Poisons, parchment, and Proctors

[Rance]

Someone in chains, veins wrangled by a cocktail of soothing poisons.

The darkness was pregnant with malignance.

A quill, ripped long ago from the spine of a hybrid deep-strider, sharpened to perfection, penned bloody lies.

I see that you are a man of action, General Kerrak. I am impressed. It is far better to part the seas than to have them crash down on you.

I have heard of your actions and of the arrest. Our agents are shadows throughout Myrken, and they informed my Mistress and I quickly of your deeds. That one of the two traitors was arrested by your own hand shows a strength and a dedication to your land that even I must respect.

Be warned, Kerrak -- they shall lie.

Care you to know how I came across the news of this invasion? I believe it now imperative that you realize the truth I have provided you and your council. Before, when we first convened, I thought it pivotal that you seek out the answers on your own, and though I am quite positive that the wretched girl-child will give you far more than perhaps even you desire to know, I wish you to know that though you associate with drow, with connivers, murderers, and gods...

... you do not convene with liars.

The man Kaelum was one of our first subjects. He was after the guard D'ran and before the woman Cinjin. I thought to test his mettle in battle and mind; needless to say, I overwhelmed him, but it would have done me no good to kill him outright. We scoured his brain, and discovered a secret of much import. You see, to mind-flayers, the conscience is a delicate working of tunnels, dark secrets, and lost children. It is the closet in which we hang our garments and hide our bodies, and in every closet we find secrets.

What secrets have you hidden away in yours, General Kerrak? Perhaps one day, I shall know.

Regardless, the mind-flayers found one in him. They could not penetrate it. It was well-buried. When they refused to delve further, I took it upon myself to investigate. I would be loathe to leave something so far out of my grip, even if it were merely minor or useless.

I came to discover that this Alligail -- is that not a hideous name? I despise human monikers -- was closely related to him, and in her brain was buried a secret of the very same size, but it was not steel. It was a bubble, liquid and fragile, and in her sleep I stole it from her.

From her mind, I stole away the knowledge of this dangerous advent, that she and the wolf-human Kaelum were meant to begin the ruin of your Myrken, associate with its peoples, and then finally call upon the beginnings of the invasion that would crush you all in your sleep. How perfect a ruse, a foolish man and a mindless little girl -- who would suspect?

Before I had the insight to seek answers, you would not have, Kerrak, and you would surely be a dead man.

It is your choice to seek out Kaelum, or let him run, but I have no doubt that the lords of this coming invasion from across the borders will see him killed in the wake of his failure. Perhaps this Alligail harbors names of fellow traitors in Myrken, for an invasion of this potential scale cannot surely be brought upon by a fool and a mere girl. There is much you still have to learn, and though now we are at a sprawlmate upon this great sava board that is Myrken, you can be assured that my mistress and I will make no move against your people unless it seems perfectly logical to do so.

For your sake, Kerrak, you should hope this will not be the case.

I will send correspondence soon. Until then, Kerrak, remain the tyrant -- for though tyrants are seen as cruel and unforgiving, it is a tyranny that oft lasts longest.

Oh, and do keep Helstone, Guillaume, and Roschen under control. I fear their stupidity may vanquish our chances at success.

Audmathus drew his eyes up from the parchment, and these leaflets were gathered within his black hands and folded with proper dedication. A saliva-moistened thumb ran along their creases, and they were bound by the too-human bubble of a wax seal emblazoned with the bulbous effigy of a jagged spider. The light within his chambers was afforded naturally by the breathing, sifting, hissing confines of countless bottles and vials, filled with phospherecent liquid or gurgling alchemies. As he folded this parchment, he tapped one of his fingers -- a metallic replacement long-ago fused to the bone of his smallest digit, severed in an ancient battle -- along the faceted splendor of his wine-glass. He raised it, sipped decadently at the chartreuse darkwort, and savored the taste.

Sour. Beautiful. Perfect.

"I expect that the letter will make it to human General Kerrak without fault," Audmathus murmured sharply, offering the folded order over his shoulder to the nameless drow who stood behind him, who had been standing, waiting for him to quill the words. It was taken up within two black hands, and the white-haired servant bowed his head silently. "Deliver it to him in silence. Let no other see you. It is dangerous for those foolish townsfolk to see black flesh at so precarious a time, and I will have nothing endanger the advantage that my Mistress and I have at the moment. Is this understood?"

That Audmathus heard the sweep of garments and the shuddering slam of the stone door that separated his personal laboratory from the rest of the Black Spire was proof that the agent took heed to these words.

In his silence, mulling over the spicy scent of the wine, swimming in the thoughts of his deceit, the black king could not resist his cheshire smile. Would it matter to Kerrak, the twisted secrecies Audmathus had woven? He wondered this, and then leaned forward in his stone chair, running his fingers along the handle of the moaning, singing, serenading Shadowdancer. Upon a bureau fashioned of rigid bones, he thrust aside an inkwell and rifled his fingers through precious delicacies that none except Faeryl knew he had. Jirai had gathered them the night that the council and the drow met, and no human had been any the wiser.

Records, censues, manifestos, papers strewn with the damnnation of the names and origins of peoples registered in Myrken's province. These would be very useful in the coming days.

No, Audmathus thought wretchedly, and as he caressed Shadowdancer's hilt, he closed his eyes and sought out the mind of a young girl whose mind his blade had invaded long ago. Not coming days. Now -- right now.

[Rance]

Alligail. That is your name, is it not? He projected, and he could feel the writhing presence of the girl's mind as he forced his way into it, standing from behind his bureau, communicating across miles while the edge of his moaning, ebbing sword tucked itself beneath the vulnerable chin of his most recent captive. Her silver hair shined against the alchemy light.


.. What .. d-.. do you want? It was a struggled retort from a clouded mind, hidden deep within sorrow. This was the mind of a girl locked away in traitor-chains at the apex of a Myrken tower, lonely and frigid, frightened and cold.

I want you to listen to me. And if you do so, I can promise you that your sister -- your Reverie -- will not be hurt. Don't you want that, Alligail the human? I know her secret, you know. I know the secret that she and Kaelum share. .. I tore it from you, Alligail. You were a secret-keeper, and you failed. Reverie should not have been so clumsy as to entrust the knowledge of this invasion ... with you.

Who .. are you?

You do not need to know, but you are in a position to help your sister and the infant she carries in her stomach. Don't you want to do that? It would be ... human of you to do so, regardless of how monstrous your origin is. I know of you, Alligail.

The response came with stolid, reverent strength. I .. just want my sister to be safe.

Tell them all you know, then. Will you be the traitor in lieu of your friend? Will you protect that infant and your fosterling by heralding the treachery for her? Audmathus crouched down before his poisoned captive, brushed silver hair out of her face, and touched the arch of the black blade to the tender meat of her throat. Meanwhile, so calmly, he continued to speak to the mind of the imprisoned girl. I think you would. In Reverie's womb lingers something very special, and I would hate to see harm come to her. Won't you protect her, Alligail? Will you do as sisters do? Will Myrken see Alligail and Kaelum as traitors, then?

I w-.. wouldn't let anything hurt her.

And would you let anything hurt your friend Hafwyn, either?

N-.. no! Who are you?

Merely a benefactor that's going to give you a bit of information, and I expect you to repeat every bit that I give you back to General Kerrak. Do you understand? Do you .. understand .. that if you do not, Reverie will die, and Hafwyn will die? Believe what I say, child, for you are in no position to protect them otherwise. They will be safe... if you do me this one small deed.

The moment of silence was cold, horrific, and terrified. Where .. is Hafwyn? Does someone have her?

Someone does, Audmathus chuckled dryly, and here, he reached out one of his black-fleshed hands to gather a handful of silver hair in his fist, driving the feline-woman's neck backwards, baring her shining eyes against the light of the chamber ambience as he raised Shadowdancer to press against the female's throat. He stared into her mercurial eyes, and with his jagged teeth, smiled. I do, Alligail Gloria Johnford. I do. And if you do not give Kerrak the information that I want you to, I promise you that she will die ... and Reverie, and Molly O'Neill, and anybody else you love .. very soon afterwards. I will kill them, slowly and painfully. I will show them that their friend, their sister, did not bat a lash at the threat of their lives. And I will start, if you do not do as I say, with this one named Hafwyn...

And for a few moments, there was nothing -- Audmathus could feel the reviling conscience of the young girl, twisting and struggling while he stared into Hafwyn's eyes, silently promising these as the ice-blooded woman's last few moments if the girl's response did not please him.

He thought of fires in Myrken Wood.

He thought of a stolen census, of the names of people that would not be long to live.

He thought of Kerrak, the General, the fool.

In the chambers of a subterranean citadel, illuminated by the lights of bubbling mystics, Cecinefien Audmathus Xhevus crouched in silence over the body of a woman named Hafwyn, prepared to watch her bleed, sneering coldly down at her.

In the bowels of a barracks tower, alone and sobbing, a child named Alligail gave her response, her raven-haired head buried in her hands, her spine arched against the fear of night. Loyalty ran coarse in the veins of children.

What ... do you want me to tell them?