4:15 Unfriendly allies.

Ivonne looked at one of the sundials carved into the side of a temple as she walked from the Sunfire Manse up to the College of War Wizards.  She'd delayed her trip long enough in the day- not entirely by her choice- that most of the merchants in the actual market had begun packing up their wares.  Children who had been playing and screaming just a half hour before were put to work helping their adults to gather items from the display tables.  Apprentices were helping to take apart the tables and wooden stalls or to count up the day's sales.  The master craftfolk themselves were either already gone or impatiently waiting to check over their young workers' figures and produce.

Ivonne pushed her hands deeper into the arms of her cloak, which was unseasonably heavy, and moved purposefully past chatty aldermaidens, busy employees, and rushed last-minute shoppers.  Above them all, bell towers began announcing the hour.

The College of War Wizards had a certain smell, for Ivonne.  When she was first brought to the magisters for aptitude testing, at no more than a tender eight years, she had tearfully complained that it smelled like dry roses and bones.  Her mother had smiled a strange smile at her, and simply said, "You'll get used to it."

Ivonne paused in the middle of the street, looked up the street toward the buildings of the College as though she hadn't seen them hundreds of times before, and inhaled the faint scent of the place, already detectable from her distance.  When the moment of nostalgia passed, she looked back down at the road before her and began moving forward again.

When Ivonne had actually attended classes, she noticed that each hall smelled just a bit different- some a little more like the bones, and the sand that surrounded them, and some more like the roses, and parchment.  The parchment was understandable, Ivonne's father had always said, since every hall was responsible for keeping research records- their own as well as copies of any notable findings from other centers of magical study.  Her mother had very gently discouraged this logical line of thinking, saying, "It's not that kind of parchment, my love."  And her father usually fell into a bemused silence.  Sometimes Ivonne got the impression that her father, along with most of his side of the family, believed that her mother was tolerably insane.  Of course, the fact that the woman's favorite pass time was attempting to train wild forest deer to attend to her orders like spiders would attend to those of Lolth's priestesses made Ivonne inclined to agree with them, as she grew older.

Ivonne was still lost in her thoughts when she reached the entrance way to the College grounds.  She stopped at the check in booth more because there were lines in front of her than for any other reason.  It seemed that something was wrong with the normal security procedures, causing them to be much tighter than normal.  Schedules were displayed, notes of permission were checked over, and credentials that never before had to be produced were hunted up from the bottoms of satchels, much to everyone's consternation.  Ivonne came to herself somewhere in the middle of her line, her chest filling with anxiety.

All her credentials were two years out of date.  Worse, since she hadn't expected any kind of identity check, she hadn't even thought to bring any of them.  She briefly considered stepping out of line to go back and get them, but was at a logical impasse.  Would expired paperwork be any better than no paperwork at all?  As the line inched forward, her heartbeat quickened.

"This one's fine, Lellie; I know him," one of the guards was saying to another about the person immediately in front of Ivonne.  "Medical magic theoretics, right?  Right, go on- lighten up, man; he's late for an exam!"

"How can you possibly-"

"When you check the same persons for the same classes at the same time for an entire season, you sort out when the persons' test times are," the first guard sighed with clear annoyance.  "Now, who's this- oh.  Haven't seen you in a while, Ivie.  Comin' back for a few brush up classes, or are things gone sour with the Der Lang boy?"

Ivonne blinked.

"I hate to disappoint you, again, but there's nothing wrong with my relationship with Mordren, Tierney," she stated flatly, once she could get over the surprise of recognizing the man at all.  "What are you doing here?"

"Pfft, yeah, title's shite, when your CO's after a grudge," the guard replied.  His helmet prevented Ivonne from seeing whether her was smiling or not, but she suspected that he was.  "Cimaretto was cov'rin' multiple beats himself, but since he's been put on a fortnight's leave with half pay, Frea's after doin' her name justice.  She's houndin' the assignments so's to steal good folks from other beats.  She put more'n half of 'em here, and they don't know the regulars; look at the state of the cue.  Now, truly, what're you after 'round here?"

"I'd like to request testing- on someone else's behalf," Ivonne managed with a tight, embarrassed tone.

"You managed to have a baby that wants testin' in the time that you've been away?" Tierney shot back.  "You maybe want to wait until the little demon can talk."

"I don't- we haven't- no, it's not... that," Ivonne stamered, flustered by the casual mention of children.  "It's- the subject is older, but... she's... eh... a foreigner."

"Gotcha, gotcha," Tierney nodded.  "Right, so you'll be needin' a temporary pass- give me a second- hey, Trine!  Over here!"

A monstrously tall and muscle bound person on the far side of the check in booths turned their attention to Tierney, then began moving toward them.  It seemed to Ivonne that there was no effort in the person's forward motion- they neither lumbered, as their size might suggest that they should, nor seemed to make any more delicate movement.  Instead, they simply went from where they were to where they were needed, as though they had stepped into the Feywild to cover the distance between the two points.  Ivonne felt her skin prickle.

"Write me out a temp pass for one Missus Ivonne Der Lang, won't you?" Tierney asked in a jovial tone.  "It is still Der Lang, isn't it, Ivie?"

"It is," Ivonne nodded.  "Mordren and I are doing just fine.  Really."

"Of course," Tierney encouraged with a voice like a purr.  "Now step over there, and let Trine ask a few questions.  I've got to get back to work- maybe we can catch up later."

"Maybe," Ivonne smiled faintly, sincerely hoping that she never saw the man again.  When she turned back to Tierney, she realized that the large person had gone a good five paces away from the check in booths, and hurried to get within proper speaking distance.

"Purpose of visit?" Trine asked without an introduction of any kind, staring resolutely at a bit of paper on a battered piece of wood that might have seen another life as a cutting board.  Their skin was a tender bluish gold that Ivonne believed would be much prettier on some Elven decendent, and their curtain of blue-grey hair obscured their facial features.  Their tan robe, made of some delicate toffee colored material, rested easily on their upper body and danced in the slight breeze around their lower calves.

"Testing," Ivonne finally answered.

"For enlistment?" Trine asked, their tone opinionless.

"No," Ivonne replied.  "Although if I were, I doubt it would be your concern."

"For enrollment?" Trine continued, undaunted.

"No," Ivonne sighed.  "And again, I don't think it's necessary that you know why I want testing.  Isn't it sufficient to know that I do?  For this temporary pass?"

"For infirmity, or breech of mental sanctity?"

"No!"  Ivonne spat.  "That's insulting!  Look, I don't think-"

Trine looked up from their paperwork, pulled all their hair up and over their head with one wide, thick hand, and fixed Ivonne with a saffron yellow eyed glare that could have frozen all of the Human woman's blood in her body.

"If you don't tell me what kind of testing you want, I can't finish the pass.  If I can't finish the pass, you can't enter the campus.  The longer you balk, the longer we have to breathe each other's air.  What.  Kind.  Of.  Testing.  Do.  You.  Want."

"Aptitude," Ivonne replied immediately, suddenly very sure that she was standing in front of someone who might just as quickly crush her as finish filling out the flimsy piece of paper.  "Spell theorem writing, specifically."

"School?" Trine asked as they looked back down at their paperwork. 

It was at that point that Ivonne noticed that they had no writing implement of any sort in either hand.  She found that the realization, coupled with the aftershock of Trine's direct attention, caused a small tremor within her.

"Evocation," she said, her voice made breathy by her fear.

"Is the testing request for yourself or on another's behalf?"

"On another's behalf- do I have to name the person?"

"Not my concern," Trine stated without any hint of either bitterness or humor.  In the absence of identifiable emoting, Ivonne found that she was at a loss for how to react to the comment.  "Are you now, or have you ever been, affiliated with the College?"

"Yes; I was part of the Fifth Level Evocation Class and the Tenth Level Healer's Class of '48."

"Do you have an affiliation with any registered temples, covens, or mercenary groups?"

"Yes; I'm the master healer for the Sunfire Mercenaries.  I was also registered as a healing apprentice for the temple of Lathander, but I stopped working there to attend classes here, so... that registration is... likely out of date."

Trine nodded- the first time they gave any indication of even hearing information that didn't directly pertain to the completion of the pass.  They looked up and pulled their hair over their head again, and Ivonne felt herself wince in spite of herself.

"Do you have any wands, staves, components, or other magical items in your possession at this time?"

"One wand, this robe, and... my wedding band.  It's a minor healing enchantment, I-"

Trine let their hair go and reached around themselves to produce a bag as long as Ivonne's forearm.  "Please remove all magical items from your person and put them in this bag."

"Ah, yes," Ivonne said, nervously trying to make conversation as she pulled her oak wand out of an inside pocket in her robe.  "My husband has something like that.  Calls it a bag of infinite holding.  Said he got it from an old adventurer who was making his living selling the things."

"The ring too," Trine stated, not to be deterred from business.

"Do I-"

"Yes," Trine interrupted.  " 'All' typically means each and every item being referenced."

"It's a wedding ring," Ivonne argued, feeling her cheeks burn.  "I'm not taking it off."

"If you find yourself the focus of unwanted romantic attention of any kind during your visit here, please bring a harassment suit against the offender," Trine droned.  "However, you cannot bring enchanted items with you onto College grounds.  You can put the ring in the bag, or you can leave.  Your choice."

Ivonne took a deep breath, pursed her lips, and removed her wedding ring, dropping it into the bag along with the rest of her items.  Immediately, the bag closed itself, and "Der Lang, Ivonne Briette" branded itself onto the side of it.

"Military grade material; master enchantment," Trine said.  Their tone didn't change, but there was at least a flicker of gentleness in their huge yellow eyes.  "Also, I'm authorized to use lethal force on thieves.  Here's your pass."

Ivonne reached out mechanically and took the slip of paper, which indeed had a short form of all the information she'd given, then suddenly asked, "Where are you going to take the bag?  How do I get it back?"

Trine was already some distance away, and either couldn't hear Ivonne, or ignored her.  Ivonne stood still for a couple of seconds, holding on to the paper with her left hand and rubbing the strange, smooth space where her ring had been with the fingers of her right.  Just as it seemed that Trine did not have to move to get to Tierney's side, so it seemed that they simply arrived back at their station on the other side of the check in booths.  They disappeared into it, bag in hand, and closed the door behind them.

Ivonne took a deep breath, let her ring finger go, and looked slowly around herself as though she'd never been on the campus before.

"Are you lost, or did Trine just do you a stunner?" a kindly voice asked.

Ivonne turned around, and had to look down to find the person speaking to her.  The source of the voice that was as warm as Trine's voice was flat was an ebony-skinned, young-looking female of some sort.

"I... eh... yeah, Trine did me a stunner," Ivonne admitted, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

"Believe it or not, that's their best attempt at being polite to a stranger," the young woman smiled.  "They figure the less they say, the better, so as not to waste your time with someone you could care less about.  I keep trying to explain that that's not the case, but, eh, there's only so much I can do.  Half-giant logic sometimes strays a little closer to the Giant side than to the Human side."

"Oh," Ivonne breathed, realizing in the process that she'd been restricting her breathing since the confrontation over the ring.  She thought over the interaction, and realized that she probably hadn't helped Trine's assessment of how Humans handled strangers.  "That reasoning's not entirely unfounded, but... unfortunate.  Your face looks familiar- I've met you before, haven't I?"

The short female smirked knowingly, which made Ivonne even guiltier.  "I'm Yrogail.  You probably saw me across campus a few times, but I was two classes behind yours, and could never sit with the big kids.  You were headed toward the evocation hall, right?  C'mon; let's go."

"Well, the halls are... hmm... all as I remember them," Ivonne said sheepishly.  "I suppose I don't need a chaperone, but... but do I need one?  Is that required now?  I hadn't thought that things would have changed so much in just two years."

"No, I'm not a chaperone, I just reorient people after Trine does them a stunner," Yrogail soothed.  "My official title is 'Welcome officer,' which is bloody hilarious."

Ivonne gave a quiet chuckle.  "True enough.  I'm not taking you too far away from your post though, am I?"

"No, don't worry about it.  Trine only has to work when folks that aren't affiliated with the College need passes to get in here.  At this hour, that's not going to be a lot of people.  And when folks experience them... well... you'd probably have been standing there a few more minutes, had I not interrupted your train of thought to get you moving."

Ivonne laughed a bit more genuinely, although the memory of Trine's bright yellow eyes made the sound false in her own ears.  "You're right."

"Most of your class is still on campus, actually- teaching, assistant staff, a couple even enlisted," Yrogail commented.  "You're the only mercenary of the bunch- how's that life treating you?"

"I can't complain," Ivonne answered, suspicious of the question.  "My family doesn't have to send me money, I don't have Dragons of all colors breathing down my neck, and I get to put my skills to practical use, instead of doing endless, needless research, coming up with wildly impractical magical theories, or- even worse- having to figure out how to apply them.  Other than smoothing things over after your comrade scares people to death, what do you do?"

"I'm enlisted, which is why I have a partner at all," Yrogail answered easily.  "But since it would take a second Semmite war to get me transferred off campus, I still have a hand in theorem development."

"Oh, how interesting," Ivonne cooed in that way that only a person completely estranged from a topic could do.  "So, do you think any of the spells you've developed can be made practical for common usage?  Or is it high level specialist work that won't make it into anyone's spellbook?"

Yrogail scoffed, but kept any trace of offense out of her voice.  "I don't remember you being so concerned with common usage when you were here," she commented.  "In fact, I believe I remember you saying that the College should only be for actual wizards; that sorcerers and monks were nothing more than wild mages with better manners."

Ivonne stopped walked immediately, and Yrogail had to take the next step to turn around in order to face her properly.

"It was wrong of me to say that," Ivonne admitted quietly, folding her hands in front of herself like a school matron as she did.  "I'm the master healer for the Sunfire, but the other half of my job is to help a few mercs with undeveloped magical talent to hone their skills in a safe space, and... at first, I hated it.  I was bitter about being stuck with the dregs that weren't College or Dragon material.  But as I worked with them, I began to realize that they were incredibly versatile in ways that I... just... wasn't.  And the fact that I was evaluating their worth in light of my abilities to begin with... was unforgivably elitist.  So, I... was glad to see the term 'primal' deemed inflammatory, and honestly, I hope 'wild mage' soon follows suit.  Divine and naturalist casters of all kinds are invaluable to the magical community, and I was wrong to ever believe otherwise.  I really do hope that the experimental spells with which you're working benefit all of us."

Yrogail's lips firmed and thinned for a few moments, but when they relaxed again, she nodded.  "It takes a big person to admit that they didn't have the right idea."

"More prestigious casters than I have done it," Ivonne said, unfolding her hands and realizing that she'd all but crumpled her pass between them.  "Have you held your position as 'Welcome officer' all this time?"

"Since basics," Yrogail explained.  She jabbed her thumb over her shoulder and turned around, and Ivonne began walking with her toward the Evocation Hall again.  "I annoyed Trine at first, but they don't mind me now."

"I suppose that answers the question of whether or not you're romantically involved," Ivonne smiled.

"Trine doesn't need that," Yrogail smirked.  "I've seen others try to be amorous with them- men, women, folks that I'm not quite sure about.  And nothing.  They just stare at them, so I find a way to get involved, and clean up the results.  To be honest, that's the easiest way for me to get a good shagging myself."

Ivonne found herself intrigued by this response, and slowed her walking pace slightly.  "So Trine just... doesn't do any of that?"

"Not that I've ever seen, nope," Yrogail replied.  "Why?  Interested?"

"Oh, no; I married Mordren, remember?" Ivonne said, her cheeks immediately growing warm.  "I just... I just wondered.  What it would be like.  To not... do any of that.  Including the... eh... shagging."

"Well, Trine's not a pity case," Yrogail shrugged.  "They spend time pleasantly playing cards, reading books, going to taverns whenever the mood strikes.  Sometimes they take me along, and sometimes they meet up with other friends, and... it's all very normal, really.  The only thing is, they don't have any pressure to be married or make children- neither from themselves nor from whomever it is they may call family back home.  They get plenty of letters from there, and read parts of some of them to me, if they think I'll find them funny.  But not a word of 'when are you going to make an honest man of someone?' like I get from my folks.  Whenever I get letters that say that, I read those parts to them, and they laugh, because it's ridiculous."

"I... I suppose it is," Ivonne mused.  "I suppose that would be funny to someone who isn't fully Human."

"Oh, I think it just as ridiculous," Yrogail scoffed.  "I mean, why should I have to, you know?  If I don't want to 'make an honest man' of someone, why should I have to?  Just because my mother did, and now she feels cheated, because she looks at my life and realizes that there may have been options she didn't consider before?  I'm not going to 'make an honest man' of some poor unsuspecting sap just because she regrets marrying young and shoving out five babies, like her mother made her do.  The whole thing is madness, top to bottom.  So why not laugh, Human or not?  Ah hah- the evocation hall- well, I hope you're feeling better."

"Thank you," Ivonne said with a start, looking at her pass for a way to fasten it on to herself.  As she did, Yrogail caught sight of the unusually smooth, empty space on her left hand's ring finger.

"Oh, you did say- I hope you don't mind what I've said about getting married and having children," Yrogail said, her beautifully brown eyes radiating concern.  "I just- you know, it's just not for everyone.  But I'm sure you'll be just fine, you and Mordy."

"You're right about all of that," Ivonne said firmly, stopping all other movement to look the shorter woman straight in the face.  "Compulsion to get married is ridiculous, and so is the expectation that every couple should have children, and... thank you.  I should thank Trine, if they'd let me...  it... was a most fortuitous stunner."

Yrogail smiled gratefully, a more lovely light returning to her eyes.  "I'll let them know.  So long!"

Ivonne nodded first, and turned to watch Yrogail trot off for a few moments before sighing.  Filing the conversation away for deeper contemplation at a later time, she got back to the business of trying to sort out how to get the small pass to somehow adhere to her robe.

"It doesn't get pinned on, you know," a familiar voice said comfortingly.  "It's more like a hall pass than a name tag.  Although frankly, giving you a pass is a waste of good paper."

Ivonne looked up, and her eyes widened at once.  "Aurtencia!  My gracious, I- how many more of you are hiding around here?"

Aurtencia, a pleasantly round young woman with firmly pinned brown hair and olive brown skin, squinched up her face and brought her shoulders nearly up to her ears with delight.  "You look lovely, Ivie!  Or rather, 'the Missus Ivonne Der Lang'?  Ooooh, look at you- marriage is filling you right out!  C'mon, come in, before the sprites blow all the candles out."

"Sprites don't blow out candles, Tenny!  You know that, you provincial little mouse," Ivonne laughed, following Aurtencia inside.  A new, warm, cinnamon smell engulfed her at once- one that caught her off guard, since there had been no hint of it from the outside.  "Gracious- not a painting, not a chair, not a pillow out of place.  But... something's different.  Has anything happened since I've been away?"

"Nothing and everything," Aurtencia replied, moving purposefully toward a well made wooden desk that sat between two large braziers at the center of the front room.  Once there, she turned around and leaned back on it with her arms crossed firmly over her chest.  "Garres, Mai, and I are all full time assistants to Caeleh now; we're considered enlisted, but ineligible for transfer or any sort of promotion.  Garres picks up the situation reports early every morning, and comes back and reads them all to her before classes start.  He has a special box of clay that he shapes, with various spells, into whatever terrain they're dealing with that morning, and little stones that stand in for the mages she commands.  She moves the pieces, talks over the commands and strategies with him, and sends him off to carry her orders.  Mai accidentally discovered a breakthrough in illusion work, and can cast an experimental spell that simulates carving on stone or wood, even for entire books that she herself can't read. When she casts it, Caeleh touches the words, and can transliterate, translate, or whatever's necessary.  For practical testing, the kits have to declare the spell and its calculations before they cast at all, and if they hit the dummy, they hit the dummy, but you'd be surprised how may of them think they can get away with sloppy stances and targeting.  Well, I cast a divination spell that allows what the students do in a certain confined space to register in Caeleh's own body- as though she herself were that student.  That way, she can correct the little snots before they make a mistake that'll set the drapes on fire or freeze nearby classmates solid, or at least have her potential magica free to do something if such things ever actually happened.  Technically, it's an experimental spell, but old Ranclyffe wrote it specifically for Caeleh, and we feel safe using it."

Aurtencia paused briefly, and Ivonne made the mistake of believing that she was about to laugh or make a joke, since her tone hadn't dipped since she first began speaking.  However, when the tan skinned woman turned around and put her hands flat on the desk to look up at the proudly glowing symbol of evocation that was centered on the wall above her and spoke again, Ivonne realized how wrong she'd been.  The room suddenly and sharply smelled of bones.  Thousands and thousands of sun scorched, wind dried bones, as though she were standing in the middle of a land in dire drought.

"Of course, Caeleh complains that I ought to just proctor the tests, but then again, she also says that Mai should simply do the translation and transliteration work, and that Garres should be mage commander- none of the top brass is listening.  Same idiots keep Ranclyffe in a classroom, despite his supposed retirement.  He's done some difficult things, terrible and downright sinful things, in a time of war.  He gets home sane- saints and spirits be praised- and how do they thank him?  By putting him in a classroom and making him teach what he did to others.  They make him relive those horrifying decisions, every single day.  They could be causing the man battlefield madness, and they don't care.  These... crest-bearing slavers don't care about their veteran mages, don't care what damage they're doing them.  Some nights, I sit right here and curse them.  Soundly.  Not a word spared.  Sometimes their messengers don't make it past my desk; I find every excuse to force them to leave Caeleh alone, if only for a little while, just one hour, just-" Aurtencia broke off and sighed, brushing bitter tears out of her eyes.  "I'm sure you didn't come to hear this; I-"

"I am so sorry," Ivonne interrupted, stepping closer to Aurtencia.  "I- I had no idea, I- what can I do?  Is there anything I can do?"

"You've done it already," a low and reedy voice replied.  "I've been poking and prodding at this girl.  Uselessly!  Stubborn little goat calf.  You got more out of her in less than ten minutes than I've managed to glean in eight months.  Now, come, come, where's the couch been moved to, hmm?  Didn't it used to be right here, hmm?"

"Oh!  No, Mage Commander, no, it's still on the other side of the- of the room," Aurtencia managed breathlessly, whipping herself around so quickly that her skirts continued playing around her ankles after she herself stopped moving.  She stepped toward the gravel grey eyed elder and tenderly took up her left hand.  "Here, I'll- I'll get you over there, if you like- it's- you're right next to the standing vase, right now, the one that got frozen solid yesterday.  So it might smell a little different.  Since it was frozen."

"As a matter of fact, it does," Caeleh admitted, grasping Aurtencia's hand firmly as soon as she felt it.  The two moved forward slowly, but comfortably, as though they'd done the same thing hundreds of times before.

Ivonne moved back and out of their path, horror and happiness blooming in her chest at once.  The room began to smell like less like a desert graveyard and more like parchment, and her eyes stung.

"It smells like brimstone, since someone thought the best way to defrost it would be to cast balefire at it."  The old woman stopped to laugh- a thick, heavy sound that came out one squat note at a time.  "Ah-hah, but it's defrosted, isn't it?  Not what I'd do, but it's done anyhow.  Variety!  Different methods, same goal.  Now then, perhaps three more steps this way, hmm?  Yes, that's it.  Dear Tenny, won't move a thing.  I like to tease her about it, but perhaps I'd better be more grateful."

Aurtencia and Caeleh made it over to the chaise lounge, which was on the far right side of the room, in front of a small fireplace.  The fireplace was lit and cheery, which Caeleh seemed to appreciate when she'd come about ten paces away from it.  When Aurtencia turned her around, she sat down heavily, knowing precisely where and how high the piece of furniture was.  With a grateful sigh, she felt around on it carefully, then patted the space on both sides of her to indicate her desire for both of her former students to sit down next to her.  Once both of them had, Caeleh searched for Aurtencia's hand and took strong hold of it, pulling it to her lap.

"My dear child, I don't discard your words and feelings as capricious.  You're jealous of my well being, and I thank you.  But, the Dragon was always a heavy thing.  A heavy, ponderous thing.  Ranclyffe would tell you the same, if he could keep his wits about him long enough not to just think it at you.  No, I expect they shall work me until I am dead- and even then, they shall try to call me up at witching hour from time to time, when the matter at hand is dire.  You see, it's nature.  It's nature not to want to give up a thing you've taken, especially when it doesn't really belong to you.  And mages, well, we belong to no one.  The Dragon knows that.  We're here by our own leave.  Have our own commanders!  Make our own orders, fully independent of whatever little ideas they may have of our best uses.  And they can't stand it.  Hate it.  All they can do about it is treat us like things, instead of people, try to get us to believe that that's what we really are.  Things.  It won't work.  Hasn't before.  Never shall.  You can't be a magic worker if you haven't got any will!  So the Dragon shall always lose out, on that one.  They'd maybe better focus on making us good Cormites, rather than good tools, or even good soldiers.  Appeal to someone's sense of belonging- allow their relatives and comrades to be near them.  Give them roots- give them a home, and they shall defend it.  That's how it's done.  Always how it's done.  History!  One day, some one of them shall learn it.  Of course, they shall have to learn to read first."

Caeleh reached her other hand over and patted Aurtencia's trapped hand with it, and Ivonne sincerely wished that the old woman could see Aurtencia's pained smile.  No words could have done it justice- it was just as well that for whatever reason, the moment went silently by.  Caeleh righted herself, reached out her other hand, found Ivonne's hands- clasped tightly in her lap- and took tight hold of them.

"Now, Ivie, what brings you here?  Shall we three set that scrawny boy some sort of trap, hmm?  I'd wondered how the little weasel was treating you, away in that house of nutters.  Heard they went to the Pillars!  Was the case tried through?"

"It was," Ivonne smiled, genuinely warmed by Caeleh's show of affection.  "Mordren wasn't directly involved, but would have been affected, had Bann and Howler been found guilty.  They weren't- well, not in any real way- and all is well.  Really, Mordren treats me just fine- I don't know why no one believes me when I say that.  The first thing anyone does is offer to hurt him for me."

"Because we know him!" Caeleh exclaimed.  "Left a path of emotional destruction behind him more devastating than any other boy I've ever taught.  I know Drow gentler than he."

"So do I," Ivonne admitted truthfully, thinking of Kronmyr.  "But, really, we're doing just fine.  What I'm really here for is- well, I don't know how to start this, but- did you hear of the Shadar-kai that went to the Pillars?  It was in connection to the slaver, collusion, and high treason suit being brought against a Tiefling a little while ago- she was the supposed slave?"

"I did hear about that girl," Caeleh nodded, turning herself straight and laying both hands on her thighs.  "Delicate thing, but of some interest, I was told.  Why do you mention her?"

"Well, she's returned to the Sunfire Manse, where I work, and... well, in the course of some factoring I was doing, I happened to discover that... that she uses some sort of ancient transcription for her spellwork.  I can't read it.  I know it's a very old, and very real way to express magic, but... she doesn't know what it is, and I can't help her.  I wondered if you might... help us identify what it is."

"Hmmm," Caeleh mused, her voice rumbling deep in her chest.  "That's a dangerous prospect.  She won't be permitted on campus, absolutely not.  There aren't any Shadar-kai at all here, that aren't cadavers.  Very purposeful.  The Dragon is wildly suspicious of every Shadar-kai it sees.  Surprised they didn't just find something else to convict her of, to throw her under the jail for."

"Perhaps Mai can go see about it," Aurtencia suggested.  "Or at least get a sample to scribe onto the wall."

"Won't do," Caeleh grunted.  "If it's old enough that Ivie doesn't know it, Mai won't know it either, and I want to feel the child cast like I feel the practical exams.  Know what her body is doing, what her breath is doing."

"Her body doesn't do anything," Ivonne noted.  "She doesn't say anything, either.  No components.  Spells just happen.  You don't know what she's doing until she's already done it."

"Some wild mage variant," Caeleh hummed.  "She doesn't have any terms for you at all?"

"She doesn't even have a term for herself," Ivonne lamented, the memory of Silveredge's contemplation of the wall bursting freshly in her mind.  "She won't say, 'I'm a conjurer,' or 'I'm a druid.'  She understands those terms, but they're foreign to her.  She speaks about water, light, air and earth weavers, and something called a harmony controller, but she doesn't even call herself any of those.  You ask her what she is, and she says, 'The handmaiden doesn't know'- she used to be a slave.  Just getting her to this point has cost Mordren weeks of some sort of trust-building... it's... I don't know, it's terrible.  It's like watching a lovely bird with wings that used to be broken, hopping around on the ground and making do, and you wonder how much more it could do if it would... just... fly."

Caeleh hummed again- a broad, deep, wordless sound that seemed as though it should be coming from the ground itself.

"That's Ranclyffe's girl," Aurtencia pronounced.  "She was exempted from fault for 'coersion'- basically, because it was thought that she was so thoroughly broken that she couldn't tell the truth from a lie.  Oh, that man was in a perfect rage when he came back from the Pillars."

"Finally showing some emotion in his twilight years.  But, that's in confidence, mind you.  He killed that girl's like by the hundreds, abused thousands of their minds so that they so much as turned on and killed each other, and their allies.  His concern for her would be scandal; the Dragon would call his sanity into question immediately.  Ah, but he hates waste.  Can't stand it!  Wasting of time, effort, space, words, food, or potential- all equally abominable.  This girl, he said, is being wasted.  But you can't be a mage without a strong will, and according to him, her will is almost entirely undamaged."  Caeleh was quiet for a few minutes, frowning as her nearly useless grey eyes stared out into the unseeable expanse of her own thoughts.  Around her, Aurtencia and Ivonne traded concerned looks, but held their peace.  When Caeleh began to nod and smile again, the two younger women breathed quiet sighs of relief.

"Neutral ground- yes, neutral ground will work.  Rezi can get a bit of revenge.  He'll love it!  Let's do it.  Worth his time and effort- but not to be done alone.  Good to have allies, however prickly they may be.  And Bert's beard, isn't he prickly!  I hope he's heard that."

"Oh no," Aurtencia managed, trying not to laugh and failing miserably.  "Mage Commander, that's not very nice!"

"Well, neither is he!" Caeleh exclaimed, glowing with amusement.  "I had my moments, in those days.  'Most certainly not!' he said.  'Then I shall muck it up, and you shall have to mend it!' said I- that was my constant threat, his having to fix something I'd purposefully wrecked.  A wolf caged with a hawk, that's how we were.  But that grim, bespectacled wraith was twice the soldier the Dragon's men were.  His temper waited on his reason, always.  Never charged off without a sit rep.  Never settled for easy or fast- could only be satisfied by what was right.  Earned a reputation.  The Dragon convinced jealous superiors to deny him promotions until it became an embarrassment.  But as soon as I had rank enough, I took him!  Assigned him as I liked.  Then he refused to do a mass confusion spell.  Said he wouldn't meddle, that surrender was on the minds of the enemy leaders, and all we had to do was look menacing, and wait.  First I was told to discharge him dishonorably, citing insubordination.  Wouldn't do it.  Then I was told that he may have battlefield madness, that I'd have to send him home so they could check.  Well, the DG6c- the 'discharge due to sudden breech of mental sanctity' paperwork, rather- sat undone.  Two days later, we get the Griffonfang notice.  He had prevented a needless attack.  He had been right.  He submitted a proper retirement request, and the Dragon was forced to let him go honorably, like he deserved."

"Does he know that?" Aurtencia laughed.  "That you simply waited both discharge orders out, betting on how right he was?"

"Of course he does!  Of course!" Caeleh replied at once.  "Perception threshold's nearly non-existant.  But, he doesn't act on everything he hears.  He's stared so many incompetents, backstabbers, and ingrates in the face, even taken orders from them, without doing them any harm- hmmm.  It'll be good to be near that old hawk again.  And his backward little magpie; she's a foot in the grave herself.  Hmmm.  I shall have to take my cane.  Tomorrow morning, we tell the troops.  Garres can write the thing, Mai can code it, and that tribal won't look at it for more than two minutes before she sorts out what it means, jargon and all.  The power of study!  Even a grubby little Minroe rat can parse the words of the Dragon."

"My gracious, it sounds as if you hate them both," Ivonne said wonderingly.

"Oh no, the Mage Commander is one of the few people Battlemage Ranclyffe will talk to with anything that faintly resembles civility- although at times it does only faintly resemble it," Aurtencia smiled.

"I should be very offended if, at this stage, he spoke more delicately to me," Caeleh pronounced, patting her thighs and preparing to stand up.  "His magpie still squawks harshly enough- she raked me over the coals for temporarily releasing those swords to him.  And when I see them, I shall remind them in no uncertain terms that if either one of them should perish without the other duly notifying me, I shall burn their entire kitchen to char.  Then the partner wanting condolence shall have to stop by for tea."

4:14 Back rank maneuvers.

With her red and silver hair pulled up into a neat bun high on her head, Dark sat on her knees and the balls of her feet with her hands on her thighs.  Before her on the stone floor spread an area map that depicted Cormyr, Sembia, and the Dalelands.  Different coins all over the map indicated operative locations- copper coins were good guesses, and silver coins were confirmed or planted operatives.  Behind her stood Stone, his musclebound arms crossed and his brow furrowed.

"A-ma," he suggested.

"I don't even suggest jobs to A-ma," Dark laughed.  "She tells me what she's going to do, and I say, 'okay, A-ma.'  She tells me when she's needed; it's never been the other way around."

"Spark, then," the Orc suggested.

"Spark is very talented, but she can't multitask between countries," Dark replied.

Stone raised an eyebrow and tensed his arms momentarily.  "You do it."

"The cost of my international multitasking runs me hundreds of gold for normal travel, potions, and illusion spellwork, and has put several bounties on my head," Dark argued, looking over her shoulder briefly.  "The newest one is something like two thousand gold.  That's not an operating cost I'd like to pass on to anyone else."

Stone grunted, and Dark refocused herself on the map lying before her.  It was difficult for even her to tell whether the sound had been annoyance, an admission of defeat, or pure anger.  Outside the office, rolling in the hallway like an untamed dog, was Stitches.  The ungracious thudding of his bare flesh on stone floors and halls caused Dark's jaw to clench and Stone's bones to itch, but neither of them wanted to ask the Drow to stop.

"Honorbow," Stone said, shifting so that only his left shoulder leaned on the back wall of the office.

Dark shook her head.  "She took a few others on a religious quest of some sort.  Headed for a monastery, I think, and... I... don't actually expect any of them to return."

"Standing Tree," Stone said, remembering.  "She'll be back."

"Why didn't you go?" Dark asked, turning over her shoulder to look at the Orc behind her.  "You get on so well."

"We can talk about religion as equals," Stone corrected, turning himself around to fully face Dark again.  "Doesn't mean we 'get on well'."

"You're a highly spiritual man.  She values that sort of thing."

"You're an honorable woman."

Dark turned her head straight and closed her eyes.  "That's..."

"The truth," Stone finished in a tone that would not be countered.  "She values that, too."

For a few moments, the two listened to the terrible slapping and thudding of ash grey flesh on stone.

Dark put both hands on her face and pulled them up over her head, lacing her slender fingers together and resting there.  "Did he eat today?"

"Didn't stay down," Stone admitted quietly.  "He got upset."

Dark sighed deeply as she unlaced her fingers, opened her eyes, and gazed at the map.  "He hates the Fringe."

"It's Dhuurniv magic that hates him," Stone corrected.  "But he wants to be here."

Dark sighed again, but said nothing else.  She put her hands flat to the floor and allowed her head to simply hang between her shoulders.

"Thorn."

The red bun bobbled precariously as Dark shook her head yet again.  "In Daerlun.  Family business.  I didn't ask, but I'll get around to prying in a bit."

"C'mon, she's alone," Stone growled.

"Alone?" Dark echoed, incredulous.  She picked her head all the way up and let it hang backward, so that she was staring at the ceiling.  "Some fifty odd contacts, one of which is a madly dedicated partner, hardly qualifies as being alone."

"Two times the contacts and however many lovers don't keep you from being alone, sometimes," Stone countered, the sudden tenderness of his voice hardly softening the brutal bluntness of his words.  "Don't say you're not.  I can smell it."

Dark sat back on her heels first, then stood all the way up and turned around to face the Orc.  "I don't have a right to feel alone with Stitches to look over and you to fight with."

"Feelings don't wait on rights."

"They certainly don't."  The freckled Tiefling walked over to her desk, which had a few sheets of paper on it.  Collecting a few, she turned and held them in front of her.  "These are for Sapphire.  If you'd get them out to him before the week is out, I'd very much appreciate it."

"Boats and I don't work," Stone warned, ambling over to the other side of the table and leaning over it, on the inside of her arm.

"If Kord is disposed to teaching his adherents to fly, I'll help you petition him," Dark said with a tired laugh as she put her arm down.  "If you suspect he won't help you with that, there are always horses and carriages.  I'm sure some trader will head that way if you pay them enough to try."

Stone pushed out two soft, low chuckles that could almost be mistaken for scoffs.  In the gentle candlelight thrown by the sconces that pierced the walls, Dark could see his harshly carved facial features soften just slightly- just long enough to relax with her.  She felt her eyes start to sting and willed herself calm.

"Sure," Stone breathed.

"Perhaps put yourself somewhere where you might get pickpocketed?"

"That's stupid."

"It's not stupid to want to know that your friends are doing well."

Stone shifted his jaw and swallowed hard.  According to the findings of multiple studies, Orcs, unlike most other civilized races, had not yet fully evolved past feeling physical hunger pangs as a response to some emotional desires, much like Humans tended to tremble or faint in response to others.  In that moment, Stone's stomach twisted and growled as though he had been starving for days.  He watched Dark bite the backs of her lips, watched the blood flush in her freckled cheeks, and felt his untamed soul pulling away from his rigorously disciplined spirit.  He leaned up from the table and gently eased the papers out of Dark's grasp, leaving without another word. 

For a few moments, Dark noticed that Stitches had finally stopped slamming himself down onto the floor of the hallway outside her office.  Then, she noticed a small pulsing glow that eminated from the far corner of the room.

"I assume you heard that entire fight," she breathed, her tone too heavy to make the statement as much of a joke as she would have liked.

"That wasn't no fight," Spark soothed.  "He fixin' to make you feel like a chieftain, more like."

"You don't say," Dark smiled sadly.  "I don't think I'm his-"

"He do.  He think you plenty his type.  I agree with him.  And it ain't just 'cause you Human lookin'."

Stitches peeked his head around the entry way to the office, then loped all the way inside on all fours, resting wearily on the right side of Dark's desk.  He reeked of blood and vomit, but Dark managed not not to gag.  Instead, she immediately began plucking at the twine that held his own hair back.

"I'll bear that in mind, Spark.  Did you get any solid evidence on my suspicions?"

"You ain't really needed to hear that you was right about them Sakoda girls, but yeah, you was right," Spark noted.  "It's somebody after them; Zhenties, Sunfire, good old fashioned slavers, somebody.  And it ain't just them, neither. They want Sparrow, too.  Makes me worry, 'cause they tried to get her afore this.  Semnemac wasn't havin' it then, and Lady Perth wasn't havin' it yesserday.  That little druid hussy took off on them men- whoo doggie!- I didn't do nothin' but sit up there an' watch.  Could smell burnin' flesh clear up the street.  Bunch of people came 'round to see wasn't the house gone up, that's how powerful it was.  Can't even tell you who it was, 'cause it wasn't enough of 'em left.  Bunch o' guards fit the ashes an' parts o' the both of 'em in a rice pot, an' that was it.  Next time, they prob'ly gonna send more'n just two."

"Lady Perth and Lady Sakoda are friends, just as their husbands are, I hear," Dark mused as she ran her fingers through Stitches's loose hair.  "And all of them are age mates.  So it's strange that there's such an age gap between their children."

"You right about all o' that," Spark nodded, the illusion spell that made her outline visible twinkling and folding in on itself as she did.  "The age gap go like this: Perth had his children afore the war, but Sakoda waited 'til he was discharged.  You a swordsman, patience don't always pay, but you a bowman, you time them shots.  Anyway, them two fell outta touch afore the Sakoda babies come, owing to Luvec quittin' the crest an' Pohatkon goin' crazy, but when the menfolk got back workin' with each other, well, them ladies was together like no time had passed at all."

"It's interesting that Lady Perth is so powerful despite being so long out of practice," Dark said thoughtfully.  She tied Stitches's hair back freshly, then gingerly opened a drawer to wipe her hands on an apron stashed inside.  "She must have been getting a bit of sneaky practice in somehow.  Let's count her as blind help."

"She ain't fully blind," Spark encouraged.  "Lady Sakoda a little suspiticious.  Lady Perth showed her a couple tricks that're supposed to keep me from breakin' stuff or puttin' it where it don't go, but she also told Lady Sakoda that she don't think I'm no ghoulie like how the neighbors think.  Wasted her breath, though.  I does a couple things here and there, an' Lady Sakoda talk to me careful-like.  Like I was a half-dead god or an angel or a fairy or somethin'.  Lady Perth just shake her head when she do that, 'cause she know better, but she ain't gonna keep making a fool outta her friend in front of her girlies."

"Superstitious," Dark corrected laughingly as she went through the rest of the papers on her desk.  "Oh my, that's cute- charms to keep you from breaking things, oh my.  Let's upgrade Lady Luvec to 'cautious help.'  Now, about how often are Sakoda's children in her company?"

"It's her putting herself in their company," Spark explained.  She watched Dark get out her ink and quill, then squatted to see what Stitches was doing.  "Long as she don't got no house business to manage, she come on over Lady Sakoda's house, and they sit and sew, or she teach the girlies somethin', whatever they gonna do.  Sometimes she has 'em over at her house, but that ain't often."

"Do the girls go out to play with any one other than Sparrow?" Dark asked. 

A few quiet scratches told Spark that she had begun writing something, but the mage decided to sit down and wipe at Stitches's face instead of watching the writing.  The Drow, just as unable to see what Spark may or may not have been using to clean him as anyone else, gave small yips of discomfort at the gentle touches, but didn't move away from them.

"Usta be another little girlie by the name of Tirabet, but I ain't seen her for a while now.  Dale's friends with Circe, but unless Lady Sakoda go up to market, they don't see each other.  Kids don't got no kinda sorry 'bout how they think they feel, but grown ups can be real sneaky 'bout their hate."

"That's a shame; I'm sure if Daiirdra had all her health, she'd have a talk with Lady Sakoda," Dark frowned, looking up from her paperwork momentarily.  "She's very calm and law abiding, but she's never been one to take racism meekly."

"Sure you right," Spark agreed.  "Lady Sakoda would prob'ly sit there and listen, 'cause she don't wanna look bad.  You know them people who got 'one Tiefling friend,' so they can't be racist?  Yeah, that's how she is.  Lady Perth diff'rent, and that's how come her natural boy's 'bout to marry him a half-Elf wife.  Skinny little barmaid, sweet and cute's she can be."

"That's Wendre, who will be the Lady Wendrane Perth, as soon as she's healed enough to actually walk in heels without those two toes, because Varris really is an honorable man.  And Lady Perth is a Dark Quarter druid who could have been burned at the stake years ago.  She knows what it is to be distrusted."  Dark looked back down at her desk and wrote a few more lines before she spoke again, with some degree of unmistakable disdain.  "I imagine that somewhere in her heart, Lady Sakoda also thinks she doesn't have anything against wild magic.  Any other outings for those girls?"

"Either they stays in the house, or they plays 'round about it, or they goes to the market, or they goes to temple, but that's it.  Pohatkon's good at making friends of the neighbors, and so's Circe.  His lady ain't, and Jana just plain uncomf'table with ev'rybody right now, even her own self."

"Well, watch Circe particularly closely, since she's out and about, giving the most opportunity.  Perhaps see if you can strike up an angelic relationship with her, since her mother's looking for pixies or sprites or whatever else she was taught to be afraid of.  Tirabet can be found either with The Only or Vhalan.  I'm loathe to count a child as blind help, but Tirabet is now an unusual child.  She and Vhalan tend to visit Amilie's old garden plot twice or three times per week, and in the process, they occasionally spend time with her still-living friends."

"I ain't never seen 'em," Spark wondered, finally satisifed with how Stitches's face looked.  She very gently kissed his head, then stood up.

"You, unlike any vampire, need sleep," Dark smirked, watching the spell that made Spark's outline glimmer come back into her view over the edge of the desk.  "Silent gave Eagle a tip off about Vhalan's movements, and Vhalan- well, he may have simply decided not to challenge the curious eyes of his own."

"I ain't tryin' to be a hypocrite, but all these vampires startin' to make me nervous," Spark puffed.  "Tirabet got magic now?"

"Only the form change, for the moment.  But Tirabet, Vhalan, and the rest of The Only's entire court are dire wolf vampires.  Those sharpened senses and pack mentalities mean that those girls are as well attended at night as they are in the middle of the day.  Which temple does the family attend?"

"They Cuthbert people, which is strange, considerin' how Pohatkon seem more like an Afflux person, or maybe even Shar.  But that's how the Sakodas know the Caemeth folk at all.  And Pohatkon been askin' Ser Caemeth a whole lotta questions about where his little girl gone to.  Not all of 'em are soundin' real nice."

"Of all the things Pohatkon can be called, nice is not one of them.  I'll see about that right away."  Dark finished working with the papers on her desk and laid them out separately to dry.  "Thank you for lending me your time.  Have they put your room to use, or are you still safe there?"

"Ev'ry time Pohatkon or Lady Sakoda come in there, I turn 'em back out," Spark shrugged.  "I let the girlies come and go as they please; they look around, but they don't move nothin'.  I'll be alright.  Better get back, afore Lady Sakoda try to put up that gawdawful needlepoint she musta like to lost a finger tryin' to make.  Or them rocks Jana like to have next to her.  She keep takin' 'em, 'cause she don't like Jana bein' so tomboyish, but it ain't the kid's fault.  She a boy, is all.  One day she gonna tell her mama her own self that she a boy, and I don't know what that woman gonna do.  Jana like rocks, though, so I keep finding diff'rent kinds and puttin' 'em un'er her bed or in her shoe or wherever I think she'll look afore her mama finds 'em."

"Oh," Dark said thoughtfully.  "Well, that gives me an idea of who to ask to stick around the temple.  Jana could use someone she- or perhaps he, as the case may be- relates to.  Do me a favor, please, and see if... hmm... they like frogs just as much."

"Frogs?"  Spark's glimmer spell momentarily faded out, then sharply reappeared.  The outline of her hand scrubbed on her head as though short hair were being ruffled, and Dark wondered just how short Spark's hair actually was.  "Well, alright, I'll see can't I scare up a frog or two.  Illusory frogs just don't act the same, y'know.  That all you want?"

"For the moment, yes- and thank you again for lending me your time.  I'll get your payment out to you when the looters come back from the Semmite roads."

"They don't gotta hurry; I ain't hurtin'," Spark agreed, heading out of the doorway.  "Bye, Stitchie-baby.  You feel better soon."

A bit of sound burbled up from the floor.  Dark first watched Spark's glimmering outline leave the room, then looked down at Stitches, who had decided to bend at the waist and lean on his forearms, so that it looked as though he were a resting dog.

"Your willpower is growing stronger and stronger almost every time I look at you," Dark encouraged.  "A few more letters, and then it's back to the Forge, how's that sound?"

A rasp that morphed into a hiss was Stitches's only reply.

"Mama has some moss water way in the corner, if you want to try to at least keep yourself hydrated.  If you want to lap it instead of drinking it, please let Mama know, and she'll find you a dish.  It's a little concerning when you try drinking straight from the floor."

Stitches made a burbling-clacking sound at the back of his throat that Dark knew should have been a derisive laugh, but didn't move.

"Well, that's how we think.  We think, 'Oh, the floor is dirty, oh, he'll be sick'- doesn't matter when last anybody cleaned it.  It's not a comment on how well you clean or how poorly I do.  I'm just going to worry about it.  I'd never do as a matron, having you eat and drink from there just as a matter of course.  That, to me, is abuse."

Stitches looked over at Dark, and finding that she had been gazing at him, sat up and turned himself to look at her.

"It's alright.  I don't think of those days every time I say that word.  But that's another thing we Tieflings do, because we're descended from Humans.  Humans' attachment to other planes, if they exist at all, are very weak.  So most Humans, and those races descended from Humans, can only achieve empathy by filtering what we understand of others' experiences through our own.  If we don't, we... well, we can try to be sympathetic, but empathy... we're just too... separate.  From what's around us.  From each other.  That's why we're so good at fear and hate."

The two looked at each other for a while, Stitches's eyes flitting rapidly from one facet of Dark's face to another while Dark's attention moved slowly over each one of Stitches's tiny twitches.

4:13 Cipher and rhyme.

"Agus a-nis dè a tha thu a 'smaoineachadh?"

Magister Ivonne Der Lang, her whispered steps barely audible on the stone floor of the hallway toward Kronmyr's office, came upon the Shadar-kai woman she had begun to think of as Mordren's pet project, accompanied by the dog who was called Hammer and Niku interchangeably.  Silveredge, whose other name no one but Kronmyr would even try to pronounce, had traded her normal peasant shirt and training pants for a long, worn white dress that looked as though it had come from either a prison or a convent.   The simple dress was rolled up to her light blue knees, which were, at the moment, pressed to the floor.  Just to the Shadar-kai's right, almost under her gal-ralan bedecked forearm, lumbered the toffee colored fighting dog.  He sniffed at the floor just in front of the woman, and only when Ivonne had nearly stepped through the stone archway she realize that Silveredge had five pages spread in a semi-circle in front of her.

Apparently, the dog was most interested in the paper that was closest to him, and nosed at it, leaving wet spots on it in the process.

Silveredge sighed, scratching the dog at the nape of his neck and between his ears.  "So, not that one, eh, little brother?  Well, I didn't like it either.  Too pretty for a fighter, isn't it?  You know best."

And the dog picked up his head and butted Silveredge's side, just hard enough to challenge her ability to remain centered on her knees.  The Shadar-Kai smiled at him in response.

"Truth that you don't like is still truth."

With that, Silveredge smartly took up the semicircle's fifth paper and began tearing it to bits.

Ivonne was startled at the utter destruction of something that must have taken time to create- while she wasn't familiar with the mechanics of forgery, she knew it wasn't an easy pass time.  She stepped into all the way into Kronmyr's office, uncertain about whether or not her eavesdropping had been noticed.

"The handmaiden welcomes her lady into her company," Silveredge said immediately without lifting her eyes, dispelling all Ivonne's misgivings.  

In place of the unsure sensation, however, an unease that arose at being detected without having a chance to announce herself sprung up in Ivonne's being.   "Mordren sent me to tell you that it's quite late, Silveredge," she began in a warm, sisterly tone.  "I don't believe Kronmyr intends to work with you tonight."

Silveredge looked up and sat back from her work as quickly and smoothly as if the movement were part of some choreographed floor show.  The dog, not as convinced that the interloper was deserving of admiration, or even undivided attention, laid down and put his head on his paws as though he were bored.

"The handmaiden is sorry to cause you to search for her," Silveredge began.  "She thought that it would be unwise to leave this project until tomorrow."

Ivonne fought a valiant battle against the urge to frown, since even Silveredge's natural circumlocution was insufficient to hide the fact that she was telling her that she shouldn't have wasted her time coming all the way into the Sunfire Mercenaries' basement to put a stop to her work.  "Perhaps you might rather take some tea, then," Ivonne finally managed, a tight-jawed attempt at compromise.

"The handmaiden humbly thanks her mistress, and hopes you will not trouble yourself," Silveredge replied, lowering her eyes with perfect meekness.  Ivonne naturally lifted her head, again annoyed at the very polite dismissal, and the dog snorted as though disgusted. 

"I wonder at Howler's permissive nature lately," Ivonne smiled, forcing herself to continue being just as polite as the Shadar-kai before her, "Not to mention Mordren's.  I don't believe any other mages here are permitted to train or keep familiars."

"My lady is gracious, and honors Niku more than is deserved," Silveredge answered, her tone light and innocent.  "He has never been trained as a familiar.  We work together when it is Niku's will to be together, and part when it is his pleasure to depart.  My lord Howler has far more say in his movements than the handmaiden can claim."

"How... humane of you to allow a half-trained fighting dog to come and go at his, or Howler's, leisure," Ivonne commented, folding her hands in front of her like a schoolmaster might.  "Is it that every male and masculine thing is your lord, even mere animals?"

Silveredge took the briefest of pauses to recognize that Ivonne had not bothered to distinguish which being she considered a "thing" or "animal"- Niku, or Howler.  "The handmaiden humbly serves her masters, be they male, female, or anything else," she finally said calmly, her eyes never moving from their gaze at the floor.  "Of course my lady may command me to do as she pleases with Niku."

Frustration finally undid Ivonne's caring tone and manners.  "While it is nice to know that I may inflict you on whomever I wish, that was not my point," she crabbed, moving purposefully to the wall on Silveredge's left.  Once there, she lifted her right hand and began using prestidigitation to write out a spell and factor the potential magic energy necessary to power it.

Silveredge waited in silence, without moving, for about a minute.  When Niku whined- a quiet, whistling sound that could be confused with the beginning of a request for food or a treat- the Shadar-kai lifted her gaze from the floor to him with an easy smirk.

Patience, little brother.

With that bolstering thought, Silveredge flicked her eyes up to glimpse the spellwork being done on the wall.

Oh, evocation.  Poorly written, though.  I wonder how she intends to avoid the scar ceiling, with a targeted spell intended to do that much damage.  Well, no accounting for wisdom in magisters who want to be strikers.  One would think they would simply train to be a spellsword and be done with it.

 The silence Silveredge's pause for thought left behind was deafening- and concerning.  Ivonne peered over her shoulder just in time to watch the Shadar-kai first will a bright orb of light into being without saying or moving anything, then reach over and scrub at the dog's head.

"Agus ann an solas na grèine, ciamar a tha e a 'coimhead?"

Niku issued a short, sharp puff of breath, then got up to sniff at the four pages that were left untouched.  He took longer to issue his judgment than he had before, and at last mounted Silveredge's lap with his forepaws so that he could nose at the second page without disturbing the others.

How did such a big puppy learn so much? Ivonne wondered.  Without a moment's worth of training?  Howler certainly didn't teach that mongrel to pick up papers in his teeth or judge the quality of forgeries, and what is this language she's speaking to him, as though he understood?  Idiot creatures can't read or learn languages- she wants a falcon, or a cat, or anything that can actually retain what she's saying to it.  Howler has never bred one familiar in his life.  

"That one?  But I did this one in the near blackness of this place!" Silveredge laughed freely, as though she had forgotten Ivonne was there.  "Chan eil thu a 'ciallachadh sin."

Niku flopped all his weight back on Silveredge's chest, sending her to the floor so suddenly that Ivonne turned all the way around in genuine concern.  But there was no cry of pain or words of rebuke- Silveredge simply rolled onto her side, kicking her legs out as she did, and began scratching the dog's side and belly.

Ivonne blinked stupidly at the two of them, then whipped herself back around, her full, ivory cheeks burning with embarrassment.

 Why is she beautiful?  Just effortlessly... beautiful... like she was at the tavern, when she read the note.  Mordren should have come to do this himself.

As could be expected, the four remaining letters suffered some shifting- some due to the movement of nearby air, some due to accidental pushing by a leg or a paw.  Yet, after about a minute of play, Silveredge sat back up and began dusting her thin dress off.  Niku, still excited but somehow careful of Silveredge's work, rolled up onto all four paws and took one bound away from her to spend the rest of his pent up energy by chasing his nub of a tail.  He panted heavily, offering half-growls and sharp, high yips from time to time.

"Please don't use your voice, little brother," Silveredge urged, tapping the floor to get the dog's attention.  Niku bent the front half of his body close to the ground, leaving his bobbed tail high in the air.  The force of his heavy breathing rocked his entire body, but he otherwise held still, miraculously enough.  "Our lady has reminded us that it is very late; we must be careful, because our friends are all sleeping."

Niku dropped his entire body to the floor and rolled around, excited but quiet, and hopped back up to chase his tail some more- this time, without any other noise.

Silveredge gathered the pages back to herself, tore up the page that Niku had indicated before the desire to play had struck him, and somehow dismissed the light, leaving the room much darker.  Ivonne looked over her shoulder and noted that the only mundane source of light was a two headed candle sconce mounted on the back wall at the far right side of the room.

Well, Myr is Drow, after all, Ivonne sighed to herself.

"I wonder if it would disturb your work if I cast an actual light orb?" the Human mage asked innocently.  "That what you had was so helpful- I didn't realize you weren't going to leave it going."

"Of course my lady may cast whatever spell she wishes," Silveredge answered, again stopping her work and bowing her head at once.

"You don't have to- well, perhaps I'd better ask your lord?" Ivonne said with a note of exasperation.

As though he'd already understood the insult, Niku stopped his tail-chasing tantrum, focused on Ivonne, and growled.  Ivonne prepared to comment on it, but just before she could open her mouth, Niku abruptly stopped growling and sat down as though someone had commanded him to do so.

Again, Ivonne turned away from Silveredge, wrapping her arms around herself and biting the insides of her cheeks.

If he were here, he'd cast a detection spell at once, she chided herself.  There's no explanation for that,  but that some charm spell is in play.  But she's casting whatever-it-is without a word, or even a twitch- like watching a show at a faire, but the puppet is real.

And again, behind her, she could hear the Shadar-kai rustling the three remaining papers.

"Feumaidh sinn obrachadh gu luath, no chan eil sinn a 'crìochnachadh a' phròiseict.  A-nis, dè an ìre as fheàrr de na trì?"

Ivonne could hear the dog's paws make soft slapping sounds on the stone as he padded over to sniff at the three sheets of paper yet again.  She counted to thirty in her mind before she heard the scrape of paper on stone that meant that Niku had cast his judgment.

"Uill, eadhon ged nach toil leam e, is e an fhìrinn a th 'ann.  Tha sin fìor."

With that pronouncement, one of the three remaining papers was torn to bits, just as the other rejects had been.  Ivonne cast a glance over her shoulder and saw a pile of ripped paper just under Kronmyr's narrow wooden desk that she hadn't noticed before.  It was much larger than just four or five pages would have produced, and she realized why Mordren had complained to her that a single forgery, although fabulously well-done, seemed to always take Silveredge an entire day to produce.  Yet, despite Bann's desire to continue monitoring Coalwater's contracts, and Kronmyr's desire to continue using her as a spiked chain fighter, since those were so rare as to be guaranteed to catch almost every adversary off guard, Mordren had retained Silveredge for personal training and the handling of every single forgery that any Sunfire merc, despite rank, needed.  His jealous guarding of her, rapidly becoming something of a joke between Bann, Kronmyr, and Howler, was more of an irritation to Ivonne than an object of laughter.

"Do you have time to look this spell over for me?" she interjected before Silveredge could do whatever she was going to do with the two remaining pages.  "I can see you're... ehm... both trying to concentrate, but I hesitate to go all the way back upstairs and fetch Mordren for a spell check."

Without a delay, a word of protest, or even a sigh, Silveredge put down the bits of paper she was holding and shifted herself on her knees so that she could look at the factoring that had been neatly written, via bright red illusory script, on the wall.   Niku put his butt on the floor with his chest forward and his head held high, as though he were preparing to be shown to a prospective breeder.  Ivonne stepped back and thought of casting a light orb, but then remembered that not only did her spell glow, Kronmyr and Silveredge shared the ability to see in low light.

Yet Shadar-kai are classified as descended from Humans, she complained in her mind.   Make the most beautiful candles, produce the some of the most interesting forms of mageflame, but don't need either- I say Elven blood runs in those veins.

"What does my lady wish the handmaiden to comment upon?" Silveredge asked after a few moments of silent contemplation.

Ivonne blinked and looked over her shoulder at the writing.   "Let's say the practitioner who will be casting this evocation spell is capable of powering it as a druid as well as a wizard.  What would serve it better- naturalist transcription and factoring, or arcanist?"

Silveredge bit her lower lip- an uncharacteristically open display of some kind of emotion.  Ivonne found that she couldn't tell whether the Shadar-Kai was simply thinking, or was dismayed, confused, or embarrassed in some way.

"Or pact," Ivonne added, as the strangely charged moment dragged on.  "It wasn't originally written with a warlock in mind, but... if I add soul characters to the root formula..."

"My lady knows more intimately the importance of the precise factoring of this spell than the handmaiden could," Silveredge answered when Ivonne trailed off in thought.  "The handmaiden must admit that the spell, as written, is not given to widespread practical usage."

"It- I mean- that's the point of the- !" Ivonne sputtered, immediately furious.  "Look, leaving how I should factor and power it aside, how would you factor and power it?  Against any target; think of whatever modifiers you want, if you have to actually finish the thing to answer the question."

Niku snorted his own annoyance, but remained perfectly still.   Ivonne bit the insides of her lips and pushed the flesh of them between her teeth slowly, causing their natural pink to almost glow with fresh blood.

It is insanity to wonder whether he is feeling his own feelings or reflecting hers.  Insanity.  I refuse to be insane with the likes of Howler and Kronmyr.  Clearly she herself must be annoyed.  Clearly.  I've annoyed her.  I've annoyed her, and she is somehow forcing her... familiar... to express feelings that she will not allow herself.  That's how she's doing it.

Silveredge quietly squared herself with the archway in front of her, stood up, stepped forward over the two remaining pages, then turned on her heel and walked past Ivonne to look more closely at the spell.  She put the index finger of her right hand over her mouth, backed up, and looked at it again for what seemed like an eternity.  At last, she looked over her shoulder and fixed Ivonne with an unwavering platinum gaze that unsettled the young-faced Human mage.

"This spell, as written, must be factored out to a potential energy point that falls between the target's efficacy threshold and the caster's scar ceiling.  It demands intimate knowledge of those two points, and precision to balance potential power between them- it is the handmaiden's belief that only a wizard who has specialized in the school of evocation is capable of making this spell functional outside of a practice hall.  Other evocation casters, more accustomed to broader and simpler calculations, will fail far more often than they succeed.  Earth and air weavers, such as warlocks or templars, may even hurt themselves and their companions in the effort."

"That... it's not called a 'scar ceiling,' it's called the 'burn threshold," Ivonne managed through a tight throat, feeling as though she were defending herself instead of the name of the concept.  "And what do you mean, 'earth weaver'?  'Air weaver'?  What kind of talk is that?"

"In Enmech, where the handmaiden once traveled with her master, a spell scar pilgrim overpowered an evocation spell too close to a patch of plagueland that was unknown to himself and his companions," Silveredge admitted.  "The sickness ate into the pilgrim's being the moment the last word of the incantation left his mouth, and they were an hour's walk from the city.  His sojourners sent word ahead of themselves, cast protection wards as soon as it was safe to do any magic at all, covered their companion thoroughly to prevent contagion, and met a healer outside the city, but all was too late.  The pilgrim died screaming, as though he were burning at the stake.  Perhaps some Cormyrean mage discovered the error by less mortal means, and named it accordingly, but that man's death song echoed, through the tale of the descendants of those scar pilgrims, for many years, and across almost all of Mulhorand."

Ivonne looked at Silveredge, and Silveredge looked straight back at her.  There was no wavering, no fondness, no sense of gentility or pity anywhere in the Shadar-kai's tone or posture.  This was not a story meant to soften the Human mage's heart, Ivonne realized.  It was simply a retelling of why she absolutely not recant the terminology she'd used.  The subtext was, clearly put, "my words are as good as yours."

"So, some mage in Enmech taught you?" Ivonne asked quietly, a new respect for the woman before her budding in her spirit.

"The handmaiden was not permitted to attend classes or services of any kind, on pain of breaking and retraining," Silveredge answered.  "She would be compelled to bake and soak the straps, and prepare the salt bed, with her own hands."

Ivonne turned around so that she faced the spell work on the wall, the breath in her mouth sour with the threat of vomit.  "Fix it.  Rewrite it so that it doesn't have a... so that common casters can make it work."

From the corner of her eye, Ivonne could see that Silveredge stood quietly contemplating her.  Finding that the study of the Shadar-kai bothered her, she closed her eyes.

Silveredge, for her part, looked back at the factoring on the wall.  For a few moments, there was silence.

"The handmaiden has done as you have asked, my lady," came the solemn pronouncement, about a minute later.

Ivonne opened her eyes, and bit the insides of her lips at once.  "Who taught you to write like this?" she asked when she could speak at all.

"The handmaiden was not permitted-"

" '-to attend classes of any kind,' you're right," the Human mage sighed.  "It's just- it's just that I- I can't- I remember seeing this sort of writing in Historic Magical Practices class.  It's... Silveredge, this form of transcription is ancient.   No one has written like this in- gods, in- I don't even remember the- look, can you- can you factor out the pure arcane bolt spell this way?  With this form of writing?"

"If the handmaiden were to factor any spell, she would do it this way, unless clearly instructed otherwise," Silveredge admitted.  "This is the transcription most familiar to her, as she learned it first."

"So, this is why- the terminology, the methodologies, and forms of notation- all of this is defunct.  You have somehow taught yourself to practice modern day spells with... with... with a way of understanding the very fundamentals of magic that predates the rules and classifications taught by the brightest minds in spellcraft for centuries.  And you cast spells with it- cast all your spells with it, don't you?"

Ivonne turned so that she faced Silveredge, who was still looking at the wall, and the silver prestidigitated characters that undulated from time to time, as though they were breathing.  It seemed for a moment, especially since it was not her practice to leave even the most obvious hypothetical questions unanswered, that Silveredge hadn't heard Ivonne at all.

"What is the classification for this spellwork?  What's the name for it, and the transcription that goes with it?  What- what kind of caster do you call yourself?"

Niku gave two deep grunts- not snorts or growls, but the sort of long suffering exhalations that sounded as though some painful body blow had been struck.

Silveredge smiled a small, sad smile.  "The handmaiden does not know.  My lord Svaentok asked me similar questions, and so did my lord Ranclyffe, and so did my lord Mordren, but... the handmaiden does not know.  She has never known, though she would learn it, if she could find it, or was told."

Ivonne pinned her lips firmly between her teeth and sighed a long, quiet sigh, gazing unabashedly at the woman beside her.  "Perhaps I should ask Mage Commander Caeleh.  Or just send you.  I'm sure... I'm sure she would... would tell you; she... she's the one who taught all my history classes.  If she weren't nearly stone blind, she'd run the entire History of Magic department by herself, and... I'm sure she'd be pleased to tell you, Silveredge.  Shadar-kai or not, she'd... she'd tell you."


Upstairs, in the comparative comfort of his own study room, Mordren turned away from the scrying mirror.

"Return to me.  No, I will not come down there; she needs to be alone with her companion.  Return to me, now.  We- you, and I, and every worthwhile mage in Cormyr- learned magic in guided classes, couched in and protected by great privilege.  She learned magic fearfully, by herself, as a slave.  We cannot imagine that.  Cannot commiserate with it, change it, and certainly not solve it.  Your pity is not comforting.  What will be comforting is your absence.  Do not make me repeat myself a third time."