the right, all the way to the end of the hallway. There, oversword and apprentice alike were greeted by the sight of two apprentices. One was laying on his back with his hands on his face, and the other was intently writing. Garimond guessed that the low murmuring that was seeming to come from much farther away was actually simply within whatever enclosure had been put between the apprentice magister and the rest of the hallway. As the two men approached, a very light blue glow betrayed the presence of a ward against magic. Beyond it was the open wooden door to Apprentice Magister Laurelson's study, where the apprentice magister sat primly at her desk, and Firstsword Cimaretto sat crosslegged with his eyes closed in the middle of the floor, looking for all the world as though he were meditating in the most peaceful place one could imagine.
The trouble was, Apprentice Magister Laurelson's skin was streaked with unhealthy pale greens and deep bruised blues, and Firstsword Cimaretto, who had stripped down to his breeches, was dripping with sweat. Before Garimond had a chance to begin forming an appropriate question to ask, the apprentice magister turned away from her desk and abruptly began coughing hard enough to nearly push herself from her chair. The apprentice that was laying on his back gave a shuddering sob in response.
"Perhaps you might collect your colleague?" the oversword quietly asked the young man next to him, who'd clearly only been told of this spectacle. The boy's eyes were wide as saucers, all sleep chased far away from them. He nodded his agreement, but stood staring as though he hadn't really heard.
"I've treied to gi' 'em ou' uf 'ere fer ehjes," the one functional scribe sighed, looking up. "I thenk 'e thenks 'e'd be bitreying 'er, an 'e lef'. 'E's lekke a beast, mos' th' teime, bu' a'th'mo', 'e's all to peices. Taxin' stuff, thess. Not fer th' wee ones. An you no sen pleigue, et looks th' divil."
Garimond stared at the young woman as though she weren't speaking Common at all.
"Have him fetch us one of the divination students," Apprentice Magister Laurelson manged weakly. "It's spread upward as well as downward, so I won't have my voice much longer, will I? We must hurry- and has anyone heard from my family? My mother may come, and needs to be signed-"
"No, she doesn't," Garimond cut in. "That cursed oversword is useless, and has failed to assign sufficient officers to the nightwatch. There's no one to sign in with at all."
The young woman, staring down at her dictation work, spat out a scoff so bitter that Garimond squinted down at her, somewhat insulted.
"That's no way to talk about Garimond," the magister scolded, not realizing to whom she was speaking. "Slow he may be, but not useless."
"Talk about him any way you want, Michi," Cimaretto scoffed. While his tone was harsh enough, no part of him physically betrayed his annoyance. "It's himself playing the joker. And as for the jest itself, it rings too true to buy my laughter- thanks to the doubled market guard and the skirtfasting of more than half my blades, the nightwatch has been undermanned for weeks."
"And I have received every single complaint you've filed about it," Garimond frowned, looking up from the young girl to the grimly peaceful form of Cimaretto. "You there, take up your compatriot and do as the magister asked you- you search for any word of the magister's family, and let him find a diviner- or perhaps some one who may have the presence of mind to find one."
This time, the young man did more than just nod. Stepping forward wordlessly, he took hold of his classmate's elbows and began to tug him into sitting up. The female scribe set her writing aside to get behind the still-weeping classmate, and together, he was brought to his feet. Once there, he and the young man who had guided Garimond to the study started back toward the staircase, and the young woman left behind wrapped her arms around herself as though she were suddenly freezing cold.
"Are you Keymun or Tanner?" Garimond asked gently, watching the two departing students.
"I don't mean to be rude, Oversword, but my apprentice and I must keep working," Apprentice Magister Laurelson cut in. "I'll give you the details you no doubt seek as soon as I've finished making sure that this all won't be for nothing."
"Proceed," Garimond sighed, vaguely annoyed at the minor rebuttal. It takes all of five seconds to speak a name, he thought.
"Hindy?"
"Stell 'eere," Hindy shot back immediately, unfurling herself and sitting back down to gather up her note taking instruments.
Probably born of the sort of lower class that still uses what they do for who they are, Garimond thought. Hindy... Helena? Linda? But probably Tanner.
"Right- 'to the provocation and continuation of this misery. In this vein, it becomes sensible that a lifelong curse, or rather, a curse that will outlast both host and caster alike, should exist. In fact, it may be posited that such maledictions would be preferred over those that must end when does the existence of the caster, so as to render 'Permanency,' which would cost extra time, materials, and magicka, duplicitous'-"
Garimond moved a few paces closer to the glowing ward, whose soft, semi-musical hum surprised him. "Cimaretto," he said with a trace of nervousness, "can you spare a few words? I... frankly don't know what is going on."
"Trishinda is taking dictation from Michele about how and why she's contracted this spell-triggered illness, which is highly contagious. It's somehow locked in just as permanently as Thom's is. I don't have any advanced healing skill, and I can't get a hold of anyone in that school, so I'm sustaining the ward and a personal enchantment, and turning the hourglass," Cimaretto responded curtly, at full voice. "And before you start thinking about it, I can't move from here without either Michele's passing, which will end both the spell and the illness it somehow brings with it, or someone casting their version of a retaining ward, unless I want to risk everyone within two hundred feet."
"Understood," Garimond lied quietly. "The guards downstairs?"
"Two loyal dogs, both overdue a raise. Most students around here are easily deterred snoops, but only heavy steel and a firm will can stop Michi's kids from trying to see if they can help their tutor or I. And they're all glam kits, so they can't. They'll only accidentally distract me."
" 'Glam kits'?" Garimond asked.
"Illusion novices, then," Cimaretto replied, his temper heating up every syllable. "You might consider actually visiting those of us posted out here once or twice, instead of depending upon tightly restricted reports to sort out what we're doing. City isn't that big."
"....the continuation of the same. There is therefore no further purpose than to distract, at worst, or vaguely amuse, at best, this notoriously... fickle and sanguine spirit. Second note: this tome contains the results of the aforementioned notes and tests, and... on pain of a speedy, but agonizing death, it is not to be opened. Having thought myself protected from such retaliation by the careful casting of a protection circle, I... opened the seals and immediately contracted a wasting sickness for which I could find no applicable name, nor... even a cursory description. Other than the flickering of a single rune on the hand... that touched the tome, I had no warning. There was... no measurable time between the appearance of the rune and the inception of a searing pain, like... unto sticking one's member into a pitch fire, and said pain was... coupled with the immobilization of first the few fingers that touched the tome, then... the entire hand, then the entire arm, then my entire right side. It would be... in our best interests to... reestablish contact with the Bone... College of Urmlaspyr, and whomever is the most studied authority of contagion studies there...' "
As the apprentice magister went on, her voice grew small and choked, as though a lung or throat infection were taking sudden and powerful residence. Garimond began to count, slowly, to see how much breath she had between hacks and gasps. By the time he could no longer count any farther than four between coughing fits, a full figured, grey haired, rosy cheeked woman clambered her way up the stairs and began long, confident strides down the hall.
"Your name and business, madam?" Garimond asked when the woman had come close enough to the situation to be considered in danger of contagion.
"Lady Dani Laurelson, and I have more business here than any of you puppets," the woman replied brightly. "Kindly remove yourself, and I'll talk to my child in peace."
"We are awaiting a diviner, Lady Laurelson, so that we can have hope of continuing to communicate with your daughter at all," Garimond replied smoothly.
"Ah, yes, that; I passed the bitter end of that little scene on my way here. It was perfectly useless to send a hysterical waif in the small hours of the morning, to describe in shrieks and wails how the Apprentice Magister Laurelson was attacked by a book. You should rather have sent one of your men downstairs to command assistance, since even the worst of you, as loyal and well-armed servants of our great king, have power enough to rouse the entire divination hall and march them out like so many common criminals at any wicked hour of the night or day."
Well, here's where the apprentice magister learned her delicate manners, Garimond thought grimly. And here I was blaming the College for her tenderness.
"Hindy, take this ward, and I'll try a bond," Cimaretto muttered, all but unheard.
"Dinnae tetch 'er," Hindy warned seriously.
"I sent them one of their own, an eye witness to your daughter's struggle, that he may be better received," Garimond answered Lady Laurelson calmly. "Should I rather have sent one of the Dragons to bring me a mage at sword point?"
Cimaretto opened his eyes, and, immediately regretting it, shut them again. "I won't make physical contact, but the connection'll be more tenuous. I can't hold my personal ward while I do it, either."
Hindy blinked at Cimaretto as though he'd just told her he was going to try eating burning balls of pitch. "So wha're we gonna do fer tha', then?" she finally managed.
"Can you cast destruction?"
Hindy's face went from incredulous to terrified instantly. It took her a few moments for her trust for the man to overcome the shock of his request. "I'm... nae s'posed teh talk aboot et, but... aye, tha' I can. Wha're ye wanten' with et?"
Cimaretto took a deep breath and released a long, weary sigh. "Vici's part of me, always is. If I contract the illness, I might lose control of him and be twice as dangerous," he whispered. "Be who you are just this once, Hindy, and if I survive, I'll be a brick wall to anyone who eyes the pyre. If I don't... your cousin's downstairs. Take my coinpurse, she knows where it is, and get home. Don't either one of you look back."
"A fine job of purposeful exaggeration, my lord," Lady Laurelson said, crossing her arms firmly. Garimond instantly wondered how long it would take her fingers to go white from the pressure. "The point remains that no mage of any worth will believe a mere initiate in the dead dark of night, and forsake his bed to check whether or not a book can attack a person- especially in the illusion hall. The whole situation screams, 'Waste of time'. If you were so concerned about whether or not your Dragons would behave properly when compelling action, perhaps you should have gone yourself. Now, you see how my daughter is not long for this world; I will not waste my time speaking to you, or your like. Begone, and take your pet with you."
"Yer coin buys ye nae deth o' me, nuncle," Hindy hissed back, laying her book and charcoal stick to one side. "I'll do yer wall, but an et fail, naery a then' worse then paralises."
Cimaretto scoffed lightly. "Fine time to be sentimental- take no chances with Vici. If we lose ourselves, use destruction. Now, to work."
Hindy stared at the blue ward and made a sort of voiced hissing, then pressed her hand to the floor. An inky black ward pushed its way up from the stone in the floor and struggled as it hissed and sighed its way over Cimaretto's humming blue ward. Both Garimond and Lady Laurelson watched until the dark ward won its way all the way across the doorway in both directions, and moments after it did, the blue one dissipated, allowing Hindy's ward to become more translucent than before.
"That... that was his ward? The blue one?" Lady Laurelson asked the room. Hindy paid the woman no attention, and Garimond gave a short, quiet scoff.
"I'm as unfamiliar with my Dragon's magical acumen as you are," he admitted. "Were I sure that I could command him to come with me without doing some damage to the containment of whatever it is that has your daughter, I'd certainly have a serious talk with him about it at once."
"Tak yer cayre weth et, well ye nae?" Hindy whispered, her eyes closed. "I'm nae wanten' te see an I can put a spill I oughtn't e'en talk of teh yeh."
Cimaretto didn't answer. Moving onto his knees, he took hold of his sword with his left hand and touched the fingers of his right hand to the center of his head.
For the shortest of moments, Lady Laurelson could swear that a second creature, a spectral dog-like thing, was inside the warded space with her daughter. Garimond, who was wholly without magical palate, saw nothing at all. Hindy, who knew not only exactly what the spectral creature was, but why it had appeared, closed her eyes almost immediately after seeing it.
That's sufficient, Michele cooed inside Cimaretto's mind. Relax, Chimi. This isn't a concentration spell.
The echo of her voice reverberated in the Purple Dragon, and made the corners of his eyes sting.
That way you've always had of factoring your spells as though the opposing force has the upper hand has served you well. The connection will hold until... ha... well, until I'm not here to hold on to.
Cimaretto coughed out two short breaths, as though someone had punched him.
Lady Laurelson clenched her arms a bit tighter in response to his sudden sound, unwillingly concerned for the man, and Hindy's closed eyelids pinched with surprise.
Looking from Lady Laurelson to Hindy, and back from Hindy to Lady Laurelson, Garimond got the distinct impression that he was the only one unaware of what was happening. "Before you set to work again, Apprentice Magister Laurelson, have you any words for your mother?"
Michi responded as though Cimaretto, not Garimond, had spoken. I have less time left than we feared, dearheart. Tell my mother, at once, that your biancomangiare will do well with her tea, and that Hindy will finish the quilt with her, when she can pause in her studies.
She hates me, Michi, Cimaretto thought grimly. She won't countenance me, even now.
Just once more, please. Maybe now...
The Purple Dragon took a few deep, slow breaths, then spoke.
"Lady Laurelson, if you would like, I can bring biancomangiare- the sweet white confection?- to go with your tea. And, Trishinda will be happy to finish the quilt with you, when she gets a moment away from her studies."
"I don't- You know I never- these are her last words to me?" Lady Laurelson sputtered, her chest deflating like a set of spent bagpipes. "I just- how does she expect-?"
Tomorrow, she will pay the tax collector, she will keep the house, you will bring biancomangiare, and you all will sit and have a nice common tea while you sort out how it is that you will be a family day after tomorrow. That's how you'll do it. One day at a time, until you can do more. Remind her that she told me that, when my father died.
"Just... one day at a time. Remember when Ser Laurelson died some years ago, and you told her don't do too much at once? So, right now, same thing. Tomorrow, you're going to pay the collector and keep house, like normal, and I'll bring the sweets, and Trishinda, and we'll eat, and we'll sort out how to get on tomorrow. Okay?"
"And... we...?" Lady Laurelson asked breathlessly. " 'We'? I... no. No, absolutely not. You... shameless opportunist! Filthy weapon dragger! I don't believe you, you imposter! Pretending to be able to- both of you, get out and leave me in peace. And take this thick-tongued, half-Elf cretin with you, if you don't mind! If it weren't for you, both of you, I'd have a proper, chapel going son-in-law and happy grandchildren to keep my age. Instead, I'll soon have a disfigured corpse to bury or burn, whichever the esteemed potentate, and his steel-plated pets, permits."
Garimond turned his head and shook it as though her words had physically hurt, yet kept himself silent. Grief will tear bitter answers from the holiest of tongues, after all.
For a few moments, there was a thunderous silence, both inside and outside of Cimaretto's mind. The Purple Dragon turned his head over his shoulder.
Michi?
Well, the apprentice magister thought, her dignified fury dripping palpably from the single word. You see now, I suspect, why it was quite difficult to hear my father insist that I was more like her. To work, then- assuming Hindy's still there?
"Lady Laurelson, with respect, we're working," Cimaretto said quietly. "The curse locked in on Michele is very similar to the one locked onto a former officer, and right now, she's giving her life for him- rather, for the hope that at some point, someone will be able to figure out how to save him. Trishinda and I need to work together to get her last notes together."
The woman's grip on herself tightened again, and the tips of her pale, pale fingers flushed bright pink with stifled blood. "I still don't believe you," she muttered at last, "and you're not welcome. But I see there's no help for it. I'll keep quiet here, but don't think you can order me away. I'll stay right here, and when you're tired of pretending at being a worker of magic, I'll have my daughter back."
"Cimaretto, I'm leaving this all to you- and I'm cutting your detail downstairs loose," Garimond noted with a tightly controlled voice. "Clean this up, report to me with all notes and findings, and consider yourself on leave- two weeks, half pay. At the end of two weeks, we talk."
"Sir, yes sir," Cimaretto replied simply. For the night watch commanding officer best known for his sudden and severe fits of rage, it was much too calm a reception, and Garimond knew better than to assume that it was because he was happy with his treatment.
Once downstairs, Garimond dismissed the soldiers quietly, since most of the students in the downstairs area had taken to sleeping on the floor around them- some immediately in front. Jules saluted and began picking her way through the slumbering students immediately, but the second guard took time to turn around and whip out a small charcoal pencil. Garimond decided that it would be a better idea to watch than to ask questions, and was rewarded with the appearance of a partially identifiable symbol. When the second guard had finished drawing it, they stood upright and removed the gauntlet that covered their right hand. The thick, calloused fingers there unveiled belied the careful, intricate work that had gone into making the small symbol. The guard snapped their fingers, and the drawn symbol, just for a moment, gave off a wickedly deep crimson glow.
"There," the guard breathed, turning around. "Only one of Chimi's tricks that I can actually do. Works wonders, though- no mage likes feeling as though they've got mindfire."
Garimond smiled and nodded as though he understood the comment, and the guard stood to full height.
And thus I discover that Cimaretto might be one of the Skullwatch Spellswords- I look forward to that little chat.
"Officer?"
"Sir?" the intrepid guard replied without a hint of negative emotion.
"Name and rank, officer."
"Blade Meridha Kattril, by the grace and command of King Foril the first," the officer replied at once.
"Long may he reign," Garimond said, nearly due to habit alone. "Now, how long has Firstsword Cimaretto been your CO?"
"Since I was transferred here, two years ago," Meridha answered, "and left to him, I won't watch for anyone else. Hindy's my second cousin on my mum's side, from this tiny mountain village, west of Maloren's. I asked why she was called down from there to the College, or who sent for her, but no one tells me anything about it. Anyway, when the envoy she was traveling with came by Greatgaunt, my pop put in for a transfer for me. Folks from the west- sometimes the eastern folks don't... um... understand them, you know? Mum begged my pop to put in the request, since his paternal right would practically make it an order. Cimaretto got wind of it, somehow, and took us aside when we arrived. Said he knew what it's like to be ripped up and shipped out to people who suspect you're about two prayer book pages away from being a total barbarian. So he kept me on a beat here, near her hall. Denied two other commanders to do it, and... we're both grateful."
" '...forced to perform the experimentation of physical operations and transmorphing spellwork intended to heighten the senses and abilities of the subjects, with the ideologically questionable goal of creating a pack mind more easily controlled than each individual could be on their own.' Got it?"
"Aye," Hindy answered at once, even though she was still scribbling as quickly as her sore fingers could.
Thank you, dearheart. That was... a bit too difficult, at the end there.
It wasn't too difficult. I knew what you meant, Cimaretto thought.
There's... a link. Or something. Thom wasn't from the north, and the other subject wasn't even Human, but... there's something. About all of them. And you too. I remember worrying about it, but... I can't think of it now. Look over my notes. Help Hindy... I don't know... re-think of it.
Cimaretto tilted his head very slightly to the right. I'll do my best. I'm no research mage.
Neither was I, until this, Michi reminded. Look over everything, together. Between the three of you, you'll see it again.
Dani Laurelson, who was nervously watching her daughter's chest gradually move less and less, found that she couldn't bear to bring her fist away from her mouth.
"Raiht... 'tes done," Hindy breathed, closing her notepad. "Thank th' sperets; I though' we'd nae mayke et."
Diego?
Yes? Cimaretto thought, barely restraining the powerful urge to wrap his arms around Michele.
I'm scared.
Cimaretto sighed deeply and sat down with his back to the doorway.
My mother's name is Ursula, he thought. She prefers Sully to Ursie- long story. She's dark brown haired, brown eyed, olive skinned. She had a black ghost wolf, about six hand, forepaw to the top of her head. Lucia. Last I visited Mamma's grave with Nonna, Nonna says she's always liked you. So, I imagine, if she's following me like Nonna says, then, well, she's gotta be close. Call for her; we're all good d-
Oh, Michele interrupted quietly, her mental voice made just as small as her natural voice had been before she lost it altogether. Well, that explains- Ursula, right? Sully, yes, he just said... oh. Mamma? But we haven't... oh. That's true. ... Alright, I will; thank you.
Cimaretto mashed the insides of his lips together between his teeth. Prenditi cura di mia moglie, Mamma.
But the officer said no words aloud. Off campus, across most of Suzail, in homes, chained to stakes, or in kennels, unearthly howls from all sorts of dogs seemed to all pierce the early morning's cool air at once. Cimaretto breathed deeply, as though he could smell the sounds. For the second time in his life, his chest throbbed with a longing to leave the mortal world.
"Chimi? Heigh-oh, Nuncle Chimi?"
Hindy's voice seemed so quiet and distant that at first, Cimaretto didn't realize she was speaking to him. Only when she repeated herself did he open his eyes and turn over his shoulder. Their eyes met during a silence so thick that it felt as though it couldn't have been broken by a scream.
"Gane, is she nae?" Hindy asked, her voice made a whisper under that oppressive silence.
Cimaretto only nodded, then turned his head straight forward again.
"What? Gone?" Lady Laurelson breathed, her own normally strident voice unable to push itself out of her throat. "Can't I touch her? Can't I say goodbye, at least?"
"She gave me words for you, madam, and you would have none of them," Cimaretto replied, his voice rumbling perilously at the bottom of his register, more like a growl than a human sound. "If you would speak to her now, it had better be to beg her forgiveness."
All the sorrow in the woman's bosom soured into rage at once, and the weighty, somber quiet was shattered by her suddenly full, indignant voice. "Forgiveness for what? All her life, that life spent in my house, she was safe. Out she comes to serve the Crown, and she is at once cut short, torn away from me and any hope of family or fulfillment. I did what I could as a mother, but you, you miserable blade dragger, you and your ilk return me this. The wasted shell of my child. Give her to me, and let me bury her. None of these military honors. I want to bury her in my land, with my own hands, and what of our family I can call to my side."
"No," Cimaretto said. A growl arose from something that wasn't his natural voice, and Hindy recoiled in spite of herself.
Oh, there 'tis, she thought fearfully, looking around for whatever might indicate that the officer's spectral wolf lurked nearby. A feine teime t' be proven' yer hir'tage!
"What- what is that?" Lady Laurelson asked, looking around herself as well. "You dare bring a battle hound into-"
"Open your eyes, woman," Cimaretto snarled. "I am the battle hound."
And as the growl grew louder, Lady Laurelson looked around herself more and more frantically. Hindy, who could hear the sound just fine, but knew that no magic could pass her ward in either direction, simply watched the older woman whip herself around as though the floor her were on fire.
"Call it off, won't you?" Lady Laurelson demanded after nearly tripping over her skirts. "Where is it? Get it away from here!"
"Give Michele to me," Cimaretto breathed, his voice sunk so deeply into his labored breath that Hindy cast a brief look behind her to ensure that he still seemed well.
"No! You can't threaten me, you're- you're-"
"A filthy weapon dragger, right?" Cimaretto suddenly snapped. "An unwelcome hack-and-slasher, a steel plated pet, an idiot chained to the throne, a stooped and brutish cretin fit only for a side show faire tent? Open your eyes and LOOK AT ME."
Lady Laurelson made the mistake of doing just that, and when she saw what appeared like a wolf made entirely of billowing dark grey smoke, her eyes promptly rolled up into her head. Hildy made it across the small hallway just in time to make sure that the fainting woman didn't hit her head anywhere on the way down.
"Denna ken ef she'll be rimembren' 'at," she remarked with a sigh. "She'll wek oop en' act jest th' saym, well she nae?"
"Probably," Cimaretto replied, all the fight gone out of his voice at once. Vici, suddenly made puppy-like in its docility, dropped its smoky head to sniff at the floor, then padded over to its weary spellsword as though it could be patted. "My best hope is that she's out long enough for me to get Michi out of here and on her way to a pyre, just in case. The good lady can bring the heavens down on me afterward; I'll bear it."
"Th' gud leddy'll be doen' nae such a theng, or she'll hae a herd o' shamblers after mekken' supper oot ef 'er," Hindy huffed.
Cimaretto chuckled weakly. "I suppose that's my fault for telling you to be who you are. It's hard to be quiet again afterward, isn't it?" He stretched his arm out over the smoky wolf figure, and after picking its head up as if to sniff Cimaretto's hand, it quickly dissipated as though it had been mere natural smoke.
"Aye, 'tes," Hindy admitted, a bit of color rising in her cheeks. After a few moments, during which Cimaretto got up and stood behind Michele's body, the apprentice asked, "Till me agayne th' stohry ef 'ow yeh were gitten' Vici, well ye nae?"
And Cimaretto laughed more fully, although the sound still seemed somehow sad. "Now there's a thing I'm not supposed to be talking about at all, but of course I'll tell you again. As many times as you like; you know that."
"D'yeh thenk trooly et's a kerse?" Hindy asked as she picked up her scribing items.
"What we can do- you and I- we're not curses," Cimaretto said, still smirking. "You have a necessary skillset, and shouldn't be feared. And as for me, I'm only scary when I have to be... most of the time. Isn't that so, Michi?"
And Hindy watched Cimaretto allow himself to run a single finger down the apprentice magister's cheek without a word of reproof.
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