Halkiaran'lar leaned her head to the side and split her long silvery hair in two parts. She began slowly braiding the right side of her hair as she stared resolutely out of the stone window to the street.
Berghuszt's home was small, sparsely furnished, and chilly. It actually reminded Halkiaran'lar of the partially collapsed kitchen in the ruins of the Avariel city. Berghuszt's kitchen area was barely distinguishable from his sleeping area, and as could be expected, the spice cabinet was miserably outfitted. Halkiaran'lar took the better part of a week rearranging it and making demands for what she considered "missing" spices. Berghuszt took direction well, but not always without backtalk, which gave opportunity for interesting punishments. Much as Bahlzair himself had done many years before, Berghuszt seemed sometimes to act inappropriately just to get the affection that punishments implied. Halkiaran'lar, now the giver instead of the receiver, vacillated between remembering the twisted emotions of youth fondly and grinding her teeth over them.
Berghuszt whistled his way from the burbling pot of rice and mushroom stew over to the window, where it seemed that Halkiaran'lar had taken near permanent sentry duty.
"If you're hungry, mistress?" he asked smilingly, despite knowing that speaking before being spoken to warranted at least one solid slap.
Halkiaran'lar slowly finished braiding the right side of her hair, tying it off with a short, but lovely piece of fabric that had been dyed a rich sapphire blue. She sighed deeply, listening to the resounding pounds of the bells that tolled for midday, and watching adults and children of a few different races hustle this way and that- either toward the market or away from it, delivering messages, wood, food, and other provisions.
As soon as the bells had gone quiet, Halkiaran'lar pivoted cleanly and walked to the sitting and sleeping area of the house. She sat on a comfortable cushion, flipped her finished braid over her shoulder, and pulled her remaining loose hair over her left shoulder. Berghuszt followed her after merely watching her for a few moments, and knelt down on the bare floor. Half filling the small clay spoon that he'd brought from the other side of the home with the mushroom stew, he prepared to feed Halkiaran'lar. Discovering that she didn't speak because she couldn't had been one matter, but discovering that she took very little pleasure in the incredible food she was capable of cooking seemed to truly disturb the male Drow. Halkiaran'lar, of course, enjoyed the fact that delaying what was often one of the most painful parts of her day irked her temporary partner so thoroughly, and so dragged her obstinence out for as long as her hunger could stand it. She was just considering how long she should force Barghuszt to hold the half-full spoon in mid-air when someone knocked importantly on the door.
Berghuszt put the spoon back in the bowl, but waited until Halkiaran'lar had flicked her right hand at him to go and answer whoever was at the door.
"Fine day to you, Ser Bergie," a high, tight voice said cheerfully. "Here's from the College for you."
"Thank you, Seanie - ah, here's for you."
Halkiaran'lar watched as Berghuszt fished around in his purse, which had been hanging near the door, and produced a silver coin for the dirty looking little Human messenger girl. The dark Elf finally began braiding the loose hair over her shoulder, if for no other reason than to keep her itching fingers from casting a web or acid arrow spell. Soon enough, the door closed, and Berghuszt turned to walk back toward Halkiaran'lar as he opened and read the first of the two messages.
"This is a 'monies due' notice from the woodcutter," he muttered, more to himself than Halkiaran'lar. She, displeased that he hadn't so much as looked up to see whether or not she had a reaction, responded by creating a prestidigitation of fire that rested in the middle of the notice. Berghuszt jumped, of course, and looked over at Halkiaran'lar, who dismissed the illusion with an unapologetic half shrug.
"I had that coming," Berghuszt smiled grimly as he extended both letters to Halkiaran'lar. "Here. The second one is actually for you anyway."
Halkiaran'lar raised an eyebrow as she finished her braid and crossed her arms over her chest. "Read it to me," she demanded, the illusory calligraphy slicing bright red letters into the dirt floor in front of Berghuszt.
"As you command," Berhguszt nodded, sitting down next to her. "Let's see- 'Miss Halkiaran'lar, I regret to inform you that the College of War Mages is closed to all applicants pending a thorough investigation into the diverse tragedies that have of late beset it. As I do not know how long this process will take, I strongly suggest you seek magical instruction from nearby Daerlun or Urmlaspyr, both of which have admirable institutions of magical instruction. While Urmlaspyr has more than one center of magical study, Daerlun's single bastion of arcane magical education is of better repute. I wish you well as you choose either to travel to Daerlun to Urmlaspyr. In the worthy name of King Foril the first, long may he reign, do I write, War Mage Garres duPalivane.' Well, that's a resounding 'no,' isn't it? He didn't even suggest waiting for the college to reopen."
Halkiaran'lar wordlessly opened her hand, and when Berghuszt looked up and noticed it, he placed the opened letter in it. An expression somewhere stranded between confusion and suspicion crossed the male Drow's face as he watched Halkiaran'lar produce a beautiful silver knife from her unforgiving boddess.
"As for the wood cutter, I knew there was a catch to his having sent more wood over, 'owing to the unnatural chill,' and all that," Berghuszt chuckled cheerily. He cleared his throat and scooted closer to the lean Drow beside him as she began to slowly run her very sharp knife down the paper of the rejection notice. "I guess you're upset?"
"I'm not upset," Halkiaran'lar replied. The prestidigitation, again spreading across the floor, pulsed a passionate crimson that belied her words.
"You could take private lessons- I can pay for them," Berhguszt suggested.
"I would be upset to be treated like one shut in due to disease," Halkiaran'lar's text replied. She turned narrowed eyes to the man next to her just long enough for him to catch the look of distaste, then returned her focus to shredding the letter.
"It's not just you," Berghuszt insisted. "It's all new applicants- and the reasoning is sound. No one knows why such a high ranking teacher and two students just up and died like that. No one knows why there's some madman stalking that one poor girl. The place is just up and become dangerous, and-"
"Stop reasoning as surface Elves and Humans do; both are weak."
The prestidigitation scrawled ever so slowly across the floor, as though Halkiaran'lar were taking the time to write it with her own hand. As it did, however, she got up and moved to the small fireplace. It didn't take much for Berghuszt to guess why she was moving in that direction.
"My household was besieged and burned in one night, with hundreds of casualties, but it was opened to guests for high tea the very next day."
"And how many slaves did it take to clean and repair everything that quickly?" Berhguszt asked pointedly. "That's the sort of labour my parents ran from; that they always told me they'd run from. They didn't want that life for me, and I... don't think it should have happened to anyone else, either."
Halkiaran'lar paused in her burning of the strips of paper and looked over her shoulder at Berhguszt, who was steadily looking at the ground. She set the remaining strips of paper to the side and turned so that she could completely face Berghuszt. He, noticing her change of position, looked up at her. Their eyes met, and for the very first time, he felt her words within himself, as though they were burning into his chest.
"You've always known that wasn't the whole truth, and I can tell you that it's very likely entirely untrue. Your parents probably ran from the Valsharess, and they were wise to do so. Her lack of preparation, foresight, and even basic caution allowed Mephistopheles a freedom that it is now costing many demons a great deal of effort to curtail. That is merely one matter among many, many, many others that cause the demons to believe that Asmodeus and his puppet lords have long been unfit to rule the Hells."
A part of Berghuszt, deep within himself, realized that no one but a servant to a demon could possibly have spoken such statements with such calm certainty. And that part of himself did not balk at all at recognizing itself or Halkiaran'lar for exactly what they each were.
Halkiaran'lar, having seen all of Berghuszt that she needed to see for the moment, turned back to the fireplace and reclaimed the strips of paper she'd set aside. Even without her direct eye contact, Berghuszt again felt her words within himself.
"It is the great pleasure of many powerful players when those who challenge their power infight, thereby weakening themselves. It is time to read from their psaltry; time to use their own weapons against them."
"You're interested in taking vengeance against the College mages, then? Somehow stirring up some intrigue that will throw them into further disarray?" Berghuszt asked wonderingly. "I say again, you were not the only applicant denied. It's not their singling you out and refusing to teach you; they're closing the entire campus because some darkness has-"
"And what do any of the other applicants intend to do? Anything? Anything but toddle off to Urmlaspyr or Daerlun like good little puppies?" Halkiaran'lar asked suddenly, whirling around to bore holes into Berghuszt with her eyes. "The letter gave no parameters for the lifting of the denial; there is no time table given for their 'process,' whatever idiocy they intend to practice to get to the bottom of their perceived losses and hardships. I do not intend to idly languish in any banal Human city, separated from the knowledge I require by spineless incompetents and their nearly artless lackeys."
"It's no shame or hardship to make the travel," Berhguszt suggested quietly, picking up the nearly forgotten stew bowl and moving again to Halkiaran'lar's side. "Daerlun's close, and Urmlaspyr even more so. No need to call down the wrath of the Hells here; wouldn't it be a waste of energy, against such pitiful marks?"
Halkiaran'lar smiled a small, bitter smile. He'd be more useful if he truly believed that, she thought.
Would you like him to? asked a very familiar voice. The prince didn't even have to materialize. The sudden smell of brimstone was sufficient.
He's a plaything, Halkiaran'lar mentally replied. A cover. A distraction. A tolerable means to yet another dead end.
Try, try again, Shadowfire. And kill him in the process; he's just as insignificant to me as he is to you.
Halkiaran'lar's smile widened just a bit. She picked the spoon up out of the bowl, stuck it in her mouth for a long while as though she were at last savoring a meal, then put it back in the bowl and swirled it around in the stew. With that done, she flicked her hand, knocking the bowl, the spoon, and all their contents to the ground.
"That's yours. Get down and eat it." Instead of artfully appearing letter by letter on the floor, the message simply branded itself there.
"Had that coming, I guess," Berghuszt frowned slightly. "But... if it pleases you... think about it. Leaving here for somewhere else to get your learning. Depending on what the market's like out there, I can probably land a good job, get us a place you'll be comfortable in, hmm?"
The last set of prestidigitated words faded as the stonemason got on his knees and prepared to eat his meal from the floor. Just as he lowered his face to the ground, a new message appeared before him, glimmering proudly just beyond the stew spatter.
"I shall thoroughly enjoy making them wish that I would make such a decision right up until the moment that I do."
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